There were at least a hundred verses of this last, each verse more deadly dull than the one before, and Little was very conscientious; he didn’t slight any of them.  Long before he was through, Whitey envied the fate of Ned Saunders.  But the evening was only mortal, it had to end, and at last it did.

Whitey must have shown signs of wear, for as they parted to go to bed, Dan Brayton said to him, “Cheer up, it may rain to-morrow,” and it did!

Now, if there was anything more depressing than the T Up and Down when the weather was fine, it was that same ranch when it rained.  How Whitey got through that awful day he never really knew.  The most cheerful thing that happened was during dinner, when Dan Brayton told a long yarn about a brother of his, who had small-pox and fleas at one and the same time, and, as Dan said, “was more t’ be pitied than scorned.”  And this might have been a joke, though no one laughed.  But at last evening came with another programme of dirges, then night with its blessed sleep.

CHAPTER XII

FELIX THE FAITHLESS

To Whitey’s intense relief the following morning was clear, and he realized, with delight, that at last he would be able to get away from the T Up and Down.  He had never been so tired of a place in his life.  It was almost worse than school.

After breakfast Dan Brayton took Whitey into his office, and while Whitey sat on a saddle, Dan slouched in his saggy chair and talked business.

“I’m sure glad you bin able t’ stay a coupl’a days,” he said.  “It musta bin a pleasant change for you, an’ it’s give me a chanst t’ think over this here important business o’ your father’s.  I’ve writ a letter for you t’ deliver, t’ my friend Walt Lampson, o’ the Star Circle, down so’east o’ here a piece, for you t’ take t’ him.  Y’ see, we can’t fill all your dad’s r’quir’munts, so I’m callin’ on Walt t’ sort o’ help out with th’ balance.”

Dan looked impressively at Whitey, who didn’t understand much of what he was talking about, and didn’t care about anything he was to do, he was so glad to get away from the T Up and Down.

“This’ll take you out of your way a bit,” Dan went on, “but you won’t have t’ cross th’ Zumbro, an’ I’ll send back that hoss you borrowed from Cal Smith, by one o’ the hands.  An’ I’ll lend you one o’ my nags t’ take you as far as Willer Bend, where you c’n get another mount.  Little Thompson’ll go that far with you, an’ from there on th’ goin’s straight.”

So, on the borrowed horse, and with the letter sewed inside his shirt, Whitey set forth with Little Thompson, the tall, thin, solemn cowboy who had sung the dismal songs.  And glad as he was to leave, Whitey regretted that he did not have a more cheerful companion.  For Little’s idea of entertainment was to talk about funerals.