aper out here, Pa, did you ever--?" Pa never did.

Where had I seen these two old people before, and heard this woman talk?

"Where you from?" she asked, but before I could answer, she went on,
"We're from Blue Springs."

Pa wrote "David H. Wagor" on the petition.

One morning Imbert Miller came with his team and buggy to take us out
into a more remote district to get signers. We found two or three
farmers, a couple of business men with their families, and several young
bachelors, each building the regular rough-lumber shack. They were
surprised and elated over the prospect of a post office.

After wandering over a long vacant stretch, Imbert began to look for a
place where he could feed the horses and get us some food. At last we
saw bright new lumber glistening in the sun. As we drove up to the
crudely built cabin we saw an emblem painted on the front--a big black
circle with the letter V in it, and underneath, the word "Rancho."
Standing before the open doorway was an easel with a half-finished
Indian head on it.

"Van Leshout's!" Ida Mary exclaimed.

He came out, unshaven, and sweeping an old paint-daubed hat from his
head with a low bow. "It's been years since I saw a human being," he
exclaimed. "You'll want grub."

Building a cabin, learning to prepare his own meals, getting accustomed
to solitude were new experiences for the cartoonist from Milwaukee.

"Not many courses," he said, as he dragged the spuds out from under the
bunk; "just two--b'iled potatoes, first course; flapjacks and 'lasses,
second course; and coffee."

"You've discovered the Indians," we said, pointing to the canvas.

The Indians, yes, but they hadn't been much of a cure for loneliness.
What were we doing on the reservation?

We brought out the post-office petition and told him about the
newspaper. I explained that I had filed on a claim on the reservation.

"I looked for the crepe on the door as we drove up," I told him.

"You have a claim on the reservation? To hell with the crepe!" he said
in high spirits.

On the road home, seeing Imbert's elation, it occurred to me that I had
never taken into consideration the fact that Imbert Miller lived near
the borders of the reservation and that the "fence" would not separate
him from Ida Mary now. How deeply she had weighed the question I did not
know.

We sent in the post-office petition and the federal authorities promptly
established a post office for the Lower Brule on my homes