the time of my baptism I wore no beard whatever.) And how I hated a
boy with a high-sounding, unnicknamable given name!--with his round
white collar and his long glossy curls! I dare say he hated the name,
the collar, and the curls even more than I did. Whenever you run
across a name carded in this stilted fashion, "A. Thingumy Soandso",
you may make up your mind at once that the owner is ashamed of his
first name and is trying manfully to live it down and eventually
forgive his parents.

Warburton was graduated from West Point, ticketed to a desolate
frontier post, and would have worn out his existence there but for
his guiding star, which was always making frantic efforts to bolt its
established orbit. One day he was doing scout duty, perhaps half a
mile in advance of the pay-train, as they called the picturesque
caravan which, consisting of a canopied wagon and a small troop of
cavalry in dingy blue, made progress across the desert-like plains of
Arizona. The troop was some ten miles from the post, and as there had
been no sign of Red Eagle all that day, they concluded that the rumor
of his being on a drunken rampage with half a dozen braves was only a
rumor. Warburton had just passed over a roll of earth, and for a
moment the pay-train had dropped out of sight. It was twilight;
opalescent waves of heat rolled above the blistered sands. A pale
yellow sky, like an inverted bowl rimmed with delicate blue and
crimson hues, encompassed the world. The bliss of solitude fell on
him, and, being something of a poet, he rose to the stars. The smoke
of his corncob pipe trailed lazily behind him. The horse under him
was loping along easily. Suddenly the animal lifted his head, and his
brown ears went forward.

At Warburton's left, some hundred yards distant, was a clump of osage