was the best pack-horse we had. Bar an occasional
saunter into the brush when he got tired of the trail,
we had no fault to find with him. He carried a heavy
pack, was as sure-footed as Bullet, as sagacious on
the trail as Dinkey, and he always attended strictly
to his own business. Moreover he knew that business
thoroughly, knew what should be expected of him,
accomplished it well and quietly. His disposition
was dignified but lovable. As long as you treated
him well, he was as gentle as you could ask. But
once let Buckshot get it into his head that he was
being imposed on, or once let him see that your
temper had betrayed you into striking him when
he thought he did not deserve it, and he cut loose
vigorously and emphatically with his heels. He
declined to be abused.

There remains but Lily. I don't know just how
to do justice to Lily--the "Lily maid." We named
her that because she looked it. Her color was a pure
white, her eye was virginal and silly, her long bang
strayed in wanton carelessness across her face and
eyes, her expression was foolish, and her legs were
long and rangy. She had the general appearance of
an overgrown school-girl too big for short dresses and
too young for long gowns;--a school-girl named
Flossie, or Mamie, or Lily. So we named her that.

At first hers was the attitude of the timid and
shrinking tenderfoot. She stood in awe of her