uch like those worn by farmers in the fields
everywhere. They swung from their saddles as easily as though they wore
breeches and boots.

"How did you learn we were here?" I asked, curious to know how news
could travel over these outlying spaces.

"Huey Dunn told it over at the road ranch while I was waiting there for
the mail," the oldest of the girls explained, "so I just rode around and
picked up the girls."

One would think they lived in the same city block, so nonchalant was she
over the round-up, but "only eighteen miles," she explained easily.

Her name was Wilomene White, she told us, and she came from Chicago. She
had been out here most of the time for almost two years--what with
leaves of absence in the winter prolonging the term of residence. She
was a short, plump woman whom we judged to be in her early thirties, and
she had a sense of humor that was an invaluable asset in a country like
that. She was an artist and head of her father's household. Her brother
was a prominent surgeon in Chicago and for several years Wilomene,
besides being active in club work, had been on the board of the
Presbyterian Hospital there.

When her health failed from overwork and strenuous public activities,
her brother ordered a complete change and plenty of pure fresh air. So
with a little group of acquaintances she had come west and taken up a
homestead. It was easy to understand that she had found a change--and
fresh air. What surprised us was that she took such delight in the
country and the pioneer life about her that she no longer wanted to
return to her full life in Chicago.

The three girls stayed on and on, talking. Girl homesteaders had no
reason for going home. Days and nights, days of the week and month were
all the same to them. There were so few places to go, and the distance
was so great that it was a custom to stay long enough to make a visit
worth while. The moon would come up about ten that night--so nothing
mattered. Afraid to ride home in the middle of the night? What was there
to fear out here?

Ida Mary and I still hesitated about going far from the shack. The
prairie about us was so unsettled, so lacking in trees that there were
practically no landmarks for the unaccustomed eye to follow. We became
confused as to direction and distance. "Three miles from the buffalo
waller," our locator had said. "No trouble to locate your claim." But if
we got far enough away from it we couldn't even find the buffal