“I don’t know,” said Ben thoughtfully, “pigs are mighty smart.  He might have swung himself over by the rope, and, if so, I think he was entitled to his dinner as a reward for his ingenuity.”

“I don’t pay for no pig’s inchenoomity mit my gabbages,” said Carl hotly.  “Vere I get more gabbages fer der sauerkraut, tell me dot?”

“Yer don’t git no sauerkraut, that’s all,” growled Bud.  “But speakin’ about pigs bein’ smart, I jest reckon they aire.”

“There are three animals that people persist in calling stupid, when they are only strong-minded and more intelligent than the other animals,” said Kit Summers, quietly breaking into the conversation.

“What aire they?” asked Bud.

“The pig, the mule, and the goose,” answered Kit.

“Come ter think o’ it, yer right ez a book,” said Bud, rising from the lounge and joining the other boys in front of the fireplace.  “Why, I remember onct down on the Pecos—­”

Ben Tremont rose lazily and stretched himself.

“Well, so long, boys,” he said.  “If I ain’t back for supper don’t wait for me.”

“Whar yer goin’?” asked Bud, with a black look from under his brows.

“I’ve got some work to do this evening, and I don’t want to be getting drowsy,” answered Ben, with a wink at Kit.

“Go then, yer varmint,” said Bud savagely.  “This yere incerdent what I’m goin’ ter relate is fer intelligent persons only.”

“In that case I shall have to remain,” said Ben, throwing his huge bulk into a chair, that creaked like a house in a high wind.

“How about that Pecos story?” said Ted.

“’Tis erbout pigs.”

“I didn’t know there were any pigs down in that country,” said Ted, with a sly smile.

“Oh, yes, there aire.  Some folks calls them peccaries, an’ others alludes ter them ez wild hawgs.  Yer pays yer money an’ chooses what yer likes best.”

“Well, what about them?”

“‘Tain’t noways what ye’d call much o’ a story, but it ’lustrates ther intelligence o’ ther hawg, which in my ’pinion ez almost ez great ez thet o’ some collidge gradooates what I hev mixed with.”

Bud stopped and looked hard at Ben, who seemed to be taking a nap in his big chair.

With a snort of disgust Bud turned his back on the big fellow and began: 

“Me an’ ‘Peep-o’-day’ Thompson wuz ridin’ herd on a bunch o’ cattle belongin’ ter ole man Bradish.  All we hed ter do wuz ter keep ’em from driftin’ too fur, which nat’rally left us much time fer meditation an’ conversation.

“But it wa’n’t long before I’d told all my stories, an’ Peep bed plumb fergot I’d tole them ter him, an’ wuz tellin’ them all over ter me, claimin’ they’d happened ter him.

“I stood it fer a spell because I didn’t want ter make no friction betwixt him an’ me, but it made me sore jest ther same, because ther derned lump allays got ther story balled up so’s I hed trouble in reconnizin’ it sometimes.  An’ he inveribly got ther p’int o’ ther story hindside fore, which made me jest bile.  But when yer on a long watch with a feller, an’ got ter see him from sunup ter moonrise, it’s better ter overlook a lot o’ things.