it to the gentleman," he added, dryly.

"So I saw," said the other; "you're kind
a emphatic in yer remarks. Yeh ought to
give the gentleman a chance to git used to
the ways of th' country. He'll be as tough
as th' rest of us if you'll give him a chance.
I kin see it in him."

"Thank you," said Henderson. "I'm
glad you do me justice. I wish you wouldn't
let daylight through me till I've had a chance
to get my quarter section. I'm going to
be one of you, either as a live man or a
corpse. But I prefer a hundred and sixty
acres of land to six feet of it."

"There, now!" triumphantly cried the
squat man. "Didn't I tell yeh? Give him
a show! 'Tain't no fault of his that he's a
tenderfoot. He'll get over that."

Gillispie shook hands with first one and
then the other of the men. "It's a square
deal from this on," he said. "Come and
have a drink."

That's how they met -- John Henderson,
John Gillispie, and John Waite. And a week
later they were putting up a shanty together