the soft, white "Stetson" of the range-land, and a silk handkerchief
knotted loosely around the throat, and spurs and riding-gloves. I've often
wondered if the range has ever seen just that wedding of the East and the
West before in man's apparel.

We'd scarcely got started when the wind caught Frosty's coat-tails and
slapped them down along the flanks of his horse--an incident that the
horse met with stern disapproval. He went straight up into the air, and
then bucked as long as his wind held out, the while Frosty's quirt kept
time with the tails of his coat.

When the two had calmed down a bit, the other boys profited by Frosty's
experience, and tucked the coat-tails snugly under them--and those who
wore the Tuxedos congratulated themselves on their foresight. We were a
merry party, and we were willing to publish the fact.

When we had overtaken the others we were still merrier, for the
spectacular contingent plumed themselves like peacocks on their
fearsomeness, and guyed us conventionally garbed fellows unmercifully.

When the thirty of us filed into the long, barn-like hall where they were
having the dance, I believe I can truthfully say that we created a
sensation. That "ripple of excitement" which we read about so often in
connection with belles and balls went round the room. Frosty and I led the
way, and the rest of the "biscuit-shooter brigade," as the others called
us, followed two by two. Then came the real Wild West show, with their
hats tilted far back on their heads and brazen faces which it pained me
to contemplate. We arrived during that humming hash which comes just after
a number, and every one stared impolitely, and some of them not
overcordially. I began to wonder if we hadn't done a rather ill-bred