"
He fished a coal from the fire and deftly flipped it atop his pipe bowl.
After a dozen deep puffs, he continued:
"Never noticed the country; had nothing to do with the people. All I
knew was brands and my bosses. Did good enough cow work, I reckon. For a
fact, it was mebbe half a year before I begun to look around. That
country is worse than over Panamit way. There's no trees; there's no
water; there's no green grass; there's no folks; there's no nothin'! The
mountains look like they're made of paper. After about a half year, as I
said, I took note of all this, but I didn't care. What the hell
difference did it make to me what the country was like? I hadn't no
theories to that. I'd left all that back here."
He looked at Bob questioningly, unwilling to approach nearer his tragedy
unless it was necessary. Bob nodded.
"Then I begun to dream. Things come to me. I'd see places plain--like
the falls at Cascadell--and smell things. For a fact, I smelt azaleas
plain and sweet once; and woke up in the damndest alkali desert you ever
see. I thought I'd never want to see this country again; the farther I
got away, the more things I'd forget.
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