n
material; all yuh got to do is foller the Lazy Eight through till
shipping time."

Thurston had not intended learning to be a cow-puncher, or following
the Lazy Eight or any other hieroglyphic through 'till shipping
time--whenever that was.

But facing Hank Graves, he had not the heart to tell him so, or that he
had planned to spend only a month--or six weeks at most--in the West,
gathering local color and perhaps a plot or two? and a few types.
Thurston was great on types.

The train slowed at a little station with a dismal red section house in
the immediate background and a red-fronted saloon close beside. "Here
we are," cried Graves, "and I ain't sorry; only I wisht you was going
to stop right now. But I'll look for yuh in three or four days at the
outside. So-long, Bud. Remember, the Lazy Eight's your hang-out."

CHAPTER II. LOCAL COLOR IN THE RAW

For the rest of the way Thurston watched the green hills slide by--and
the greener hollows--and gave himself up to visions of Fort Benton;
visions of creaking bull-trains crawling slowly, like giant brown worms,
up and down the long hill; of many high-piled bales of buffalo hides
upon the river bank, and clamorous little steamers churning up against
the current; the Fort Benton that had, for many rushing miles, filled
and colored the speech of Hank Graves and stimulated his childish
half-memory.

But when he reached the place and wandered aimlessly about the streets,
the vision faded into half-resentful realization that these things were
no more forever. For the bull-trains, a roundup outfit clattered
noisily out of town and disappeared in an elusive dust-cloud; for the
gay-blanketed Indians slipping like painted shadows from view, stray
cow-boys galloped into town, slid from their saddles and clanked with
dragging rowels into the nearest saloon, or the post-office. Between
whiles the town cuddled luxuriously down in the deep little valley
and slept while the river, undisturbed by pompous steamers, murmured a
lullaby.

It was not the Fort Benton he had come far to see, so that on the second
day he went away up the long hill that shut out the world and, until the
east-bound train came from over the prairies, paced the depot platform
impatiently with never a vision to keep him company.

For a long time the gaze of Thurston clung fascinated to the wide
prairie land, feeling again the stir in his blood. Then, when a deep cut
shut from him the sight of the wil