driver. His wife is going to Maine to stop with her folks. He came down to put her on board the train."
Harwell's informant, as they passed the door of the bar-room, made a slight pause, as if more from habit than from any thought of entering the room. Farwell, who had been too much absorbed in watching the motley crowd of people, and listening to the brief but comprehensive accounts of them given by his new friend, to remember the etiquette of the country, took the gentle hint, and invited his new acquaintance "to take something." The invitation was accepted, and the two men entered the bar room.
The commercial traveller and the bar-tender exchanged a wink as the stranger ordered for himself a plain lemonade. The Ganymede of Cheyenne station was rather a sinister-looking fellow, with one eye. His right hand boasted a thumb and two fingers only, but the airy skill with which he tossed
