blankets, "she don't look much bigger than me own. But distances is
mighty deceivin' in this here open-face country." For a moment he
stood on the hillside, a gaunt, lonely figure, gazing out across the
limitless mesas. Then he jogged down the grade, whistling.

As he drew near the ranch his whistling ceased and his expression
changed to one of quizzical uncertainty. "That's the sign, all
right,--'American Hotel,'--but the hotel part ain't livin' up to the
sign. But some hotels is like that; mostly front."

He opened the ranch-house gate and strode to the door. He knocked
timidly. Then he dropped his blanket-roll and stepped to a window.
Through the grimy glass he saw an empty, board-walled room, a slant of
sunlight across the floor, and in the sunlight a rusted stove. He
walked back to the gateway and stood gazing at the sign. He peered
round helplessly. Then a slow grin illumined his face. "Why," he
exclaimed, "it's--it's a joke. Reckon the proprietor must be out
huntin' up trade. And accordin' to that he won't be back direct."

He wandered about the place like a stray cat in a strange attic,
timorous and curious. Ordinarily he would have considered himself
fortunate. The house offered shelter and seclusion. There was clear
cold water to drink and a stove on which to cook. As he thought of the
stove the latitude and longitude of the "joke" dawned upon him with
full significance. He drank at the water-hole and, gathering a few
sticks, built a fire. From his blankets he took a tin can, drew a wad
of newspaper from it, and made coffee. Then he cast about for
something to eat. "Now, if I was a cow--" he began, when he suddenly
remembered the rabbit. "Reckon he's got relations hoppin' around in
them bushes." He picked up a stick and started for the gate.