reverencing people. His wife alone depre-
cated his skill, and interrupted his spirited
narratives with sarcastic allusions concerning
the empty cupboard, and the "state of her
back," to which, as she confided to any who
would listen, "there was not a rag fit to wear."

These two ladies had not, as may be
surmised, any particular attraction for John
Henderson. Truth to tell, Henderson had
not come West with the intention of lik-
ing women, but rather with a determina-
tion to see and think as little of them as
possible. Yet even the most confirmed
misogynist must admit that it is a good
thing to see a woman now and then, and for
this reason Henderson found it amusing to
converse with the amiable Misses O'Neal.
At twenty-five one cannot be unyielding in
one's avoidance of the sex.

Henderson, with his pony at a fine lope,
was on his way to town one day, in that
comfortable frame of mind adduced by an
absence of any ideas whatever, when he
suddenly became conscious of a shiver that
seemed to run from his legs to the pony,
and back again. The animal gave a startled
leap, and lifted his ears. There was a stir-
ring in the coarse grasses; the sky, which