I was about to explain that the Western Pacific was
a new railroad and that probably they had not yet found
time to do their landscape gardening along the line,
when, far ahead, I caught sight of a dark dot on the
sand. I kept my eye on it. As our train overtook it,
it began to assume form, and at last I saw that it was
actually a prairie schooner. Presently we passed it.
It was moving slowly along, a few hundred yards from
the track. The horses were walking; their heads were
down and they looked tired. The man who was driv-
ing was the only human being visible; he was hunched
over, and when the train went by, he never so much as
turned his head.

The picture was perfect. Even my companion ad-
mitted that, and ceased to demand skulls and skeletons.
And when, two or three hours later, after having
crossed the desert and worked our way into the hills,
we saw a full-fledged cowboy on a pinto pony, we felt
that the Western Pacific railroad was complete in its
theatrical accessories.

The cowboy did his best to give us Western color.
When he saw the train coming, he spurred up his pony,
and waving a lasso, set out in pursuit of an innocent
old milch cow, which was grazing nearby. That she
was no range animal was evident. Her sleek condition
and her calm demeanor showed that she was fully ac-
customed to the refined surroundings of the stable. As
he came at her she gazed in horrified amazement, quite
as some fat, dignified old lady might gaze at a bad little

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