Peak and Prairie | Page 4

matter.
In her perplexity and absorption the little lady had turned eastward, and
presently she found herself close upon a railroad track over which a
freight train was slowly passing. It was the Atchison road, and she
watched with interest the long, slow train.
"They appear to be doing a good business," she said to herself. "Seems
as though they might make out to pay something or other."
When the train had passed she stepped across the track, looking with
interest at the well-laid rails and the solid ties. "Queer, isn't it?" she
thought. "Now I own six thousand dollars worth of that track, and yet I
can't squeeze out of it enough to pay a poor little dog's license."
She never could think without a feeling of awe of the magnitude of the
sum left her by her thrifty husband, the bulk of which sum was
represented by those unfruitful certificates. She stooped and felt the
rails, looking cautiously up and down the road to be sure no train was
coming. After all, it was consoling to think that that good honest steel
and timber was partly her property. It was not her first visit to the spot.
"Queer, isn't it," she reflected, as she had often done before, "that there
isn't any way that I can think of to make my own road take me home?
Anyhow I'll buy that license just to spite 'em," she exclaimed, with
sudden decision; and shaking the dust of Atchison from her feet, and
the far more bewildering dust of financial perplexities from her mind,
she walked quickly back to the town.
It took a certain amount of resolution to turn the handle of the
sinister-looking door, and the group of men lounging in the

smoking-room, and turning upon her inquisitive glances as she entered,
might even then have daunted her, had not her eye fallen upon a
dejected bunch of whitish hair in one corner.
As she stepped into the room, a white tail disengaged itself from the
round hairy bundle, and began pathetically to beat the floor, while two
very beautiful and beseeching eyes were fixed upon her face. Had she
still been irresolute this mute appeal would have been irresistible, and
suddenly feeling as bold as a lion she stepped up to the desk where the
city marshal was throned, and demanded a license for the white dog.
The two great silver dollars which she drew from her purse looked very
large to the widow Tarbell, yet it was with a feeling of exultation that
she paid them as ransom for the white dog. In return for the money she
received a small, round piece of metal with a hole bored through it,
bearing a certain mystic legend which was to act as a talisman to the
wearer. Her name and address were duly entered on the books. Then
her agitated little beneficiary was untied from the chair leg, the rope
which bound him was put into her hands, and with a polite courtesy
Mrs. Tarbell turned to go.
By a sudden impulse one of the rough-looking men got up from his
chair, and, taking his hat off, opened the door. A light flush crossed the
little woman's cheek as she accepted the attention, and then the two
small figures, the black and the white, passed out into the delicious
Colorado sunshine.
"She looked 'most too small to handle that big door," said the tall
fellow, apologetically, as he re-established his wide sombrero on the
back of his head, and, resuming his seat, tilted his chair once more
against the wall. The other men smoked on in silence. No one felt
inclined to chaff this shamefaced Bayard. Mrs. Tarbell, meanwhile, led
her willing captive along, delighting in his cheerful aspect and
expressive tail. He was dirty, to be sure, and he was presumably hungry.
Who could tell what hardships he had suffered before falling into the
brutal hands of the law? She stopped to buy her dinner, to which she
added five cents' worth of dog's-meat, but the milliner's door was
passed coldly by. The old straw would have to serve her another

season.
Before they had gone two blocks, Mrs. Nancy had named the collie
David. She had no question whatever about the name, for had he not
been delivered out of the hands of the Philistines? She was patient with
him when he paused to make the acquaintance of other dogs, and even
once when he succeeded in winding the cord tightly about her ankles.
Nevertheless it was a relief to get him home, and to tie him to the post
of her front porch, where he established himself with entire willingness,
and promptly dropping asleep, forgot alike his perils and his great
escape.
The first care of his