when he had stuffed his pants in his boots and
thrown away the vest, for he never wore either vest or suspenders, he
emerged looking like an Alpine tourist, with his new pink shirt and
nappy brown beaver slouch hat jauntily cocked over one ear. As we
sauntered out into the street, Priest was dressed as became his years
and mature good sense, while my costume rivaled Officer's in
gaudiness, and it is safe to assert two thirds of our outlay had gone
for boots and hats.

Flood overtook us in the street, and warned us to be on hand at the
depot at least half an hour in advance of train time, informing us
that he had checked our saddles and didn't want any of us to get left
at the final moment. We all took a drink together, and Officer assured
our foreman that he would be responsible for our appearance at the
proper time, "sober and sorry for it." So we sauntered about the
straggling village, drinking occasionally, and on the suggestion of
The Rebel, made a cow by putting in five apiece and had Officer play
it on faro, he claiming to be an expert on the game. Taking the purse
thus made up, John sat into a game, while Priest and myself, after
watching the play some minutes, strolled out again and met others of
our outfit in the street, scarcely recognizable in their killing rigs.
The Rebel was itching for a monte game, but this not being a cow town
there was none, and we strolled next into a saloon, where a piano was
being played by a venerable-looking individual,--who proved quite
amiable, taking a drink with us and favoring us with a number of
selections of our choosing. We were enjoying this musical treat when
our foreman came in and asked us to get the boys together. Priest and
I at once started for Officer, whom we found quite a winner, but
succeeded in choking him off on our employer's order, and after the
checks had been cashed, took a parting drink, which made us the last
in reaching the depot. When we were all assembled, our employer
informed us that he only wished to keep us together until embarking,
and invited us to accompany him across the street to Tom Robbins's
saloon.

On entering the saloon, Lovell inquired of the young fellow behind the
bar, "Son, what will you take for the privilege of my entertaining
this outfit for fifteen minutes?"

"The ranch is yours, sir, and you can name your own figures,"
smilingly and somewhat shrewdly replied the young fellow, and promptly
vacated his position.

"Now, two o