the kitchen
bearing the cook's wash-tub and a pail of warm water. The tub he
deposited and filled in an obscure corner of the bunkroom, and shortly
thereafter was stripped to the buff, laboriously bathing himself. The
bath finished, Circuit carefully shaved, combed his hair, and dressed
himself in his cleanest and best.

While he was dressing, Bill Ball caught breath enough to whisper to
Lee: "By cripes! I've got it. Circuit's got a hunch some feller's
tryin' to rope an' hobble his gal, an' he's goin' to ask Tom for his
time, fork a cayuse, an' hit a lope for a railroad that'll take him to
whatever little ol' humanyville his gal lives at."

"Lope hell," answered Lee; "it's a run he's goin' to hit, with one spur
in the shoulder an' th' other in th' flank. Why, th' way he's throwin'
that whisker-cutter at his face, he's plumb shore to dewlap and wattle
his fool self till you could spot him in airy herd o' humans as fer as
you could see him."

But Bill's guess proved wide of the mark.

As soon as Circuit's dressing was finished and he had received
assurance from the angular fragment of mirror nailed above the
wash-basin that his hair was smoothly combed and a new neckerchief
neatly knotted, he produced paper and an envelope from his war sack,
seated himself at the end of the long dinner-table, farthest from the
fireplace, lighted a fresh candle, spread out his five treasures,
carefully sharpened a stub pencil, and duly set its lead end a-soak in
his mouth, preparatory to the composition of a letter. The surprise
was complete. Such painstaking preparation and elaborate costuming for
the mere writing of a letter none present--or absent, for that
matter--had ever heard of. But it was all so obviously eloquent of a
most tender respect for his correspondent that boisterous voices were
hushed, and for at least a quarter of an hour the Cross Canonites sat
covertly watching the puckered brows, drawn mouth, and awkwardly
crawling pencil of the writer.

Presently Lee gently nudged Ball and passed a wink to the rest; then
all rose and softly tiptoed their way to the kitchen.

Comfortably squatted on his heels before the cook's fireplace, Lee
quietly observed: "Fellers, I allow it's up to us to hold a inquest on
th' remains o' my idee about stringin' Circuit over that thar gal o'
his'n. I moves that th' idee's done died a-bornin', an' that we bury
her. All that agrees, say so; any agin it, say so, 'n' then git their