his pipe extinct. Looking in at the
saloon, I saw the dealer dealing dumbly to himself. Up in the sky there
was not a cloud nor a bird, and on the earth the lightest straw
lay becalmed. Once I saw the Virginian at an open door, where the
golden-haired landlady stood talking with him. Sometimes I strolled in
the town, and sometimes out on the plain I lay down with my day dreams
in the sagebrush. Pale herds of antelope were in the distance, and near
by the demure prairie-dogs sat up and scrutinized me. Steve, Trampas,
the riot of horsemen, my lost trunk, Uncle Hughey, with his abortive
brides--all things merged in my thoughts in a huge, delicious
indifference. It was like swimming slowly at random in an ocean that was
smooth, and neither too cool nor too warm. And before I knew it, five
lazy imperceptible hours had gone thus. There was the Union Pacific
train, coming as if from shores forgotten.

Its approach was silent and long drawn out. I easily reached town and
the platform before it had finished watering at the tank. It moved up,
made a short halt, I saw my trunk come out of it, and then it moved away
silently as it had come, smoking and dwindling into distance unknown.

Beside my trunk was one other, tied extravagantly with white ribbon. The
fluttering bows caught my attention, and now I suddenly saw a perfectly
new sight. The Virginian was further down the platform, doubled up with
laughing. It was good to know that with sufficient cause he could laugh
like this; a smile had thus far been his limit of external mirth.
Rice now flew against my hat, and hissing gusts of rice spouted on the
platform. All the men left in Medicine Bow appeared like magic, and more
rice choked the atmosphere. Through the general clamor a cracked voice
said, "Don't hit her in the eye, boys!" and Uncle Hughey rushed proudly
by me with an actual wife on his arm. She could easily have been his
granddaughter. They got at once into a vehicle. The trunk was lifted in
behind. And amid cheers, rice, shoes, and broad felicitations, the pair
drove out of town, Uncle Hughey shrieking to the horses and the bride
waving unabashed adieus.

The word had come over the wires from Laramie: "Uncle Hughey has made
it this time. Expect him on to-day's number two." And Medicine Bow had
expected him.

Many words arose on the departure of the new-married couple.

"Who's she?"

"What's he got for her?"

"Got a gold mine up Bear Creek."

And after commen