ed to them things at more'n a
thousand _bailes_ here and in Texas, and if this is Art, she's got to
do different."

"Gentlemen," Dan Anderson suggested, "let us go in and watch Tom Osby
gettin' his savage breast soothed."

Tom Osby started as he saw shadows on the floor; but it was too late.
He was discovered sitting on the bed, in rapt attention to the machine
industriously grinding away upon the table. Dan Anderson, with great
gravity, took up a collection of four pins from each of the newcomers
and handed them to Tom. "No bent ones," said he. "It's a good show;
but, tell us, what are you doin'? This is worse than croquet. And we
asked you in on our game, too. Ain't you playin' it just a little bit
lonesome this way?"

Tom frowned in perturbation. "Well, I was goin' to spring her on you
about to-night, up at the Lone Star," said he; "but I couldn't wait.
Ain't she a yaller flower? Say, I played her every night from Vegas
down for five nights--Pecos Crossin', Salt Wells, Maxwell's, Hocradle
Canon, Jack's Peak--all the way. After I'd get my horses hobbled out
and get my bed made down, I'd set her up on the front seat and turn her
loose. Coyotes--you'd ought to heard 'em! When you wind her up plumb
tight and turn the horn the right direction, you can hear her about a
mile."

"That," said Dan Anderson, "must have been a gladsome journey."

"For sure," said Tom Osby. "Look at the reecords--whole box of 'em.
Some of the stylishest singers in the business are in here. Some of
'em's Dago, I reckon. Here's one, 'Ah, no Ginger.'"

"That, probably," said Dan Anderson, "is 'Ah, non Giunge.' Yes, it's
Dago, but not bad for a lady with a four-story voice."

"Here's another," said Tom; "'Down Mobile.'"

"I know that one," said Curly.

"Let me see it," said the impresario in charge. "Ah, as I thought;
it's 'La Donna e Mobile.' This, bein' translated, means that any lady
can change her mind occasionally, whether she comes from Mobile or not."

"That's no dream," said Curly. "Onct on the Brazos--"

"Never mind, Curly. Just feed that 'Donna' into the machine, Tom, and
let's hear how it sounds once more."

And so Tom Osby, proud in his new possession, played for his audience,
there in the adobe by the _arroyo_; played all his records, or nearly
all; played them over and over again. It was nearly night when we left
the place.

"Excuse me," said Dan Anderson to me, with a motion as though adjusting
a cr