The Englishman in the West 163 



yet are hardly inchoate. The bagman, who has 

 made plans and brought them to a successful issue 

 ever since he was breeched, abhors a vacuum and 

 tries to fill it. The "filling" amuses the other 

 passengers and does no harm to Johnnie. Soon he 

 is stuffed like a Michaelmas goose, although still 

 unplucked. Alas ! the plucking comes after the 

 roasting. 



He has now, we will say, reached the Pacific 

 Slope. The sense of distance — the miles that 

 stretch between himself and home — affects him 

 strangely. Contrast colours his opinions, dyes them 

 from drab to red. In a country as yet unfenced, 

 young men, he finds, ride where they please, setting 

 their own pace. Johnnie reflects that if his horse 

 should run away there are no barriers to stop him. 

 This robs the adventure of danger. In England are 

 many pitfalls, many hedges and ditches. Who 

 dares ride across country with a loose rein ? But 

 in California — 



Who-whoop ! Let her go, Gallagher ! 



Once in Santa Cruz, a bland Mongolian mounted 

 a horse, and the beast straightway bolted in the 

 direction of some steep cliffs. "Where are you 

 going, Quong Wo ? " yelled an American. 



" I no sabee," replied the Celestial. 



In this spirit of nescience Johnnie vaults into 

 the saddle and gives his bronco the spur. He does 

 not know where he is going, but the bystanders 

 know very well. 



Sometimes he goes over the cliffs, and that is the 

 last of him. Poor, poor fellow ! Who is respon- 

 sible for this pitiful end ? Not he, assuredly. Per- 



