RANCH LIFE. 243 



antics for the night and then began. They squealed, they 

 fought and ran foot races over my blankets and face. They 

 dived into my water pail; they eat my candles, my soap even. 

 Over head on a shelf was a Bible, which had belonged to and 

 comforted some former servitor of the ranch, and which com- 

 prised my entire library. Under the guidance of the Evil One 

 the rats knocked this into the bucket, and in the morning I 

 found it afloat and hopelessly dissolved. When they had 

 neither candles nor soap to eat they made a raid on Tom's 

 barley. This was touching the Patron in a tender place. So 

 one leisure day, with gun in hand, and myself and Rita for 

 assistants, he gave the rats a regular St. Bartholomew ! We 

 routed them from their secret hiding place and exterminated 

 them by the dozen. The old gentleman banged away with 

 tongue and gun, while Rita leaped around barking joyously, 

 and I enjoyed myself more that day than any passed on that 

 lonely ranch. After this thinning out of the rats my nights 

 passed more agreeably. 



One day in a good humored mood the Patron asked me for 

 the -first time about my family. I did as they usually do 

 under similar circumstances, told him of the better days I had 

 seen, and how I did not have to do as I did now ; just doing 

 it to see the world from different standpoints, etc. He was a 

 poor logician and failed to see my motives, and I had the 

 mortification therefore of seeing he did not believe a word 

 I said. 



I was getting uneasy for fear my parents had got none of my 

 letters, some of which had been posted in out-of-the-way 

 places or given in charge of persons who might neglect to 

 post them. I had written two or three times since my arrival, 

 but had not received any since leaving Salt Lake. In the 

 ten months or more since I left home I had no answers. 

 Thinking that perhaps there might be some for me in San 

 Francisco I wrote down, and was gratified in a few days 



