I just thumped Frosty on the back and called him a name that it would make a lady faint to hear, and we laughed like a couple of fools.
I'm not on oath, perhaps, but still I feel somehow bound to tell all the truth, and not to pass myself off for a saint.

So I will say that Frosty and I had a celebration, that night; an Osage, Montana, celebration, with all the fixings.

Know the brand--because if you don't, I'd hang before I'd tell just how many shots we put through ceilings, or how we rent the atmosphere outside.

You see, I was glad to get back, and Frosty was glad to have me back; and since neither of us are the fall-on-your-neck-and-put-a-ring-on-your-finger kind, we had to exuberate some other way; and, as Frosty, would put it, "We sure did." I can't say we felt quite so exuberant next morning, but we were willing to take our medicine, and started for the ranch all serene.

I won't say a word about mauves and faint ambers and umbras, but I do want to give that country a good word, as it looked that morning to me.