glances and spends papa's dollars at 

 Newport. 



But this was no Beau Brummel day. 

 There was work to do, and hard work, 

 as I soon discovered. We had ridden 

 perhaps a mile; my teeth were still 

 chattering in the early morning cold 

 (breaking ice on one's bath water and 

 blowing on one's fingers to enable one 

 to lace heavy boots may suit a cow- 

 boy : I do not pretend to like it), when 

 we began to notice a loud bellowing in 

 the distance. Instantly my compan- 

 ions spurred their horses and we went 

 speeding over the Little Missoula bot- 

 tom lands, around scrub willows and 

 under low hanging branches of oak, 

 one of which captured my hat, after 

 breaking both of the hat pins, and 

 nearly swept me from the saddle. 



On I rushed with the rest, hatless, 



