“Magaw, Kansas, July 5, 188—­

“Hon. Amory W. Baker: 

“Sir,—­Understanding that your district is suffering from a prolonged drought, I write to say that for necessary expenses paid I will be glad to furnish you with a reasonably shower.  I have operated successfully in Australia, Mexico, and several States of the Union, and am anxious to exhibit my system.  If your Legislature will appropriate a sum to cover, as I said, merely my necessary expenses—­say $350 (three hundred and fifty dollars)—­for half an inch I will guarantee you that quantity of rain or forfeit the money.  If I fail to give you the smallest fraction of the amount contracted for, there is to be no pay.  Kindly advise me of what date will be most convenient for you to have the shower.  I require twenty-four hours’ preparation.  Hoping a favorable reply,

                           “I am, respectfully yours,
                                “Robert Hilbrun”

“Will the Legislature do it?” inquired Ogden in good faith.

The Governor laughed boisterously.  “I guess it wouldn’t be constitutional,” said he.

“Oh, bother!” said Ogden.

“My dear man,” the Governor protested, “I know we’re new, and our women vote, and we’re a good deal of a joke, but we’re not so progressively funny as all that.  The people wouldn’t stand it.  Senator Warren would fly right into my back hair.”  Barker was also new as Governor.

“Do you have Senators here too?” said Ogden, raising his eyebrows.  “What do they look like?  Are they females?” And the Governor grew more boisterous than ever, slapping his knee and declaring that these Eastern men were certainly “out of sight”.  Ogden, however, was thoughtful.

“I’d have been willing to chip in for that rain myself,” he said.

“That’s an idea!” cried the Governor.  “Nothing unconstitutional about that.  Let’s see.  Three hundred and fifty dollars—­”

“I’ll put up a hundred,” said Ogden, promptly.  “I’m out for a Western vacation, and I’ll pay for a good specimen.”

The Governor and I subscribed more modestly, and by noon, with the help of some lively minded gentlemen of Cheyenne, we had the purse raised.  “He won’t care,” said the Governor, “whether it’s a private enterprise or a municipal step, so long as he gets his money.”

“He won’t get it, I’m afraid,” said Ogden.  “But if he succeeds in tempting Providence to that extent, I consider it cheap.  Now what do you call those people there on the horses?”

We were walking along the track of the Cheyenne and Northern, and looking out over the plain toward Fort Russell.  “That is a cow-puncher and his bride,” I answered, recognizing the couple.

“Real cow-puncher?”

“Quite.  The puncher’s name is Lin McLean.”

“Real bride?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“She’s riding straddle!” exclaimed the delighted Ogden, adjusting his glasses.  “Why do you object to their union being holy?”