TAKING TO THE TRAIL S 



the sandy street that leads northward past the 

 station was quite deserted. While I stood un- 

 certain in which direction to turn, two young 

 men, spurred and booted, in shirt sleeves and 

 wearing jaunty sombreros, observing my per- 

 plexity from a corral opposite good-naturedly 

 came to my assistance. 



"I reckon you want a hotel," said one of them, 

 taking possession of my suitcase without further 

 introduction and with a self-reliance and air of 

 proprietorship quite refreshing. 



"I reckon I do," I assented, as we turned up 

 the street to the northward. 



"Buyin' broncs?" he asked. 



"No." 



"Steers?" 



"No." 



"Wool agent?" 



"No. I just came to look around." 



He was silent for a few yards, then expressed 

 his opinion of my visit in accents of disgust. 



"This is a hell of a place to come to just t' 

 look around. Reckon you've had time since the 

 train left t' see most all there is t' see here. It's 

 a plumb lonesome town." 



We turned through a gateway over which 

 swung a signboard bearing the legend "Zuck's 

 Hotel" and into the open door of a cottage. 



