“What bosh!” exclaimed Ben, snorting in his sleep.

“Aire you addressin’ yer remarks ter me?” asked Bud, looking over the back of the seat at Bud.  But the only answer was a gentle snore.

“What did he say?” asked Dick eagerly.

“‘Why,’ says he, ’if they won’t let me talk they can’t keep me from bein’ ez near a man ez I kin go; by gravy, I’ll raise whiskers like Deacon Smith,’ who was a member o’ ther lodge in which ther goat officiated; and, by jinks, he did, an’ ther fashion wuz follered, an’ they wear them ter this day.

“There ain’t no question o’ their smartness, an’ their prominence.  Ain’t one o’ ther signs o’ the zodiac up in ther heavens named after ther goat—­Capricornus is ther feller ter what I refer—­an’ them heathen chaps what wuz half man an’ half goat?  Didn’t they come pretty near bein’ ther whole thing?”

“But about the Pecos?” inquired Dick, who was not partial to preaching, but wanted to get at the heart of the story.

“Oh. yes.  I wuz leadin’ up ter it gradooal, fer what I’m goin’ ter relate—­if thet yap will choke off on thet moosical snore—­”

“Here, wake up, you’re snoring so loud we can’t hear ourselves holler,” said Kit, reaching over and shaking Ben.

“I can’t keep awake while that fellow persists in yarning away like a fanning machine.  It’s so monotonous I can’t keep awake,” and Ben stretched and yawned.

“Let’s get away from here and go to some other part of the car,” whispered Dick.

“No, we’ll just stay here an’ spite him.  He’ll wake up after a while an’ be glad to listen to ther story.  So here goes!

“I was punchin’ cow’s down on the Pecos one summer fer ther Crazy B Ranch.  We had eight punchers in ther bunch, a good chuck wagon, an’ easy work, so I wuz pretty well suited, an’ thet summer I gained twelve pounds, even if it wuz a hundred an’ forty in ther shade, which we hed forgotten ter bring along with us.”

“Forgotten to bring what?” asked the boy.

“Our shade.  Yer see, down in thet country ther sun is so strong thet every one carries his own shade, fer there isn’t a tree in ther whole country big enough ter cast a shadder o’ any sort.  Out on ther ranches, at certain seasons o’ ther year, they serve out shade ter ther men jest ther same ez they do bacon an’ saleratus ter ther outfit thet goes out herdin’.”

Dick looked seriously at Bud for a moment, hardly knowing whether or not to doubt him, but Bud’s face was as grave as a deacon’s.

“I don’t understand it, I’m sure,” he said.  “But where do they get the shade to give to the men?”

“That’s easy enough.  It’s always gathered on dark nights, generally late in ther fall er in ther winter, so thet it’ll be real cool.”

“But where do they get it?”

“What—­ther shade?  Why, they just go out an’ gather it off the ground in thin shapes, kinder longer than broad.  It can be rolled up just like a blanket, an’ carried behind ther saddle.  It’s gathered in ther cold months.  Ye’ve heard o’ ther ‘cool shade.’  Well, that’s why they gather it late in the year.  Summer shade is no good, because it’s too warm.”