a big camp-fire. A lean old man
sat on a log-end and surveyed us indifferently. On the ground lay a
large canvas-covered pack, apparently unopened. An old saddle lay up
against a cedar-trunk. Two old horses grazed near. I was powerfully
disappointed. You know misery loves company; so I ventured to say,
"Good-evening." He didn't stir, but he grunted, "Hello." I knew then
that he was not a fossil, and hope began to stir in my heart. Soon he
asked, "Are you goin' somewheres or jist travelin'?" I told him I had
started somewhere, but reckoned I must be traveling, as I had not
gotten there. Then he said, "My name is Hiram K. Hull. Whose woman are
you?" I confessed to belonging to the house of Stewart. "Which
Stewart?" he persisted,--"C.R., S.W., or H.C.?" Again I owned up
truthfully. "Well," he continued, "what does he mean by letting you gad
about in such onconsequential style?"

_Sometimes_ a woman gets too angry to talk. Don't you believe that? No?
Well, they do, I assure you, for I was then. He seemed grown to the
log. As he had made no move to help me, without answering him I
clambered out of the wagon and began to take the horses loose. "Ho!" he
said; "are you goin' to camp here?" "Yes, I am," I snapped. "Have you
any objections?" "Oh, no, none that won't keep," he assured me. It has
always been a theory of mine that when we become sorry for ourselves we
make our misfortunes harder to bear, because we lose courage and can't
think without bias; so I cast about me for something to be glad about,
and the comfort that at least we were safer with a simpleton than near
a drunken Mexican came to me; so I began to view the situation with a
little more tolerance.

After attending to the horses I began to make the children comfortable.
My unwilling host sat silently on his log, drawing long and hard at his
stubby old pipe. How very little there was left of our lunch! Just for
meanness I asked him to share with us, and, if you'll believe me, he
did. He gravely ate bread-rims and scraps of meat until there was not
one bit left for even the baby's breakfast. Then he drew the back of
his hand across his mouth and remarked, "I should think when you go off
on a ja'nt like this you'd have a well-filled mess-box." Again speech
failed me.

Among some dwarf willows not far away a spring bubbled. I took the
kiddies there to prepare them for rest. When I returned to the fire,
what a transformation! The pack was unrolled and blankets wer