"I'm almighty glad to see yuh! Hello, Dade, how are yuh ?" "Bill Wilson, by thunder!" Jack's tone was incredulous.
Bill, roosting a good ten feet from the ground on a great, horizontal limb, flicked the ashes from the cigar he was smoking and grinned down at them unabashed.
"You sure took your time about getting here," he remarked, hitching himself into a more comfortable posture on the rough bark.

"I've been praying for you, two hours and more.

Say, don't ever talk to me about hungry wolf-packs, boys.

I'll take 'em in preference to the meek-eyed cow-bossies, any time." They besought him for details and got them in Bill's own fashion of telling.

Briefly, he had long had in mind a trip down to the Picardo ranch, just to see the boys and the country and have a talk over the stirring events of the past month; and, he added, he wanted to bring Jack his pistols himself, because it was not reasonable to expect any greaser to withstand the temptation of keeping them, once he got them in his hands.
Therefore, having plenty of excuses for venturing so far from his place, and having "tied the dove of peace to the ridge-pole" of town by means of some thorough work on the part of the new Committee, he had boldly set forth that morning, soon after sunrise, upon a horse which somebody had sworn that a lady could ride.
Bill confessed frankly that he wasn't any lady, however; and so, when the horse ducked unexpectedly to one side of the trail, because of something he saw in the long grass, Bill surprised himself very much by getting his next clear impression of the situation from the ground.
"I dunno how I got there, but I was there, all right, and it didn't feel good, either.