"Out in the middle of the Monterey Prairie," he said. "You can't live in
this country 'less you settle near the timber."

"Instead of stopping at this farm," I said, "I should think he'd have
gone on to the next settlement. Horses lame?"

"Best horses I've seen on the road," was the answer. "Kentucky horses.
Gowdy comes from Kentucky. Stopped because his wife is bad sick."

"Where's he?" I asked.

"Out shooting geese," said he. "Don't seem to fret his gizzard about his
wife; but they say she's struck with death."

All the while I was cooking my supper I was thinking of this woman,
"struck with death," and her husband out shooting geese, while she
struggled with our last great antagonist alone. One of the women came
over from the other camp with her husband, and I spoke to her about it.

"This man," said she, "jest acts out what all the men feel. A womern is
nothing but a thing to want as long as she is young and can work. But
this womern hain't quite alone. She's got a little sister with her that
knows a hull lot better how to do for her than any darned man would!"

It grew dark and cold--a keen, still, frosty spring evening which filled
the sky with stars and bespoke a sunny day for to-morrow, with settled
warmer weather. The geese and ducks were still calling from the sky, and
not far away the prairie wolves were howling about one of the many
carcasses of dead animals which the stream of immigration had already
dropped by the wayside. I was dead sleepy, and was about to turn in,