have been observed at all by even the keenest eye, and it would have
needed yet more time to assure an observer even now that the dot was a
moving object. Under the shifting play of the prairie sun the little
object appeared now dark, now light in colour, but became gradually
more distinct. It came always crawling steadily on. Presently an
occasional side-blown puff of dust added a certain heraldry, and thus
finally the white-topped wagon and its plodding team came fully into
view, crawling ever persistently from the East into the West.

Meantime, from the direction of the north, there came travelling across
the prairie another cloud of dust more rapid than that stirred up by
the slow-moving emigrant wagon. Sam, the stage driver, was crossing on
his regular buckboard trip from Ellisville to Plum Centre, and was now
nearly half-way on his journey. Obviously the courses of these two
vehicles must intersect, and at the natural point of this intersection
the driver of the faster pulled up and waited for the other. "Movers"
were not yet so common in that region that the stage driver, natural
news agent, must not pause for investigation.

The driver of the wagon, a tall, dark man, drew rein with a grave
salutation, his tired horses standing with drooping heads while there
took place one of the pregnant conversations of the Plains.

"Mornin', friend," said Sam.

"Mornin', sir," said the other.

"Which way you headin', friend?" asked Sam.

"Well, sir," came the answer, slowly, "I rather reckon you've got me.