Within a few weeks the parrot and the twins had so firmly established themselves in the social system of the place as to become matters of regular conversation.  Curly never appeared at the forum of Whiteman’s corral without finding himself the recipient of many queries.

“Why, them twins,” he replied one day, “they’re in full charge of the rodeo.  They’ve got me and the woman hobbled, hitched, and side-lined for keeps.  Dead heat between them and Bill, the parrot.  They’re in on all the plays together.  Wherever they go, he’s right after ’em, and he night-and-day-herds ’em closer’n a Mexican shepherd dog does a bunch of sheep.  Now, I blew in last night, intoe their room, and there was old Bill, settin’ on the foot of the bed, watchin’ of ’em, them fast asleep.  ‘Too late now,’ says he to me.  ’Too late.  All over now!’ I didn’t know what he meant till I looked under the bedclothes; and there was a pan full of ginger cakes the woman had made for the fam’ly.  You needn’t tell me a parrot can’t think.”

“It would seem,” said Dan Anderson, meditatively, “that we may report progress in civilization.”

“But say, fellers,” remarked Curly, taking off his hat and scratching his head perplexedly, “sometimes I wish Bill was a chicken hawk instead of a talker.  There is rats, or mice, or something, got into this valley at last.”

“Do you want any drugs?” asked Doc Tomlinson, suddenly.

“No, not yet,” Curly shook his head.  “Never did see airy rat or mouse round here, but still, things is happenin’ that looks right strange.

“It’s this-a-way, fellers,” he continued, “—­set down here and let me tell you.”  So they all sat down and leaned back against the fence of Whiteman’s corral.

“Last Christmas,” Curly began at the beginning, “why, you see, my girl, she got a Christmas present from some of her folks back in Kansas, in the States.  It was a pair of candy legs.”

“What’s that, Curly?” said Dan Anderson, half sitting up.

“Legs,” said Curly, “made out of candy, about so long, or maybe a little longer.  Red, and white, and blue—­all made out of candy, you know.  Shoes on the feet, buckles on the shoes, and heels.  Sort of frill around on top.  The feller that made them things could shore do candy a-plenty.  They was too pretty to eat up, so the little woman, she done put ’em in the parlor,—­on the table like, in the middle of the floor; tied ’em together with a blue ribbon and left ’em there.  Now, you all know right well that’s the only pair of candy legs in Heart’s Desire.”

“That’s legitimate distinction, Curly,” Dan Anderson decided.  “It entitles your family to social prominence.”

“Oh, we wasn’t stuck up none over that,” laughed Curly, modestly, “but we always felt kind of comfortable, thinkin’ them there legs was right there on the parlor table in the other room.  You can’t help feelin’ good to have some little ornyment like that around the place, you know, special if there’s women around.  But now, fellers, what I was goin’ to say is, there’s mice, or rats, got in on this range some how, and they—­”