ain’t always handy."

The fat lady plied her eye as a weapon. No Dax could stand up before an
accusing feminine eye. He quailed, made a grab for the coffee-pot, and
rushed with it out into the night.

"What did I tell you?" she asked, with an air of triumph.

Johnnie returned with the empty coffee-pot. "To tell the truth, marm, I
made a mistake. I ’ain’t made the coffee. I plumb forgot it. P’raps you
could be prevailed on to assist this yere outfit to coffee while I
organizes a few sody-biscuits."

After supper, when the fat lady was so busy talking "goo-goo" language to
the baby as to be oblivious of everything else, Mary Carmichael took the
opportunity to ask Johnnie if he knew anything about Lost Trail. The name
of her destination had come to sound unpleasantly ominous in the ears of
the tired young traveller, and she feared that her inquiry did not sound
as casual as she tried to have it. Nor was Johnnie’s candid reply
reassuring.

"It’s a pizen-mean country, from all I ever heard tell. The citizens
tharof consists mainly of coyotes and mountain-lions, with a few rattlers
thrown in just to make things neighborly. This yere place"—waving his hand
towards the arid wastes which night was making more desolate—"is a summer
resort, with modern improvements, compared to it."

Mary screwed her courage to a still more desperate point, and inquired if
Mr. Dax knew a family named Yellett living in Lost Trail.