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 son he could not have felt a sharper pang at his declared intention of allowing gratitude to push his life's promise all behind him, and go riding away on a quest like that.

"If Fannie was a good woman, Texas!" said he, a pathetic tenderness in his trembling voice.

"A woman don't have to be very good to be better than a man, Uncle Boley."

"And even if she was a good woman you couldn't give her your heart. It'd be a sin to throw yourself away on Fannie."

"I could give her a man's name and protection, and I could lift her pore face up to the sky."

"God help you, son, if you're set on doin' that!"

"Never mind," said Texas, soothingly, "never mind it at all. When I'm gone from here, no matter which way I leave, cross me out and turn over the leaf."

Uncle Boley turned to the row of boots on the little shelf, took them down, boot by boot, and wiped the dust from them on his sleeve. He kept his back turned toward Texas, for tears were rolling down his beard.

"Well, I declare, Uncle Boley, sir, if I didn't clean forget that old ant-eater we shut up here night before last!" said Texas, starting up.

"He's gone—slep' off his drunk about sundown yesterday and come walkin' out. Stopped to cuss