Whitey was greatly disappointed when Single was driven out of the bunk house.  He wanted to hear the rest of that story about the third wife’s half brother.  So Whitey went after Single, and tried to coax him to come back.

And the other punchers were sorry that they had been so hasty, for they wanted to see how far Single’s imagination would carry him.

Whitey had heard an old yarn about a parrot in a mining camp.  A magician was giving a performance at the camp, and after every trick the miners would say, “I wonder what he’s going to do next?” One of them was smoking, a spark fell in a keg of powder, and blew the camp away from that place.  The parrot landed a quarter of a mile off, most of his feathers gone, his cage was a wreck.  And, peering out, he asked, “I wonder what he’s going to do next?”

That was the way it was with those cowpunchers, and they joined Whitey, and finally smoothed over Single’s feelings, and coaxed him to continue his story—­which he wanted to do, anyway.

“Well, this here Sam Sharp had his faults,” Single continued, when he was settled again in his seat.  “For a feller that c’d move so quick he was s’prisin’ lazy; so lazy he’d trip over his feet gettin’ out o’ his own way.  An’ drinkin’, an’ gamblin’!—­say, I won’t take your time tellin’ you all th’ things he liked.  All you had t’ do was t’ ast yourself was a thing wrong.  If it was, Sam liked it.

“Bein’ a champeen, o’ course Sam had a manager what made money out o’ Sam’s stunts, for both o’ ’em.  This manager was a white man named Gallager, an’ his life was made a burden, for he had t’ train Sam for them there stunts, an’ Sam didn’t cotton to trainin’ nonesoever.  When he oughta be doin’ it, he’d be off dancin’, or drinkin’, or pokerin’, or somethin’.  An’ Gallager got sicker an’ sicker of such doin’s.

“Well, bein’ a Injun, Sam had a med’cine.  It was a twig.  Where he got it I don’t know, but it was firm fixed in Sam’s nut that he couldn’t run without that there twig was tucked inside his shirt.  An’ that twig was s’posed t’ work both ways.  For when Sam was runnin’ ’gainst another feller, he’d put th’ twig down in one of th’ other feller’s footprints, an’ Sam thought that kept th’ other feller back.

“Now, this here twig was one o’ Gallager’s greatest troubles.  For Sam was always losin’ it, or leavin’ it behind, an’ him or Gallager havin’ t’ go after it, an’ races was havin’ t’ be held back, or put off, for Sam wouldn’t run without that twig.  So Gallager hated it.

“Along comes a time when Sam is stacked up t’ meet a corkin’ good runner.  An’ Sam was off gallivantin’ ‘round at dances, an’ worse things, an’ not trainin’ none whatever.  An’ Gallager says t’ himself, ’Here’s where I cure that Injun of th’ twig habit.’  You see, Sam was that soft from loafin’, he couldn’t have beat a mud turtle up a hill, so Gallager figgers Sam’ll likely lose th’ race, anyway, an’ it’ll be worth it t’ get clear o’ that infernal twig.  So Gallager lets Sam stay soft.