of the desert. Baskets of chickens were strapped to many of the wagons,
but whether the unhappy fowls were designed to supply fresh eggs and an
occasional fricassée, or were taken for the pleasure of their company,
there was no means of determining short of impertinent cross-questioning.
Sometimes a cow, and invariably a dog, formed one of the family party, and
an edifying _esprit de corps_ seemed to dwell among them all.

Lone Tooth Hank, in his capacity of man about town, stood on the steps of
Hugous’ watching the preparations; and, seeing Miss Carmichael, approached
with the air of an old and tried family friend.

"Do I obsehve yu regyarding oweh ’settleahs,’ called settleahs ’cause they
nevah settle?" Hank laughed gently, as one who has made a joke meet for
ladies. "I’ve known whole famblies to bohn an’ raise right in one of them
wagons; and tuhn out a mighty fine, endurin’ lot, too, this hyeh
prospectin’ round afteh somethin’ they wouldn’t reco’nize if they met.
Gits to be a habit same as drink. They couldn’t live in a house same as
humans, not if yu filled their gyarden with nuggets an’ their well with
apple-jack."

Miss Carmichael looked attentive but said nothing. In truth, she was more
afraid of Hank, his obvious gallantry, and his grewsome tales of boots
with legs in them than she was of the unknown terrors of Lost Trail.

"I believe that is my stage," she said, as a red conveyance not unlike a
circus wagon halted at some little distance from the trading-store. And as
she spoke she saw four of her companions of the breakfast-table heading
towards the stage, each with a piece of her precious luggage. Mary
Carmichael was precipitated in a sudden panic; she had heard tales of the
pranks of these playful Western squires—a little gun-play to induce the