"Hello, Mr.King," I sang out in a brazen attempt to hypnotize him into the belief we were friends.

"How's the world using you, these days ?" "Huh!" grunted the unhypnotized one, deep in his chest.
Frosty straightened up and looked at me queerly; he said afterward that he couldn't make out whether I was trying to pull off a gun fight, or had gone dippy.
But I was only in the last throes of exuberance at being in the country at all, and I didn't give a damn what King thought; I'd made up my mind to be sociable, and that settled it.
"Range is looking fine," I remarked, snapping the inside checks back into the hame-rings.

"Stock come through the winter in good shape ?" Oh, I had my nerve right along with me.
"You go to hell," advised King, bringing out each word fresh-coined and shiny with feeling.
"I was headed that way," I smiled across at him, "but at the last minute I gave Montana first choice; I knew you were still here, you see." He let go the bridle of the horse he was about to lead away to the stable, and limped around so that he stood within two feet of me.

"Yuh want to--" he began, and then his mouth stayed open and silent.
I had reached out and got him by the hand, and gave him a grip--the grip that made all the fellows quit offering their paws to me in Frisco.
"Put it there, King!" I cried idiotically and as heartily as I knew how.
"Glad to see you.

Dad's well and busy as usual, and sends regards.