gentlemen of Cheyenne, we had the purse raised.
"He won't care," said the Governor, "whether it's a private enterprise
or a municipal step, so long as he gets his money."

"He won't get it, I'm afraid," said Ogden. "But if he succeeds in
tempting Providence to that extent, I consider it cheap. Now what do you
call those people there on the horses?"

We were walking along the track of the Cheyenne and Northern, and
looking out over the plain toward Fort Russell. "That is a cow-puncher
and his bride," I answered, recognizing the couple.

"Real cow-puncher?"

"Quite. The puncher's name is Lin McLean."

"Real bride?"

"I'm afraid so."

"She's riding straddle!" exclaimed the delighted Ogden, adjusting his
glasses. "Why do you object to their union being holy?"

I explained that my friend Lin had lately married an eating-house lady
precipitately and against my advice.

"I suppose he knew his business," observed Ogden.

"That's what he said to me at the time. But you ought to see her--and
know him."

Ogden was going to. Husband and wife were coming our way. Husband nodded
to me his familiar offish nod, which concealed his satisfaction at
meeting with an old friend. Wife did not look at me at all. But I looked
at her, and I instantly knew that Lin--the fool!--had confided to her my
disapproval of their marriage. The most delicate specialty upon earth is
your standing with your old friend's new wife.

"Good-day, Mr. McLean," said the Governor to the cow-puncher on his
horse.

"How're are yu', doctor," said Lin. During his early days in Wyoming the
Governor, when as yet a private citizen, had set Mr. McLean's broken leg
at Drybone. "Let me make yu' known to Mrs. McLean," pursued the husband.

The lady, at a loss how convention prescribes the greeting of a bride to
a Governor, gave a waddle on the pony's back, then sat up stiff, gazed
haughtily at the air, and did not speak or show any more sign than a cow
would under like circumstances. So the Governor marched cheerfully at
her, extending his hand, and when she slightly moved out toward him her
big, dumb, red fist, he took it and shook it, and made her a series of
compliments, she maintaining always the scrupulous reserve of the cow.

"I say," Ogden whispered to me while Barker was pumping the hand of the
flesh image, "I'm glad I came." The appearance of the puncher-bridegroom
also interested Ogden, and he looked hard at Lin's leather chaps and
cartridge-belt