He went on:-- "We've had our little game, boys, ever since we left Rawlin's a week ago; we've had our ups and downs; we've been starved and parched, snowed up and half drowned, shot at by road-agents and horse-thieves, kicked by mules and played with by grizzlies.

We've had a heap o' fun, boys, for our money, but I reckon the picnic is about over.

So we'll shake hands to-morrow all round and call it square, and go on our ways separately." "And what do you think you'll do, Uncle Dick ?" said his close-shaven companion listlessly.
"I'll make tracks for a square meal, a bed that a man can comfortably take off his boots and die in, and some violet-scented soap.
Civilization's good enough for me! I even reckon I wouldn't mind 'the sound of the church-going bell' ef there was a theatre handy, as there likely would be.

But the wilderness is played out." "You'll be back to it again in six months, Uncle Dick," retorted the other quickly.
Uncle Dick did not reply.

It was a peculiarity of the party that in their isolated companionship they had already exhausted discussion and argument.