pony, "wrastled" a calf, roped a steer, or branded a heifer; but now sitting lazily by the fire, such activities seemed a thing of the past, and Sylvane was ready for an hour's gossip.
"A sky-pilot? Why should a sky-pilot bring suit against me?" said my brother laughingly. [In telling this story he sometimes referred to this man as a professor.]
"Well," said Sylvane, "it was this way, Mr. Roosevelt. You see, we was all outside the ranch door when up drives the skypilot in a buggy. He was one of them wanderin' ones that thought he could preach as he wandered, and just about as he drove up in front of our ranch his horse went dead lame on him and his old buggy just fell to pieces. He was in a bad fix, and he said he knew you never would let him be held up like that, because he had heard you was a good man too, and wouldn't we lend him a horse, or send him with the team to the next place he was going to, some forty miles away. We felt we had to be hospitable-like, with you so far away and the sky-pilot in such a fix, so we said `Yes,' we would send him to where he wanted to go, and there he is now, lyin' in a hut with one leg broken and one arm nearly wrenched off his body, and he's bringin' suit against you, which ain't really fair, we think."
"What do you mean, Sylvane; what have I got to do with his broken leg and arm?" said my brother, beginning to feel a trifle nervous.
"Well, you see, it is this way," said Sylvane; "he says we
sent him to where he is with a runaway team and he was thrown
out and broken up in pieces-like; but we says how could that
team we sent him with be a runaway team-how could a team
be called a runaway team when one of the horses ain't never
been hitched up before, and the other ain't run away not more'n
two or three times; but I guess sky-pilots are always unrea
This conclusion seemed to satisfy Sylvane entirely; the un
fortunate condition of the much-battered sky-pilot aroused
no sympathy in his adamantine heart, nor did he feel that the