Considerably softened toward him, I
tried him with other literature. But vainly. Beyond a few of the
lyrical and emotional poets, he knew nothing. Under the influence
and enthusiasm of his own speech, he himself had softened
considerably; offered to change horses with me, readjusted my
saddle with professional skill, transferred my pack to his own
horse, insisted upon my sharing the contents of his whisky flask,
and, noticing that I was unarmed, pressed upon me a silver-mounted
Derringer, which he assured me he could "warrant." These various
offices of good will and the diversion of his talk beguiled me from
noticing the fact that the trail was beginning to become obscure
and unrecognizable. We were evidently pursuing a route unknown
before to me. I pointed out the fact to my companion, a little
impatiently. He instantly resumed his old manner and dialect.
"Well, I reckon one trail's as good as another, and what hev ye got
to say about it?"
I pointed out, with some dignity, that I preferred the old trail.
"Mebbe you did.
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