d no further trouble."

"Pretty good," said Will, patting the boy's shoulder. "Pretty good. You
have some of the Cody blood in you, that's plain."

The next day was passed in looking over the ranch, and the day following
we visited, at Will's solicitation, a spot that he had named "The Garden
of the Gods." Our thoughtful host had sent ranchmen ahead to prepare the
place for our reception, and we were as surprised and delighted as he
could desire. A patch on the river's brink was filled with tall and
stately trees and luxuriant shrubs, laden with fruits and flowers, while
birds of every hue nested and sang about us. It was a miniature
paradise in the midst of a desert of sage-brush and buffalo-grass. The
interspaces of the grove were covered with rich green grass, and in one
of these nature-carpeted nooks the workmen, under Will's direction,
had put up an arbor, with rustic seats and table. Herein we ate our
luncheon, and every sense was pleasured.

As it was not likely that the women of the party would ever see the
place again, so remote was it from civilization, belonging to the as yet
uninhabited part of the Western plains, we decided to explore it, in
the hope of finding something that would serve as a souvenir. We had
not gone far when we found ourselves out of Eden and in the desert that
surrounded it, but it was the desert that held our great discovery. On
an isolated elevation stood a lone, tall tree, in the topmost branches
of which reposed what seemed to be a large package. As soon as our
imaginations got fairly to work the package became the hidden treasure
of some prairie bandit, and while two of the party returned for our
masculine forces the rest of us kept guard over the cachet in the
treetop. Will came up with the others, and when we pointed out to
him the supposed chest of gold he smiled, saying that he was sorry to
dissipate the hopes which the ladies had built in the tree, but that
they were not gazing upon anything of intrinsic value, but on the
open sepulcher of some departed brave. "It is a wonder," he remarked,
laughingly, "you women didn't catch on to the skeleton in that closet."

As we retraced our steps, somewhat crestfallen, we listened to the tale
of another of the red man's superstitions.

When some great chief, who particularly distinguishes himself on the
war-path, loses his life on the battle-field without losing his scalp,
he is regarded as especially favored by the Great Spirit. A m