rd is our law paramount. I am
within bounds in saying, sir, that in Palomitas she is universally
adored."

"Oh, Mr. Charles! How can you!" says the Hen, kind of turning away and
looking as if what Charley'd said really had made her feel like
blushing a little. Then she faced round again and shook hands with
Boston--who was so rattled he seemed only about half awake, and done
it like a pump--and says to him: "Mr. Charles is a born flatterer if
ever there was one, sir, and you must pay no attention whatever to his
extravagant words. I only try in my poor way, as occasion presents
itself"--she let her voice drop down so it went sort of soft and
ketchy--"to mollify some of the harsher asperities of our youthfully
strenuous community; to apply, as it were, the touchstone of Boston
social standards--the standards that you and I, sir, recognize--to the
sometimes too rough ways of our rough little frontier settlement. It
is true, though, and I am proud to say it, that the boys do like
me--of course Mr. Charles's talk about my being an idol and adored is
only his nonsense; and it is true that they always are nice about
doing what I ask them to do--as they were just now, when they were
naughty and I had to make them behave.

"And now, since the formalities have been attended to and we have been
introduced properly, and since you and I are fellow-Bostonians and
ought to be friendly"--the Hen give him one of them fetching looks of
hers--"you must come over to the bar and have a drink on me. And while
we are performing this rite of hospitality," says the Hen--pretending
not to see the jump he give--"we can discuss your projected lion-hunt:
in which, with your permission, I shall take part." Boston give a
bigger jump at that; and the Hen says on to him, sort of explaining
matters: "You need not fear that I shall not sustain my end of the
adventure. As any of the boys here will tell you, I can handle a
forty-five or a Winchester about as well as anybody--and big-game
hunting really is my forte. Indeed, I may say--using one of our
homely but expressive colloquialisms--that when it comes to
lion-hunting I am simply hell!"

Boston seemed to be getting worse and worse mixed while the Hen was
rattling her stuff off to him--and I reckon, all things considered, he
wasn't to be blamed. He'd got a jolt to start with, when he come in
and found what he took to be a preacher dealing faro; and he was worse
jolted when his fool-talk--and he not