slowly round as if searching for a simile, then answered: "I dunno."
"Don't know? What do you mean? Haven't you seen her?"
"Yeh! But she ain't like nothin'."
Bill was quite decided upon this point.
I tried again.
"Well, what sort of hair has she got? She's got hair, I suppose?"
"Hayer! Well, a few!" said Bill, with some choice combinations of profanity in repudiation of my suggestion. "Yards of it! Red!"
"Git out!" contradicted Hi. "Red! Tain't no more red than mine!"
Bill regarded Hi's hair critically.
"What color do you put onto your old brush?" he asked cautiously.
"'Tain't no difference. 'Tain't red, anyhow."
"Red! Well, not quite exactly," and Bill went off into a low, long, choking chuckle, ejaculating now and then, "Red! Jee-mi-ny Ann! Red!"
"No, Hi," he went on, recovering himself with the same abruptness as he used with his bronco, and looking at his friend with a face even more than usually solemn, "your hayer ain't red, Hi; don't let any of your relatives persuade you to
