doesn't actually chuck me over."

After that there was silence, so far as human voices went, for a time.

"How much farther is it, Dick?" came presently from the girl.

"Not more than ten--well, maybe twelve--miles. You'll think it's
twenty, though, if the rain strikes 'Dobe Flat before we do. That's just
what it's going to do, or I'm badly mistaken. Hawk! Get along, there!"

"We haven't an umbrella with us," complained the tired one. "Beatrice,
where did you put my raglan?"

"In the big wagon, mama, along with the trunks and guns and saddles, and
Martha and Katherine and James."

"Dear me! I certainly told you, Beatrice--"

"But, mama, you gave it to me the last thing, after the maids were in
the wagon, and said you wouldn't wear it. There isn't room here for
another thing. I feel like a slice of pressed chicken."

"Auntie, I want some p'essed chicken. I'm hungry, auntie! I want some
chicken and a cookie--and I want some ice-cream."

"You won't get any," said the young woman, with the tone of finality.
"You can't eat me, Dorman, and I'm the only thing that looks good enough
to eat."

"Beatrice!" This, of course, from her mother, whose life seemed