Upon the table there was something masked under an ancient copy of a newspaper.  Outside the door of the adobe, in the deepest shade obtainable, sat two soap boxes full of snow, or at least partly full, for Tom Osby had done his best.  In one of these boxes appeared the proof of Curly’s truthfulness—­three cans of oysters, delicacies hitherto unheard of in that land!  In the other box was an object almost as unfamiliar as an oyster can,—­an oblong, smooth, and now partially frost-covered object with tinfoil about its upper end.  A certain tense excitement obtained.

“I wonder if she’ll get frappe enough,” said Dan Anderson.  He was a Princeton man once upon a time.

“It don’t make no difference about the frappy part,” said Curly, “just so she gets cold enough.  I reckon I savvy wine some.  I never was up the trail, not none!  No, I reckon not!  Huh?”

We agreed on Curly’s worldliness cheerfully; indeed, agreed cheerfully that all the world was a good place and all its inhabitants were everything that could be asked.  Life was young and fresh and strong.  The spell of Heart’s Desire was upon us all that Christmas Day.

“Now,” said Curly, dropping easily into the somewhat vague position of host, when McKinney had finally placed his platter of screeching hot steaks upon the table.  “Now, then, grub pi-i-i-i-le!” He sang the summons loud and clear, as it has sounded on many a frosty morning or sultry noon in many a corner of the range.  “Set up, fellers,” said Curly.  “It’s bridles off now, and cinches down, and the trusties next to the mirror.” (By this speech Curly probably meant that the time was one of ease and safety, wherein one might place his six-shooter back of the bar, in sign that he was in search of no man, and that none was in search of him.  It was not good form to eat in a private family in Heart’s Desire with one’s gun at one’s belt.)

We sat down and McKinney uncovered the cake which had been made by the wife of the man from Leavenworth.  It appeared somewhat imposing.  Curly wanted to cut into it at the first course, but Dan Anderson rebelled and coaxed him off upon the subject of oysters.  There was abundance for all.  The cake itself would have weighed perhaps five or six pounds.  There was a part of a can of oysters for each man, any quantity of wholesome steaks and coffee, with condensed milk if one cared for it, and at least enough champagne for any one who cared for precisely that sort of champagne.

It was nightfall before we were willing to leave the little pine table.  Meantime we had talked of many things; of the new strike on the Homestake, of the vein of coal lately found in the Patos, of Apache rumors below Tularosa, and other matters interesting to citizens of that land.  We mentioned an impending visit of Eastern Capital bent upon investigating our mineral wealth.  We spoke of the vague rumor that a railroad was heading north from El Paso, and