He was not a
/caballero/ by instinct, and he could not understand the niceties of
revenge.
A mile away the rider who had ridden past the wagon-shed struck up a
harsh, untuneful song, the words of which began:
Don't you monkey with my Lulu girl
Or I'll tell you what I'll do--
XII
THE SPHINX APPLE
Twenty miles out from Paradise, and fifteen miles short of Sunrise
City, Bildad Rose, the stage-driver, stopped his team. A furious snow
had been falling all day. Eight inches it measured now, on a level.
The remainder of the road was not without peril in daylight, creeping
along the ribs of a bijou range of ragged mountains. Now, when both
snow and night masked its dangers, further travel was not to be
thought of, said Bildad Rose. So he pulled up his four stout horses,
and delivered to his five passengers oral deductions of his wisdom.
Judge Menefee, to whom men granted leadership and the initiatory as
upon a silver salver, sprang from the coach at once. Four of his
fellow-passengers followed, inspired by his example, ready to explore,
to objurgate, to resist, to submit, to proceed, according as their
prime factor might be inclined to sway them.
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