ne, and strangers were looked upon
with timidity, very much as in all simple communities. Not taking any
interest in the passing trains, Sponsilier was writing a letter to
his girl in Texas, while I was shaking dice for the cigars with the
bartender of the Stock Exchange, when the Eastbound arrived. After the
departure of the train, I did not take any notice of the return of the
boys to the abandoned games, or the influx of patrons to the house,
until some one laid a hand on my shoulder and quietly said, "Isn't your
name Quirk?"

Turning to the speaker, I was confronted by Mr. Field and Mr. Radcliff,
who had just arrived by train from the west. Admitting my identity, I
invited them to have a cigar or liquid refreshment, inquiring whence
they had come and where their cattle were. To my surprise, Fort Keogh
was named as their last refuge, and the herds were reported to cross the
railroad within the next few days. Similar questions were asked me, but
before replying, I caught Sponsilier's eye and summoned him with a wink.
On Dave's presenting himself, I innocently asked the pair if they did
not remember my friend as one of the men whom they had under arrest at
Dodge. They grunted an embarrassed acknowledgment, which was returned in
the same coin, when I proceeded to inform them that our cattle crossed
the railroad at Little Missouri ten days before, and that we were only
waiting the return of Mr. Lovell from the Crow Agency before proceeding
to our destination. With true Yankee inquisitiveness, other questions
followed, the trend of which was to get us to admit that we had
something to do with the present activities in quarantining Texas
cattle. But I avoided their leading queries, and looked appealingly at
Sponsilier, who came to my rescue with an answer born of the moment.

"Well, gentlemen," said Dave, seating himself on the bar and leisurely
rolling a cigarette, "that town of Little Missouri is about the dullest
hole that I was ever water-bound in. Honestly, I'd rather be with the
cattle than loafing in it with money in my pocket. Now this town has got
some get-up about it; I'll kiss a man's foot if he complains that this
burg isn't sporty enough for his blood. They've given me a run here
for my white alley, and I still think I know something about that game
called draw-poker. But you were speaking about quarantine. Yes; there
seems to have been a good many cattle lost through these parts last
fall. You ought to have