in for the cow-town of the high mesa. Curious-eyed tourists had a brief glimpse of a loading-chute, cattle-pens, a puncher or two, a

alifornia. He discovered that he had left his address book in his grip. Meanwhile the train had moved forward some sixty yards, to take water. Returning for his address book, he boarded the wrong Pullman, realized his m

graph office. Bartley bumped into this portly person, tried to squeeze past, did so, and promptly caromed off the station agent whom he me

ed him on the shoulder. "'N

my baggage is

sections behind, this tim

boots to his black Stetson. A cattleman, evidently well to do,

ver there," stated the cattleman. "Wishful runs h

in spite of h

to have 'em take care of your war bag. Well, come on in

graph office, got the immediate attention o

" he said, as Bartley protested. "Now, let's go over and get another cigar. T

the cattleman called for cigars. Bartley noticed that the pro

right quick, if you don't moisten it a little,"

think the occasion c

ve--Steve Brown. And just giv

y were both comfortable, and quite content to watch the folk go past, out there in the heat. Bartley wondered if the title "S

o buck rode up on a quick-stepping pony. He grunted a salutation and said something in his native tongue. The Senator re

artley. "Politics and c

ocation, Bartley gave his own

as all that, then?

and then turned around and took in my scenery, noticin' the set of my legs, I says to myself, 'painter-man or write

im. I took a painter-man in there once, to get a drink. He took one look at that picture, and then he says, kind of sorrowful: 'Is this the only place in town where they

hing but a write

rrect. But

However, I can't just follow

But a painter or writer he takes things in without starin'. There's so

"I took you for a cattlem

a minute to

ave begun to feel that I don't care so much about that train, after all. I like this sort of thing. You see, I planned to visit California, but there was n

tle and politics. I t

ou say jus

led. "Suppose I s

ction in the world

the Senator. "And he's right about that. Folks

elf out of his chair, s

d over yonder is where they dig up them prehistoric villages. And those buttes over there used to be volcanoes, before they laid off the job. To the west is the petrified forest. I made a motion once, w

ks don't love this State a little bit'--homesteaders and tourists. But when it comes to cattle and sheep and mines, you can't beat her. She sure is the Tige

ty freight wagons, followed by a lazy cloud of dust, rolled slowly toward town. Here and there a bit of red showed in the d

tered the telegraph office. The operator, in shirt-sleeves, and smoking a brown-paper cigarette, nodded and hand

e operator. "Did you wan

is that stout man I bumped in

Brown--State Senator.

st met hi

slumped down

George!" he murmured, "I always thought they wore those big Stetso