"Where did you learn so much about women?"
"I've picked up considerable knowledge of the female disposition from wranglin' dudes. A bald-face bear with cubs is a reg'lar streak of sunshine compared to a lady-dude I had out campin' once--when she got tired or hungry, or otherwise on the peck. Her and me got feelin' pretty hos-tile toward each other 'fore we quit.
"I didn't so much mind packin' warm water mornin's for her to wash her face, or buttonin' her waist up the back, or changin' her stirrups every few miles or gittin' off to see if it was a fly on her horse's stummick that made him switch his tail, but I got so weak I couldn't hardly set in the saddle from answerin' questions and tryin' to laugh at her jokes.
"'Say,' says she, 'ain't you got no sense of humor?' atter I'd let out somethin' between a groan and a squeal. 'I had,' I says, ''till I was shot in the head.' 'Shot in the head! Why didn't it kill you?' 'The bullet struck a bolt, ma'am, and glanced off.' We rode seven hours that day without speakin' and 'twere the only enjoyable time I had. Dudin' wouldn't be a bad business," Uncle Bill added judicially, "if it weren't for answerin' questions and listenin' to their second-hand jokes. Generally they're smart people when they're on their home range and sometimes they turns out good friends."
"Like Sprudell." Helen suggested mischievously.
"Sprudell!" The old man's eyes blazed and he fairly jumped at the sound of the name. "I ain't blood-thirsty and I never bore that reputation but if I had knowed as much about that feller as I know now he'd a slept in that there snow-bank until spring.
"You know, ma'am," Uncle Bill went on solemnly while he cast an eye back up the trail for Burt who had fallen behind, "when a feller's drunk or lonesome he's allus got some of a dream that he dreams of what he'd do if he got rich. Sometimes its a hankerin' to travel, or be State Senator, or have a whole bunch of bananny's hangin' up in the house to onct. I knowed an old feller that died pinin' for a briled lobster with his last breath. Since I read that piece about sobbin' out my gratitude on Sprudell's broad chest it's woke a new ambition in me. Every time I gits about three fingers of 'cyanide' from the Bucket o' Blood under my belt I sees pictures of myself gittin' money enough together to go back to Bartlesville, Indianny, and lick him every day, reg'lar, or jest as often as I kin pay my fine, git washed up, and locate him agin." Uncle Bill added reflectively: "If this deal with Dill goes through without any hitch, I'd ort to be able to start about the first of the month."