His hands were behind his back

"What do yu' make of the proposition yondeh?" As he pointed to the cause of this question he had become again his daily, engaging, saturnine self. Then I saw over in a fenced meadow, to which we were now close, what he was pleased to call "the proposition." Proposition in the West does, in fact, mean whatever you at the moment please,--an offer to sell you a mine, a cloud-burst, a glass of whiskey, a steamboat. This time it meant a stranger clad in black, and of a clerical deportment which would in that atmosphere and to a watchful eye be visible for a mile or two. "I reckoned yu' hadn't noticed him," was the Virginian's reply to my ejaculation. "Yes. He set me goin' on the subject a while back. I expect he is another missionary to us pore cow-boys." I seemed from a hundred yards to feel the stranger's forceful personality. It was in his walk--I should better say stalk--as he promenaded along the creek. His hands were behind his back, and there was an air of waiting, of displeased waiting, in his movement. "Yes, he'll be a missionary," said the Virginian, conclusively; and he took to singing, or rather to whining, with his head tilted at an absurd angle upward at the sky: "'Dar is a big Car'lina nigger, About de size of dis chile or p'raps a little bigger, By de name of Jim Crow. Dat what de white folks call him. If ever I sees him I 'tends for to maul him, Just to let de white folks see Such an animos as he Can't walk around the streets and scandalize me.'" The lane which was conducting us to the group of ranch buildings now turned a corner of the meadow, and the Virginian went on with his second verse: "'Great big fool, he hasn't any knowledge. Gosh! how could he, when he's never been to scollege? Neither has I. But I'se come mighty nigh; I peaked through de door as I went by.'" He was beginning a third stanza, but stopped short; a horse had neighed close behind us. "Trampas," said he, without turning his head, "we are home."

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