AT THE PAINTED WOODS. 152 
a few sputtering yellow leaves wafted from near-by 
groves of oak and ash, were but the familiar morning 
scenes of the ‘‘river road’’ to the young man that held 
the reins from the wagon box. The sun looked no 
brighter; the birds sang no sweeter than other morn- 
ings and pensive thoughts were not his. 
The story as given to his father was that the young 
man disposed of his garden product at good figures— 
and drew some money from a Capital City bank that 
had been deposited there on former trips. That the 
young man was seen in a convivial but not in a hilarious 
mood. That he made atrip to Mandan across the Mis- 
souri, and that there was a suspicion of a ‘‘woman in 
iue<case.’ 
To St. Paul’s able coroner—Whitcomb—grown gray 
in his official duties of long practice and secure in the 
confidence reposed by his townsman—we turn for an 
opinion that will stand endorsed because of the good 
judgment accredited him. The Coroner had come from 
the Minnesota capital for an autumn deer hunt on the 
Missouri—as was his wont—and in proceeding along 
the ‘‘bottom road’’ a few miles out from Bismarck, he 
came up with a party of three young men with a team, 
They had halted by the roadside and one of the trio 
was standing on the ground, and who seemed to have 
passed a bottle of something to the two in the wagon 
who were drinking from it. The place was a lonesome 
looking one to the Coroner,who passed around the party 
and proceeded to Dry Point where he put in an evening 
with the deer. On returning to the city next morning 
he was surprised to find the same team grazing near by 
attached to the running gears. On a slight raise 
