yu’ know mighty well, ’There’s a man is a good friend of mine.’  And yu’ mean it.  And it’s so.  Yet when matters is serious, as onced in a while they’re bound to get, and yu’re in a plumb hole, where is the man then—­your good friend?  Why, he’s where yu’ want him to be.  Standin’ off, keepin’ his mouth shut, and lettin’ yu’ find your own trail out.  If he tried to show it to yu’, yu’d likely hit him.  But shucks!  Circumstances have showed me the trail this time, you bet!” And the puncher’s face, which had been sombre, grew lively, and he laid a friendly hand on my knee.

“The trail’s pretty simple,” said I.

“You bet!  But it’s sure a queer world.  Tell yu’,” said Lin, with the air of having made a discovery, “when a man gets down to bed-rock affairs in this life he’s got to do his travellin’ alone, same as he does his dyin’.  I expect even married men has thoughts and hopes they don’t tell their wives.”

“Never was married,” said I.

“Well—­no more was I. Let’s go to bed.”  And Lin shook my hand, and gave me a singular, rather melancholy smile.

At Salt Lake City, which Ogden was glad to include in his Western holiday, we found both Mormon and Gentile ready to give us odds against rain—­only I noticed that those of the true faith were less free.  Indeed; the Mormon, the Quaker, and most sects of an isolated doctrine have a nice prudence in money.  During our brief stay we visited the sights:  floating in the lake, listening to pins drop in the gallery of the Tabernacle, seeing frescos of saints in robes speaking from heaven to Joseph Smith in the Sunday clothes of a modern farm-hand, and in the street we heard at a distance a strenuous domestic talk between the new—­or perhaps I should say the original—­husband and wife.

“She’s corralled Sidney’s cash!” said the delighted Lin.  “He can’t bet nothing on this shower.”

And then, after all, this time—­it didn’t rain!

Stripped of money both ways, Cheyenne, having most fortunately purchased a return ticket, sought its home.  The perplexed rain-maker went somewhere else, without his assistant.  Lusk’s exulting wife, having the money, retained him with her.

“Good luck to yu’, Sidney!” said Lin, speaking to him for the first time since Cheyenne.  “I feel a heap better since I’ve saw yu’ married.”  He paid no attention to the biscuit-shooter, or the horrible language that she threw after him.

Jode also felt “a heap better.”  Legitimate science had triumphed.  To-day, most of Cheyenne believes with Jode that it was all a coincidence.  South Carolina had bet on her principles, and won from Lin the few dollars that I had lent the puncher.

“And what will you do now?” I said to Lin.

“Join the beef round-up.  Balaam’s payin’ forty dollars.  I guess that’ll keep a single man.”

A JOURNEY IN SEARCH OF CHRISTMAS