ou've got another 'go' to Washington, hain't y'?"

Laramie nodded and got down from his horse. Ben, removing the saddle,
asked more questions--none of them important--and after putting up the
horse the two men started for the house. Its rude walls were well laid
up in good logs on which rested a timbered roof, shingled.

A living-room with a fireplace roughly fashioned in stone made up the
larger interior of the cabin. To the right of the fireplace a kitchen
opened off the living-room and adjoining this, to the right as one
entered the front door, was a bedroom. To the left stood a small
table, on which were scattered a few old books, a metal lamp and
well-thumbed copies of old magazines. Beside the table stood a heavy
oak Morris chair of the kind sold by mail-order houses. Two other
chairs, heavily built in oak, were disposed about the room, and on the
left of the entrance--there was but one door--stood a cot bed. On the
floor between the door and the fireplace lay a huge silver tip
bearskin, the head set up by an Indian taxidermist. It was some time
afterward when Kate saw the cabin, but she remembered, even after it
lay in ruins, just how the interior had looked.

The four walls were really more furnished than the rest of the room.
To the right and left of the fireplace hung twin bighorn heads, and elk
and stag antlers on the other walls supplied racks for an ample variety
of rifles, polished by familiar use and kept, through love of trusty
friends, in good order. Trophies of the hunt, disposed sometimes in
effective and sometimes in mere man fashion, flanked the racks and
showed the tastes of the owner of the isolated habitation; for few
trails led within miles of Laramie's ranch on the Turkey.

"Breakfast?" Simeral looked at his companion, who stood vacantly
musing at the door of the kitchen.

"Coffee," answered Laramie, taking off his jacket, laying his Colt's on
the table and slipping off his breast harness.

"I got no bread," announced Ben, to forestall objection. "Flour's low
'n' I didn't bake."

"Crackers will do."

"Ain't no crackers, neither," returned Ben, raising his voice and his
smile in self-defense.

"Give me coffee and bacon," suggested Laramie, impatiently.

"'N' I'll fry some potatoes," muttered Ben, shuffling with a show of
speed into the kitchen, and calling inquiries back in his unsteady
voice to the living-room, patiently digging at Laramie for scraps of
news from Sleepy C