is 'ere's a
dry country, we don't waste no water."

Comforting me in his kind, rough way, he reached his team, a big green
wagon, drawn by two wild-looking steeds which I afterward knew to be
bronchos. A fat, blonde boy, about twelve, held the reins.

"That's Ted," said Cousin Jack. "Ted, this is Miss Nell, yer cousin;
give her a hug." The fat boy solemnly obeyed.

After this he seemed to have a special claim on my affections because he
met me first. Jack's wife was a jolly, plump woman, with brown eyes and
curly hair. She always had a baby in her arms and another at her heels.
She adored Jack. I never knew them to have a quarrel. I soon grew to
love the life at the ranch. I liked the big, half-finished house, its
untidyness and comfort--its pleasant, healthy atmosphere. I loved the
children, the household pets--Shep, the sagacious dog; Thad, the clever
cat; the hens and sheep; the horses Dolly, Dot, and Daisy, that did the
plowing, and the marketing at Denver, twelve miles away, and were so
gentle and kind we used to ride them without saddle or bridle. I learned
that cattle grew fat on the dry-looking grass and gave the best of milk.
I learned to love the broad plains and the glorious sunsets, and to
watch the distant bands of Indians with half fear, half interest. I
helped Cousin Mary, sewed and cooked, kept the house and children neat,
and lifted many burdens from her weary shoulders. We were so happy. The
children and I took long walks over the plains, and Ted and I took many
rides on Dolly and Dot, and in the long winter evenings I told the
children stories. Occasionally Harry White came over to visit us from
his ranch five miles away. He lived with his old mother; he and Jack
were dear friends. Harry needed a wife, Jack used to say, winking at me.

One day Jack went to Denver for supplies. He went alone, and coming home
later than usual, Ted and I and baby Mame went out to meet him. Jack
looked sober and guilty, and seemed ill at ease. If he ever drank, I
should have thought him intoxicated. In the wagon was a queer-shaped
heap under a horse-blanket. I was sure it moved. When we got behind the
barn Jack said, sheepishly, avoiding my eye.

"Well, Ted, I calkerlate I've got su'thing in that there waggin that 'ul
astonish yer marm."

Little Mame pulled the blanket off the heap; she had been peeping under
it all the while she was in the back of the wagon. There lay a human
being. Such an object; short and squat,