“Well, the Colonel attended to the entering of the baby’s name, and then on the dead quiet went around and rustled up every cowman and puncher in town, and had them promise to be on hand, to vote for the prettiest baby at ten cents a throw.  The fair was being held in the largest hall in town, and at the appointed hour we were all on hand, as well as Frog and his wife and baby.  There were about a dozen entries, and only one blackbird in the covey.  The list of contestants was read by the minister, and as each name was announced, there was a vigorous clapping of hands all over the house by the friends of each baby.  But when the name of Miss Precilla June Jones was announced, the Texas contingent made their presence known by such a deafening outburst of applause that old Frog grinned from ear to ear—­he saw himself right then pushing that baby wagon.

“Well, on the first heat we voted sparingly, and as the vote was read out about every quarter hour, Precilla June Jones on the first turn was fourth in the race.  On the second report, our favorite had moved up to third place, after which the weaker ones were deserted, and all the voting blood was centered on the two white leaders, with our blackbird a close third.  We were behaving ourselves nicely, and our money was welcome if we weren’t.  When the third vote was announced, Frog’s pickaninny was second in the race, with her nose lapped on the flank of the leader.  Then those who thought a darky was as good as any one else got on the prod in a mild form, and you could hear them voicing their opinions all over the hall.  We heard it all, but sat as nice as pie and never said a word.

“When the final vote was called for, we knew it was the home stretch, and every rascal of us got his weasel skin out and sweetened the voting on Miss Precilla June Jones.  Some of those old long-horns didn’t think any more of a twenty-dollar gold piece than I do of a white chip, especially when there was a chance to give those good people a dose of their own medicine.  I don’t know how many votes we cast on the last whirl, but we swamped all opposition, and our favorite cantered under the wire an easy winner.  Then you should have heard the kicking, but we kept still and inwardly chuckled.  The minister announced the winner, and some of those good people didn’t have any better manners than to hiss and cut up ugly.  We stayed until Frog got the new baby wagon in his clutches, when we dropped out casually and met at the Ranch saloon, where Colonel Zellers had taken possession behind the bar and was dispensing hospitality in proper celebration of his victory.”

Much to our disappointment, our guests remained silent and showed no disposition to talk, except to answer civil questions which Flood asked regarding the trail crossing on the Missouri, and what that river was like in the vicinity of old Fort Benton.  When the questions had been answered, they again relapsed into silence.  The fire was replenished, and after the conversation had touched on several subjects, Joe Stallings took his turn with a yarn.