IT was in the early days. I was not a college professor then.

I was a humble-minded young land-surveyor, with the world before me--to survey, in case anybody wanted it done. I had a contract to surveya route for a great mining-ditch in California, and I was on my way thither,by sea--a three or four weeks' voyage. There were a good many passengers,but I had very little to say to them; reading and dreaming were my passions,and I avoided conversation in order to indulge these appetites.

There were three professional gamblers on board--rough, repulsive fellows.

I never had any talk with them, yet I could not help seeing themwith some frequency, for they gambled in an upper-deck stateroom everyday and night, and in my promenades I often had glimpses of themthrough their door, which stood a little ajar to let out the surplustobacco smoke and profanity. They were an evil and hateful presence,but I had to put up with it, of course,There was one other passenger who fell under my eye a good deal,for he seemed determined to be friendly with me, and I could not havegotten rid of him without running some chance of hurting his feelings,and I was far from wishing to do that. Besides, there was something engagingin his countrified simplicity and his beaming good-nature. The first timeI saw this Mr. John Backus, I guessed, from his clothes and his looks,that he was a grazier or farmer from the backwoods of some western State--doubtless Ohio--and afterward when he dropped into his personal historyand I discovered that he WAS a cattle-raiser from interior Ohio,I was so pleased with my own penetration that I warmed toward him forverifying my instinct.

He got to dropping alongside me every day, after breakfast,to help me make my promenade; and so, in the course of time,his easy-working jaw had told me everything about his business,his prospects, his family, his relatives, his politics--in fact everything that concerned a Backus, living or dead.

And meantime I think he had managed to get out of me everythingI knew about my trade, my tribe, my purposes, my prospects,and myself. He was a gentle and persuasive genius, and this thingshowed it; for I was not given to talking about my matters.

I said something about triangulation, once; the stately wordpleased his ear; he inquired what it meant; I explained;after that he quietly and inoffensively ignored my name,and always called me Triangle.

What an enthusiast he was in cattle! At the bare name of a bull or a cow,his eye would light and his eloquent tongue would turn itself loose. As longas I would walk and listen, he would walk and talk; he knew all breeds,he loved all breeds, he caressed them all with his affectionate tongue.

I tramped along in voiceless misery whilst the cattle question was up;when I could endure it no longer, I used to deftly insert a scientific topicinto the conversation; then my eye fired and his faded; my tongue fluttered,his stopped; life was a joy to me, and a sadness to him.

One day he said, a little hesitatingly, and with somewhat of diffidence--'Triangle, would you mind coming down to my stateroom a minute,and have a little talk on a certain matter?'

I went with him at once. Arrived there, he put his head out, glanced upand down the saloon warily, then closed the door and locked it.

He sat down on the sofa, and he said--'I'm a-going to make a little proposition to you, and if it strikesyou favorable, it'll be a middling good thing for both of us.

You ain't a-going out to Californy for fun, nuther am I--it's business, ain't that so? Well, you can do me a good turn,and so can I you, if we see fit. I've raked and scraped and saved,a considerable many years, and I've got it all here.'

He unlocked an old hair trunk, tumbled a chaos of shabbyclothes aside, and drew a short stout bag into view for a moment,then buried it again and relocked the trunk. Dropping his voiceto a cautious low tone, he continued, 'She's all there--a roundten thousand dollars in yellow-boys; now this is my little idea:

What I don't know about raising cattle, ain't worth knowing.

There's mints of money in it, in Californy. Well, I know,and you know, that all along a line that 's being surveyed,there 's little dabs of land that they call "gores," that fallto the surveyor free gratis for nothing. All you've got to do,on your side, is to survey in such a way that the "gores" will fallon good fat land, then you turn 'em over to me, I stock 'em with cattle,in rolls the cash, I plank out your share of the dollars regular,right along, and--'

I was sorry to wither his blooming enthusiasm, but it could not be helped.

I interrupted, and said severely--'I am not that kind of a surveyor. Let us change the subject, Mr. Backus.'

It was pitiful to see his confusion and hear his awkwardand shamefaced apologies. I was as much distressed as he was--especially as he seemed so far from having suspectedthat there was anything improper in his proposition.

So I hastened to console him and lead him on to forget hismishap in a conversational orgy about cattle and butchery.

We were lying at Acapulco; and, as we went on deck, it happenedluckily that the crew were just beginning to hoist some beevesaboard in slings. Backus's melancholy vanished instantly,and with it the memory of his late mistake.

'Now only look at that!' cried he; 'My goodness, Triangle, what WOULD they sayto it in OHIO. Wouldn't their eyes bug out, to see 'em handled like that?--wouldn't they, though?'

All the passengers were on deck to look--even the gamblers--and Backus knew them all, and had afflicted them all with his pet topic.

As I moved away, I saw one of the gamblers approach and accost him;then another of them; then the third. I halted; waited; watched;the conversation continued between the four men; it grew earnest;Backus drew gradually away; the gamblers followed, and kept at his elbow.

I was uncomfortable. However, as they passed me presently, I heardBackus say, with a tone of persecuted annoyance--'But it ain't any use, gen............