nd
about the teeth!" and the Hen laughed hearty--"and you can make
appointments with them a week ahead! Why, we must be off, you and I,
this very minute! I'll run right round home and get my rifle--and meet
you at your car as soon as you've got yours. To think of our having a
lion this way almost sitting on the front-door step! It's a chance
that won't come again in a thousand years!"

Away the Hen went a-kiting; and, there not being no hole he could see
to crawl out of, away went Boston--only the schedule he run on was
some miles less to the hour. To make sure he didn't try to side-track,
Shorty went with him--leaving Santa Fe to fix matters with the Hen,
and do what talking was needed to ring in the boys.

Shorty put through his part in good shape: helping Boston get as many
of his guns as he thought was wanted to hunt lions with--which was as
many as he could pack along with him--and managing sort of casual to
slip out the ca'tridges, so he wouldn't hurt nobody. It turned out
Shorty needn't a-been so extry-precautious--but of course he couldn't
tell. By the time Shorty had him ready, the Hen come a-hustling
up--having finished settling things with Santa Fe--and sung out to him
to get a move on, or likely the lion would a-had his drink and gone.
The move he got wasn't much of a one; but he did come a-creeping out
of the car at last, and having such a load of weepons on him as give
him some excuse for going slow.

"Good luck to you!" says Shorty, and off he skipped in a hurry to get
at the rest of his part of the ceremonies--not paying no attention to
Boston's most getting down on his knees to him begging him to come
along. Then Boston wanted the colored man to come--who was scared out
of his black skin at the notion, and wouldn't; and if the Hen hadn't
ended up by grabbing a-hold of him--saying as it was dark, and she
knowed the way and he didn't, she'd better lead him--likely she
wouldn't a-got him started at all. Pulling him was more like what she
did than leading him, the Hen said afterwards; but she didn't kick
about his going slow and wanting to stop every minute, she said,
because it give Santa Fe and Shorty more time.

The night was the kind that's usual in New Mexico, and just what was
wanted. There was no moon, and the starshine--all the stars looked to
be about the size of cheeses--give a hazy sort of light that made
everything seem twice as big as it really was, and shadows so black
and solid you'd thi