e we goin' to give this here
Eastern man the things he's used to, kinder gentle him along like, you
know, and so get all the closeter and easier to him, or are we goin' to
throw him down cold, and leave him dissatisfied the first day he
strikes our camp? It shore looks to me like there ain't but one way to
answer that."

"And that there one answer," said Tom Osby, "is now a-reclinin' in the
snowbank up on Carrizy."

"I reckon that's so, all right, Mac," assented Curly, reflectively. "I
_could_ have et one more oyster or so, but I can quit if it's for the
good of the country."

"Well, I'm feeling just a little bit guilty as it is," said Dan
Anderson, who was in fairly good post-prandial condition. "Here we
are, eating like lords. Now who knows what that poor family from
Kansas is having for Christmas dinner? Mac, I appoint you a committee
of one to see how they are getting along. Pass the hat. Make it about
ten for the cake. Come on, now, let's find out about these folks."

Curly was distinctly unhappy all the time McKinney was away. It was
half an hour before the latter came back, but the look on his face
betrayed him. Dan Anderson made him confess that he still had the ten
dollars in his pocket, that he had been afraid to knock at the door,
and that he had learned nothing whatever of the household from Kansas.
McKinney admitted that his nerve had failed, and that he dared not
knock, but he said that he had summoned courage enough to look in at
the window. The family had either finished its dinner long ago, had
not eaten, or did not intend to eat at all. "The table looked some
shy," declared McKinney. Beyond this he was incoherent, distressed,
and plainly nervous. Silence fell upon the entire group, and for some
time each man in Dan Andersen's salon was wrapped in thought. Perhaps
each one cast a furtive look from the tail of his eye at his neighbors.
Of all present, Curly seemed the happiest. "Didn't see the Littlest
Girl?" he asked. McKinney shook his head.

"Well, I guess I'll be gettin' up to see about my wagon before long,"
said Tom Osby, rising and knocking his pipe upon his boot-heel. "I've
got a few cans of stuff up here in my load that I don't really need.
In the mornin', you know--well, so long, boys."

"I heard that Jim Peterson killed a deer the other day," suggested Dan
Anderson. "I believe I'll just step over and see if I can't get a
quarter of venison for those folks."

"Shore,