trails, but
she never heard from him. The ol' man had wrote to the postmaster at
Laramie, an' he had answered that Dick had allus played fair accordin'
to the best o' his belief. He went on to say that Dick was generally
counted about the best citizen they had; but that after he had shut Big
Brown he had pulled out an' no one knew where he was. He said 'at Brown
hadn't died, which was a cause for sorrow to the whole town. He also
said that Denton would be a disgrace to coyote parents. He furthermore
went on to state that Dick still owned quite a little property in
Laramie. The old man showed me an' Barbie the letter; but it didn't
help much.

When Thanksgivin' hove in sight the ol' man dug up a bottle o' whiskey,
an' put on a few ruffles to sort o' stiffen up his back; an' one day
after dinner he sez to Barbie, "Now you just stay settin'." She was in
the habit of estimatin' just how little nurishment it would take to run
her to the next feed, gettin' it into her in the shortest possible
time, an' then makin' a streak for it.

"Now, little girl," sez Jabez, tryin' to look joyous an' free from
care, "you are leadin' too sober a life. I want to see you happy again.
I want to see you laughin' about the house, like you used to. Can't you
sort o' liven up a little?"

"I might," sez she, with the first sneer I ever see her use on the ol'
man, "I might, if you'd give me the rest o' the bottle you got your own
gaiety out of."

Cast Steel's face turned as red as a brick, an' his fist doubled up.
"That's a sample o' your idee of respect, is it? You're gettin' too
infernal biggoty. Now you pay attention. I want to have a little
gatherin' here Thanks-givin'. Will you, or will you not, see that the
arrangements are attended to?"

"Yes, sir," sez Barbie, lookin' down at her plate. "How many guests
will the' be?"

"Well, how can I tell?" sez Jabez. "Can you get ready for twenty?"

"Yes, sir," answers Barbie, never liftin' her eyes.

"Yes, sir; yes, sir; yes, sir!" yells the of man. "I get everlastin'
tired o' your 'yes, sirs.' Am I or am I not your ol' Dad?"

"If you prefer, I can call you father," sez she, like she was talkin'
to the moon through a telephone. "Dad is not correct English; it is a
kalowquism."

This was allus like a pail o' water to the ol' man. Nothin' stung him
any worse than to have her peel a couple o' layers off her edication
an' chuck 'em at him.

"Do you know what is apt to happen if you keep on pe