might come close to Heart’s Desire if all went well; and, generous in the enthusiasm of the hour, we builded upon that fancy, ending by a toast to Dan Anderson as our first delegate to Congress.  Dan bowed gravely, not knowing the future any more than ourselves.  Nor should it be denied that there was talk of the new inhabitants across the arroyo.  The morning promenade of the man from Leavenworth had been productive of results; add to these the results of so noble a feast as this Christmas dinner of ours, and it was foregone that our hearts must expand to include in welcome all humanity west of the Pecos.

After all, no man is better than the prettiest woman in his environment.  As to these girls from Kansas, it is to be said that there had never before been a real woman in Heart’s Desire.  You, who have always lived where there is law, and society, and women, and home,—­you cannot know what it is to see all these things gradually or swiftly dawning upon your personal horizon.  Yet this was the way of Heart’s Desire, where women and law and property were not.

It was perhaps the moon, or perhaps youth, or perhaps this state of life to which I have referred.  Assuredly the street was again flooded with a grand, white moonlight, bright almost as a Northern day, when we looked out of the little window.

Dan Anderson was the first to speak, after a silence which had fallen amidst the dense tobacco smoke.  “It cost us less than fifteen dollars a plate,” said he.  “I’ve paid more for worse—­yes, a lot worse.  But by the way, Mac, where’s that other can of oysters?  I thought you said there were four.”

“That’s what I said,” broke in Tom Osby.  “I done told Mac I ought to bring ’em all down, but he said only three.”

“Well,” said McKinney, always a conservative and level-headed man, “I allowed that if they would keep a month, they would keep a little longer.  Now you all know there’s goin’ to be a stage in next week, and likely it’ll bring the president of the New Jersey Gold Mills, who’s been due here a couple of weeks.  Now here we are, hollerin’ all the time for Eastern Capital.  What’s the right thing for us to do when we get any Eastern Capital into our town?  This here man comes from Philadelphy, which I reckon is right near the place where oysters grows.  What are you goin’ to do?  He’s used to oysters; like enough he eats ’em every day in the year, because he’s shore rich.  First thing he hollers for when he gets here is oysters.  Looks like you all didn’t have no public spirit.  Are we goin’ to give this here Eastern man the things he’s used to, kinder gentle him along like, you know, and so get all the closeter and easier to him, or are we goin’ to throw him down cold, and leave him dissatisfied the first day he strikes our camp?  It shore looks to me like there ain’t but one way to answer that.”

“And that there one answer,” said Tom Osby, “is now a-reclinin’ in the snowbank up on Carrizy.”