Trail. This young man, whose accent, clothes, and manner proclaimed him
"from the East," whither, in all probability, he would shortly return if
he did not mend his ways, disclaimed all knowledge of the place as if it
were an undesirable acquaintance. But before he could deny it thrice, a
man who had heard the cabalistic name was making his way towards the desk,
the pride of the traveller radiating from every feature.

The cosmopolite who knew Lost Trail was the type of man who is born to be
a Kentucky colonel, and perhaps may have achieved his destiny before
coming to this "No Man’s Land," for reasons into which no one inquired,
and which were obviously no one’s business. They knew him here by the name
of "Lone Tooth Hank," and he wore what had been, in the days of his
colonelcy—or its equivalent—a frock-coat, restrained by the lower button,
and thus establishing a waist-line long after nature had had the last word
to say on the subject. With this he wore the sombrero of the country, and
the combination carried a rakish effect that was positively sinister.

The scornful clerk introduced Mary as a young lady inquiring about some
place in the bad-lands. Off came the sombrero with a sweep, and Lone Tooth
smiled in a way that accented the dental solitaire to which he owed his
name. Miss Carmichael, concealing her terror of this casual cavalier,
inquired if he could tell her the distance to Lost Trail.

"I sho’ly can, and with, consid’able pleasure." The sombrero completed a
semicircular sweep and arrived in the neighborhood of Mr. Hank’s heart in
significance of his vassalage to the fair sex. He proceeded:

"Lost Trail sutney is right lonesome. A friend of mine gets a little too
playful fo’ the evah-increasin’ meetropolitan spirit of this yere camp,
and tries a little tahget practice on the main bullyvard, an’ finds the