three days. All them Injuns done, was to come and look at Mike and
feel of his legs and argue with one another. The first night after the
race Mike tuned up his guitar, and later on I heard snatches of the
"Spanish Fandango" stealin' up from the river bank. I knew what was
on; I knew without lookin' that the old chief's girl was right there
beside him, huggin' her knees and listenin' with both ears. I didn't
like to think about it, for she was a nice little yearlin', and it
looked to me like Mike was up to his usual devilment. Seemed like a
low-down trick to play on an injunoo like her, and the more I studied
it the warmer I got. It was a wonderful night; the moonlight drenched
the valley, and there was the smell of camp-fires and horses over
everything--just the sort of a night for a guitar, just the sort of a
night to make your blood run hot and to draw you out into the glitter
and make you race with your shadow.

When Mike moseyed in, along about ten o'clock, he was plumb loco;
the moon-madness was on him strong. His eyes was as bright as silver
coins, and his voice had a queer ring to it.

"What a night!" said he. "And what a life this is Lord! I'm tired of
pot-huntin'. I've trimmed suckers till I'm weary; I've toted a gold
brick in my pocket till my clothes bag. I'm sick of it. I'm goin' to
beat this Injun champeen, take my half of our winnin's, sell off the
runty ones, and settle down."

"Where do you aim to settle?" I inquired.

"Oh, anywhere hereabouts. These are good people, and I like 'em."

"You mean you're goin' to turn out with the Injuns?" I inquired, with