atmospheah onhealthful in consequence. Hearin’ that the quiet solitude of
Lost Trail is what he needs, he lit out with the following circumstance
thereof happenin’. One day something in his harness giv’ way—and he
recollects seein’ a boot sunnin’ itself back in the road ’bout a quartah
of a mile. An’ he figgahs he’ll borry a strip of leather off the boot to
mend his harness. Back he goes and finds it has a kind of loaded feelin’.
So my friend investigates—and I be blanked if there wasn’t a foot and leg
inside of it."

Miss Carmichael had always exercised a super-feminine self-restraint in
the case of casual mice, and it served her in the present instance.
Instead of screaming, she said, after the suppression of a gasp or two:

"Thank you so much, but I won’t detain you any longer. Your information
makes Lost Trail even more interesting than I had expected."

Besides, Miss Carmichael had a faint suspicion that this might be a
preconcerted plan to terrify the "lady tenderfoot," and she prided herself
on being equal to the situation. The time at her disposal before the stage
would embark on that unknown sea of prairies she spent in the delectable
pastime of shopping. The financial and social interests of the town seemed
to converge in Hugous & Co.’s "trading store," where Miss Carmichael
invested in an extra package of needles for the mere excitement of being
one of the shoppers, though her aunt Adelaide had stocked the little
plaid-silk work-bag to repletion with every variety of needle known to
woman. She pricked up her ears, meanwhile, at some of the purchases made
by the cow-boys for their camp-larders—devilled ham, sardines, canned
tomatoes heading the list as prime favorites. Did these strapping border
lads live by the fruit of the tin alone? Apparently yes, with the
sophisticated accompaniment of soda biscuit, to judge by the quantity of