Come on,Mizz,called the young man,as the other swung upon his broncho,I'm going back with you.
The lean,leather-skinned,sandy-mustached cattleman uttered words not meet for print,but expressive of hearty pleasure.Ain't you had enough of it,Bill?he added.I'd think you'd want to lay up for tomorrow's work.
Oh,I ain't sleepy,the young man declared,as they rode away side by side.I couldn't close an eye tonight--and I want to talk.
The cattleman chuckled enjoyingly.It was lonely and monotonous work,riding back and forth through the darkness,keeping a sharp lookout for wolves or Indians,driving straggling cattle back to the herd,in brief,doing the picket duty of the plains.
Mizzoo was so called from his habit of attributing his most emphatic aphorisms to his aunt,Miss Sue of Missouri--a lady held by his companions to be a purely fictitious character,a convenient Mrs.Harristo give weight to sayings worn smooth from centuries of use.
Of all the boys of the ranch,Mizzoo found Wilfred Compton most companionable.When off duty,they were usually to be found near each other,whether awake or asleep;and when Mizzoo,on entering some village at the edge of the desert,sought relaxation from a life of routine by shooting through the windows and spurring his pony into the saloons,it was the young man,commonly known as Bill,who lingered behind to advance money for damages to the windows,or who kept close to the drunken ranger in order to repair the damages Mizzoo had done to his own soul and body.
I'll talk my head off,Mizzoo declared,if that'll keep you on the move with me,for it's one thing meeting a ghost in the desert all alone,and quite another when there's a pair of us.Yes,I know you don't believe nothing I say about that spirit,and I only hope we'll come on it tonight!It ain't been a week since I see something creeping along behind me whilst I was riding the line,a little thing as swift as a jack-rabbit and as sly as a coyote--something with long arms and short legs and the face of an Injun--