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In travelling merely from Paradise to Sunrise City one needs little or no name. Still, one who would seek to divide honours with Judge Madison L. Menefee deserves a cognomenal peg upon which Fame may hang a wreath. Thus spake, loudly and buoyantly, the aerial miller: "Guess you'll have to climb out of the ark, Mrs. McFarland.
Hear our modest tales of romance, and then award the prize as you may deem it just." The lady passenger smiled sweetly. The apple lay in her lap beneath her robes and wraps. She reclined against her protecting bulwark, brightly and cosily at ease. But for the voices and the wind one might have listened hopefully to hear her purr. Someone cast fresh logs upon the fire. Judge Menefee nodded suavely.
"What about the young lady?" asked the young man who had an Agency. "Never heard," answered Bildad. "Right there is where my lode of information turns to an old spavined crowbait, and folds its wings, for I've pumped it dry." "A very sad " began Judge Menefee, but his remark was curtailed by a higher authority. "What a charming story!" said the lady passenger, in flute-like tones.
Yes; my belief in woman paints that picture in my mind. Parted forever on earth, but waiting! She in anticipation of a meeting in Elysium; he in the Slough of Despond." "I thought he was in the bughouse," said the passenger who was nobody in particular. Judge Menefee stirred, a little impatiently. The men sat, drooping, in grotesque attitudes.
The wind had abated its violence; coming now in fitful, virulent puffs. The fire had burned to a mass of red coals which shed but a dim light within the room. The lady passenger in her cosey nook looked to be but a formless dark bulk, crowned by a mass of coiled, sleek hair and showing but a small space of snowy forehead above her clinging boa. Judge Menefee got stiffly to his feet.
The oratory of Menefee was so pleasing and convincing as to cause him to be called the Patrick Henry of the West. Internal Improvements
"And now, Miss Garland," he announced, "we have concluded. It is for you to award the prize to the one of us whose argument especially, I may say, in regard to his estimate of true womanhood approaches nearest to your own conception." No answer came from the lady passenger. Judge Menefee bent over solicitously. The passenger who was nobody in particular laughed low and harshly.
When Judge Menefee sanctioned to the act by his grey hair and widespread repute had introduced himself to the lady passenger, she had, herself, sweetly breathed a name, in response, that the hearing of the male passengers had variously interpreted. In the not unjealous spirit of rivalry that eventuated, each clung stubbornly to his own theory.
"And now, Miss Garland," he announced, "we have concluded. It is for you to award the prize to the one of us whose argument especially, I may say, in regard to his estimate of true womanhood approaches nearest to your own conception." No answer came from the lady passenger. Judge Menefee bent over solicitously. The passenger who was nobody in particular laughed low and harshly.
Bildad had halted upon the shoulder of the first mountain spur. Two rail-fences, ragged-black, hemmed the road. Fifty yards above the upper fence, showing a dark blot in the white drifts, stood a small house. Upon this house descended or rather ascended Judge Menefee and his cohorts with boyish whoops born of the snow and stress. They called; they pounded at window and door.
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