e a closing sea, covering without a sign or ripple
the great country which lay sunk beneath.

"A man might think he'd dreamed he'd saw that place," said Lin to the
foreman, and wheeled his horse to the edge again. "She's sure there,
though," he added, gazing down. For a moment his boy face grew
thoughtful. "Shucks!" said he then, abruptly, "where's any joy in
money that's comin' till it arrives? I have most forgot the feel o'
spot-cash."

He turned his horse away from the far-winding vision of the river, and
took a sharp jog after the foreman, who had not been waiting for him.
Thus they crossed the eighteen miles of high plain, and came down to
Fort Washakie, in the valley of Little Wind, before the day was hot.

His roll of wages once jammed in his pocket like an old handkerchief,
young Lin precipitated himself out of the post-trader's store and away
on his horse up the stream among the Shoshone tepees to an unexpected
entertainment--a wolf-dance. He had meant to go and see what the new
waiter-girl at the hotel looked like, but put this off promptly to
attend the dance. This hospitality the Shoshone Indians were extending
to some visiting Ute friends, and the neighborhood was assembled to
watch the ring of painted naked savages.

The post-trader looked after the galloping Lin. "What's he quitting his
job for?" he asked the foreman.

"Same as most of 'em quit."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Been satisfactory?"

"Never had a boy more so. Good-hearted, willing, a plumb dare-devil with
a horse."

"And worthless," suggested the post-trader.

"Well--not yet. He's headed that way."

"Been punching cattle long?"

"Came in the country about seventy-eight, I believe, and rode for the
Bordeaux Outfit most a year, and quit. Blew in at Cheyenne till he went
broke, and worked over on to the Platte. Rode for the C. Y. Outfit most
a year, and quit. Blew in at Buffalo. Rode for Balaam awhile on Butte
Creek. Broke his leg. Went to the Drybone Hospital, and when the
fracture was commencing to knit pretty good he broke it again at the
hog-ranch across the bridge. Next time you're in Cheyenne get Dr. Barker
to tell you about that. McLean drifted to Green River last year and went
up over on to Snake, and up Snake, and was around with a prospecting
outfit on Galena Creek by Pitchstone Canyon. Seems he got interested
in some Dutchwoman up there, but she had trouble--died, I think they
said--and he came down by Meteetsee to Wind