"I'm goin'," he said. Then he got up, and, striking the light, he
inspected his bank account. "I'm sure goin'," he repeated, blowing the
light out, "and I can buy the fatted calf myself, you bet!" for he had
often thought of the bishop's story. "You bet!" he remarked once more in
a muffled voice, and was asleep in a minute. The apothecary was sorry to
have him go, and Honey was deeply grieved.

"I'd pull out with yer," he said, "only I can do business round Yuma and
westward with the pinto."

For three farewell days Lin and Honey roved together in all sorts of
places, where they were welcome, and once more Lin rode a horse and was
in his native element. Then he travelled to Deming, and so through Denver
to Omaha, where he was told that his trunk had been sold for some months.
Besides a suit of clothes for town wear, it had contained a buffalo coat
for his brother--something scarce to see in these days.

"Frank'll have to get along without it," he observed, philosophically,
and took the next eastbound train.

If you journey in a Pullman from Mesa to Omaha without a waistcoat, and
with a silk handkerchief knotted over the collar of your flannel shirt
instead of a tie, wearing, besides, tall, high-heeled boots, a soft, gray
hat with a splendid brim, a few people will notice you, but not the
majority. New Mexico and Colorado are used to these things. As Iowa, with
its immense rolling grain, encompasses you, people will stare a little
more, for you're getting near the East, where cow-punchers are not
understood. But in those days the line of cleavage came sharp-drawn at
Chicago. West of there was still tolerably west, but east of there was