olumns.
We're going to be plumb effete, if we ain't mighty careful, down in
here."

"That's so," said McKinney, scratching his head. "Times is changin'.
That reminds me, I ordered a new suit of clothes by mail from
Philadelphy, and they ought to be just about due when Tom Osby comes
down; and that ought to be to-day."

"That's so," assented Doc Tomlinson. "He's got a little bill of goods
for me, too."

"Oh, why, oh, why this profligacy, Doc?" said Dan Anderson. "Didn't
you order two pounds of alum the last trip Tom made? What do you want
of so many drugs, anyhow?"

"Hush, fellers," said Curly. "Listen a minute!"

Curly's ears had detected the rattle of distant wagon wheels. "That's
Tom comin' now," said he. "He's a heap more regular than the Socorro
stage. That's him, because I can hear him singin'."

"Tom, he's stuck on music," said McKinney.

Afar, but approaching steadily, might be heard the jolting vehicle
coming down the canon; and presently there was borne to our ears the
sound of Tom Osby's voice in his favorite melody:--

"I never _lo-o-oved_ a fo-o-o-o-nd ga-a-a-z-elle!"

He proclaimed this loudly.

We knew that Tom would drive up to Whiteman's store, hence we waited
for him near the corral fence. As he approached and observed our
occupation he arrested his salutations and gazed for a moment in silent
meditation.

"Prithee, sweet sirs," said he, at length, "what in blazes you doin'?"

"These gentlemen," said Dan Anderson from the fence, "are engaged in
showin' the endurin' quality of the Anglo-Saxon temperament. Wherever
the Saxon goes he sets up his own peculiar institutions. What! Shall
New Mexico be behind New York, or New England? This croquet set cost
eighteen dollars to get here from Chicago. Get down, Tom, you're in on
the game."

But Tom picked up his reins and clucked to his team. "Excuse _me_,
fellers," said he. "That there looks too frisky for me. I got to
think of my business reputation." He passed on up the street.

"What's the matter with Tom?" asked Curly. "Seems like he wasn't
feelin' right cheerful, some way." Dan Anderson gazed after the
teamster pensively.

"Methinks you are concealing something from us, Tom," said he. "Let's
go find out what it is, fellows." He disengaged the respective
six-shooters from their place on the fence, and thus again properly
clad, we wandered over toward Whiteman's commercial emporium, where Tom
Osby was now proceeding