Lin and I stood outside to receive the travellers.  As their cavalcade drew near, Mr. McLean grew silent and watchful, his whole attention focused upon the Taylors’ vehicle.  Its approach was joyous.  Its gear made a cheerful clanking, Taylor cracked his whip and encouragingly chirruped to his buckskins, and Tommy’s apparatus jingled musically.  For Tommy wore upon himself and his saddle all the things you can wear in the Wild West.  Except that his hair was not long, our postmaster might have conducted a show and minted gold by exhibiting his romantic person before the eyes of princes.  He began with a black-and-yellow rattlesnake skin for a hat-band, he continued with a fringed and beaded shirt of buckskin, and concluded with large, tinkling spurs.  Of course, there were things between his shirt and his heels, but all leather and deadly weapons.  He had also a riata, a cuerta, and tapaderos, and frequently employed these Spanish names for the objects.  I wish that I had not lost Tommy’s photograph in Rocky Mountain costume.  You must understand that he was really pretty, with blue eyes, ruddy cheeks, and a graceful figure; and, besides, he had twenty-four hours’ start of poor dusty Lin, whose best clothes were elsewhere.

You might have supposed that it would be Mrs. Taylor who should present us to her friend from Sidney, Nebraska; but Tommy on his horse undertook the office before the wagon had well come to a standstill.  “Good friends of mine, and gentlemen, both,” said he to Miss Peck; and to us, “A lady whose acquaintance will prove a treat to our section.”

We all bowed at each other beneath the florid expanse of these recommendations, and I was proceeding to murmur something about its being a long journey and a fine day when Miss Peck cut me short, gaily: 

“Well,” she exclaimed to Tommy, “I guess I’m pretty near ready for them eggs you’ve spoke so much about.”

I have not often seen Mr. McLean lose his presence of mind.  He needed merely to exclaim, “Why, Tommy, you told me your hens had not been laying since Christmas!” and we could have sat quiet and let Tommy try to find all the eggs that he could.  But the new girl was a sore embarrassment to the cow-puncher’s wits.  Poor Lin stood by the wheels of the wagon.  He looked up at Miss Peck, he looked over at Tommy, his features assumed a rueful expression, and he wretchedly blurted,

“Why, Tommy, I’ve been and eat ’em.”

“Well, if that ain’t!” cried Miss Peck.  She stared with interest at Lin as he now assisted her to descend.

“All?” faltered Tommy.  “Not the four nests?”

“I’ve had three meals, yu’ know,” Lin reminded him, deprecatingly.

“I helped him,” said I.  “Ten innocent, fresh eggs.  But we have left some ham.  Forgive us, please.”

“I declare!” said Miss Peck, abruptly, and rolled her sluggish, inviting eyes upon me.  “You’re a case, too, I expect.”

But she took only brief note of me, although it was from head to foot.  In her stare the dull shine of familiarity grew vacant, and she turned back to Lin McLean.  “You carry that,” said she, and gave the pleased cow-puncher a hand valise.