man came cantering toward me. "Hello!" he saluted, as he drew up
beside the wagon. "Goin' up to the house? Better not. Mrs. Louderer is
not at home, and there's no one there but Greasy Pete. He's on a tear;
been drunk two days, I'm tellin' you. He's _full_ of mischief. 'T ain't
safe around old Greasy. I advise you to go some'eres else." "Well," I
asked, "where _can_ I go?" "Danged if I know," he replied, "'lessen it
's to Kate Higbee's. She lives about six or seven miles west. She ain't
been here long, but I guess you can't miss her place. Just jog along
due west till you get to Red Gulch ravine, then turn north for a couple
of miles. You'll see her cabin up against a cedar ridge. Well, so
'long!" He dug his spurs into his cayuse's side and rode on.

Tears of vexation so blinded me that I could scarcely see to turn the
team, but ominous sounds and wild yells kept coming from the house, so
I made what haste I could to get away from such an unpleasant
neighborhood. Soon my spirits began to rise. Kate Higbee, I reflected,
was likely to prove to be an interesting person. All Westerners are
likable, with the possible exception of Greasy Pete. I rather looked
forward to my visit. But my guide had failed to mention the buttes; so,
although I jogged as west as I knew how, I found I had to wind around a
butte about ever so often. I crossed a ravine with equal frequency, and
all looked alike. It is not surprising that soon I could not guess
where I was. We could turn back and retrace our tracks, but actual
danger lay there; so it seemed wiser to push on, as there was, perhaps,
no greater danger than discomfort ahead. The sun hung like a big red
ball ready to drop into the hazy distance when we came clear of the
buttes and down on to a broad plateau, on which grass grew plentifully.
That encouraged me because the horses need not suffer, and if I could
make the scanty remnant of our lunch do for the children's supper and
breakfast, we could camp in comfort, for we had blankets. But we must
find water. I stood up in the wagon and, shading my eyes against the
sun's level light, was looking out in the most promising directions
when I noticed that the plateau's farther side was bounded by a cedar
ridge, and, better yet, a smoke was slowly rising, column-like, against
the dun prospect. That, I reasoned, must be my destination. Even the
horses livened their paces, and in a little while we were there.

But no house greeted our eyes,--just