"The Last Rose of Summer" as an aria in a
manner that would have been encored in San Francisco. He responded with
a few staccato notes, and the scene ended by their rushing into each
other's arms and waltzing down the stage with abandon.

The Indians sat motionless on their horses, not even exchanging comments
among themselves. They were evidently too utterly astonished by the
goings on before them to have any other sentiment as yet beyond pure
amazement. Here were two richly-dressed pale-faces, such as only lived
in cities, out in the middle of an uninhabitable desert, in the freezing
midnight, having a variety and minstrel show all to themselves, and, to
make the exhibition the more unaccountable, without apparently seeing
their auditors at all. Had they started up the show after being
captured, Indian cunning would have recognized in it a device to save
their lives, but the two had been at it before the party rode up,--
had, in fact, first attracted attention by their gyrations, which were
visible for miles out on the moony plain.

Lombard, without ever letting his eyes rest a moment on the Indians so
as to indicate that he saw them, had still managed by looks askance and
sweeping glances to keep close watch upon their demeanor, and noted with
prodigious relief that his wild scheme was succeeding better than he had
dared to hope. Without any break in the entertainment he communicated
his reassurance to Miss Dwyer by singing, to the tune of "My Country,
'tis of Thee," the following original hymn:--

"We 're doing admir'blee--
They 're heap much tickledee:
Only keep on."

To which she responded, to the lugubrious air of "John Brown's Body:"--

"Oh, what do you s'pose they 'll go for to do,
Oh, what do you s'pose they 'll go for to do,
Oh, what do you s'pose they 'll go for to do,
When we can sing no more?"

A thing may be ridiculous without being amusing, and neither of these
two felt the least inclination to smile at each other's poetry. After
duly joining in the chorus of "Glory, Hallelujah!" Lombard endeavored
to cheer his companion by words adapted to the inspiriting air of "Rally
Bound the Flag, Boys." This was followed by a series of popular airs,
with solos, duets, and choruses.

But this sort of thing could not go on forever. Lombard was becoming
exhausted in voice and legs, and as for Miss Dwyer, he was expecting
to see her drop from moment to moment: Indee