ll days Lin and Honey roved together in all sorts of
places, where they were welcome, and once more Lin rode a horse and
was in his native element. Then he travelled to Deming, and so through
Denver to Omaha, where he was told that his trunk had been sold for
some months. Besides a suit of clothes for town wear, it had contained a
buffalo coat for his brother--something scarce to see in these days.

"Frank'll have to get along without it," he observed, philosophically,
and took the next eastbound train.

If you journey in a Pullman from Mesa to Omaha without a waistcoat, and
with a silk handkerchief knotted over the collar of your flannel shirt
instead of a tie, wearing, besides, tall, high-heeled boots, a soft,
gray hat with a splendid brim, a few people will notice you, but not
the majority. New Mexico and Colorado are used to these things. As Iowa,
with its immense rolling grain, encompasses you, people will stare a
little more, for you're getting near the East, where cow-punchers are
not understood. But in those days the line of cleavage came sharp-drawn
at Chicago. West of there was still tolerably west, but east of
there was east indeed, and the Atlantic Ocean was the next important
stopping-place. In Lin's new train, good gloves, patent-leathers, and
silence prevailed throughout the sleeping-car, which was for Boston
without change. Had not home memories begun impetuously to flood
his mind, he would have felt himself conspicuous. Town clothes and
conventions had their due value with him. But just now the boy's
single-hearted thoughts were far from any surroundings, and he was
murmuring to himself, "To-morrow! tomorrow night!"

There were ladies in that blue plush car for Boston who looked at Lin
for thirty miles at a stretch; and by the time Albany was reached
the next day one or two of them commented that he was the most
attractive-looking man they had ever seen! Whereas, beyond his tallness,
and wide-open, jocular eyes, eyes that seemed those of a not highly
conscientious wild animal, there was nothing remarkable about young
Lin except stage effect. The conductor had been annoyed to have such
a passenger; but the cow-puncher troubled no one, and was extremely
silent. So evidently was he a piece of the true frontier that curious
and hopeful fellow-passengers, after watching him with diversion, more
than once took a seat next to him. He met their chatty inquiries with
monosyllables so few and so unprofitable in