With
serious mind and murderous intent I undressed. In the middle of the
back of my jersey I discovered several long, uncanny, gray things.
"I guess I got 'em," I said gravely.
Then I sat on a pine log in a state of unadorned nature, oblivious
to all around, intent only on the massacre of the things that had
violated me. How much time flew I could not guess. Great loud
"Haw-haws!" roused me to consternation. There behind me stood Jones
and Emett shaking as if with the ague.
"It's not funny!" I shouted in a rage. I had the unreasonable
suspicion that they had followed me to see my humiliation. Jones, who
cracked a smile about as often as the equinoxes came, and Emett the
sober Mormon, laughed until they cried.
"I was--just wondering--what your folks would--think--if they--saw
you--now," gurgled Jones.
That brought to me the humor of the thing, and I joined in their
mirth.
"All I hope is that you fellows will get 'em' too," I said.
"The Good Lord preserve me from that particular breed of Navvy's,"
cried Emett.
Jones wriggled all over at the mere suggestion. Now so much from the
old plainsman, who had confessed to intimate relations with every
creeping, crawling thing in the West, attested powerfully to the
unforgettable singularity of what I got from Navvy.
I returned to camp determined to make the best of the situation,
which owing to my failure to catch all of the gray devils, remained
practically unchanged.
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