never-ending Kansas corn-fields. I do not know whether it was their length
or their treeless monotony, but I grew tired looking at them.

From then on I began to take some notice of my fellow-travelers. The
conductor proved to be an agreeable old fellow; and the train-boy, though I
mistrusted his advances because he tried to sell me everything from
chewing-gum to mining stock, turned out to be pretty good company. The
Negro porter had such a jolly voice and laugh that I talked to him whenever
I got the chance. Then occasional passengers occupied the seat opposite me
from town to town. They were much alike, all sunburned and loud-voiced, and
it looked as though they had all bought their high boots and wide hats at
the same shop.

The last traveller to face me was a very heavy man with a great bullet head
and a shock of light hair. His blue eyes had a bold flash, his long
mustache drooped, and there was something about him that I did not like. He
wore a huge diamond in the bosom of his flannel shirt, and a leather
watch-chain that was thick and strong enough to have held up a town-clock.

"Hot," he said, as he mopped his moist brow.

"Not so hot as it was," I replied.

"Sure not. We're climbin' a little. He's whistlin' for Dodge City now."

"Dodge City?" I echoed, with interest. The name brought back vivid scenes
from certain yellow-backed volumes, and certain uncomfortable memories of
my father's displeasure. "Isn't this the old cattle town where there used
to be so many fights?"