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Updated: May 22, 2025
"Yes," answered the postmistress, with a real motherly note, "here is one from Hugous & Co." A roar went up at this, and the blushing tenderfoot pocketed his third bill for the most theatrical style of Mexican sombrero; it had a brass snake coiled round the crown for a hat-band, and a cow-puncher in good and regular standing would have preferred going bareheaded to wearing it.
Sometimes a cow, and invariably a dog, formed one of the family party, and an edifying esprit de corps seemed to dwell among them all. Lone Tooth Hank, in his capacity of man about town, stood on the steps of Hugous’ watching the preparations; and, seeing Miss Carmichael, approached with the air of an old and tried family friend.
The financial and social interests of the town seemed to converge in Hugous & Co.’s "trading store," where Miss Carmichael invested in an extra package of needles for the mere excitement of being one of the shoppers, though her aunt Adelaide had stocked the little plaid-silk work-bag to repletion with every variety of needle known to woman.
Apparently yes, with the sophisticated accompaniment of soda biscuit, to judge by the quantity of baking-powder they invested in—literally pounds of it. Men in any other condition of life would have died of slow poisoning as the result of it. There were other customers at Hugous’ that morning besides the spurred and booted cow-puncher and his despised compeer, the sheep-herder.
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