this point, and
fully determined upon departing at the earliest opportunity, she
ventured down the narrow, creaking stairs in search of breakfast.

The dining-room was discovered at the foot of the steps, a square box
of a place, the two narrow windows looking forth on the desolate
prairie. There were three long tables, but only one was in use, and,
with no waiter to guide her, the girl advanced hesitatingly and took a
seat opposite the two men already present. They glanced up, curiously
interested, staring at her a moment, and then resumed their interrupted
meal. Miss McDonald's critical eyes surveyed the unsavory-looking
food, her lips slightly curving, and then glanced inquiringly toward
the men. The one directly opposite was large and burly, with iron-gray
hair and beard, about sixty years of age, but with red cheeks and
bright eyes, and a face expressive of hearty good nature. His clothing
was roughly serviceable, but he looked clean and wholesome. The other
was an army lieutenant, but Molly promptly quelched her first
inclination to address him, as she noted his red, inflamed face and
dissipated appearance. As she nibbled, half-heartedly, at the
miserable food brought by a slovenly waiter, the two men exchanged
barely a dozen words, the lieutenant growling out monosyllabic answers,
finally pushing back his chair, and striding out. Again the girl
glanced across at the older man, mustering courage to address him. At
the same moment he looked up, with eyes full of good humor and kindly
interest.

"Looks rather tough, I reckon, miss," waving a big hand over the table.
"But you 'll have ter git used to it in this kentry."

"Oh, I do not believe I ever could," disconsolately. "I can scarcely
choke down a mouthful."

"So I was noticin'; from the East, I reckon?"

"Yes; I--I came last night, and--and really I am afraid I am actually
homesick already. It--it is even more--more primitive than I supposed.
Do--do you live here--at Ripley?"

"Good Lord, no!" heartily, "though I reckon yer might not think my home
wuz much better. I 'm the post-trader down at Fort Marcy, jist out o'
Santa Fe. I 'll be blame glad ter git back thar too, I 'm a tellin'
yer."

"That--that is what I wished to ask you about," she stammered. "The
Santa Fe stage; when does it leave here? and--and where do I arrange
for passage?"

He dropped knife and fork, staring at her across the table.

"Good Lord, miss," he exclaimed swiftl