“Where’s my autymobile, Henry? We left her right out there didn’t we?” We goes out and looks around. There’s the tracks we made when we came in, and there’s the tracks where it went out, and back down the road. Calamity scratches his head, and hitches up his pants. “Henry,” says he, “I’m sorry. What yuh going to lead that pe-rade in now?” I simply shakes my head, and says to myself: “That’s going to be a well-led pe-rade. She’s already got two front ends.” “Henry,” says Calamity, pointing at the dust, “they just missed that gate-post as they goes out and they didn’t get on to the road for a hundred yards. I’d opine that they ain’t familiar with the thing.” “Was there anything left under the seat?” I asks. “One two-gallon jug, Henry—and what was left in ours.” “There is much to look forward to, Calamity,” says I. “Maybe we better take a shovel along. I hope they don’t bust up your machine.” “Don’t let that molest your heart strings, Henry. I been thinking for several days thay maybe she’s going to be a fatal fad. Of course it’s going to spoil my entry into Paradise. A person of my financial standing hadn’t ought to enter his old home town except in a fitting equipage. Ain’t I right, Henry?” “Well,” says I, “since the old man left with his buckskin team and rattle wagon, and some heartless hombre has turned loose every bronc on the place, there ain’t no mode of locomotion in sight except them two burros up there at the cook-shack. Are yuh too proud to straddle a jackass, Calamity?’ “It’ll soon be dark, Henry. Many a man has done things in the dark that he wouldn’t do in the light. Let’s equip the shameful things and be on our way.” We puts saddles on them long-eared things and pilgrims off down the road in the dusty dusk. When we comes opposite the Saunders place, I pulls up. “Whow,” says I. “I got a mission to perform. We got to have a Miss Columbus for your pe-rade, Calamity, and I got to bear her the news.” We goes up and knocks on her door, and informs her of the fact. “My gosh, Henry!” says she. “I ain’t got nothing to wear!” “Ma’am,” says Calamity, bowing low, “don’t you let that worry yuh. A figure like yours don’t need no clothes.” The door shuts off the conversation, and we wanders back to our trusty steeds. “Calamity, you been a lot of help to me this evening,” says I. “You sure cut our cinch with the widder Saunders.” “I’m prostrated with grief,” orates the old pelican. “Anyway I don’t see what Columbus has to do with my homecoming, Henry.” “I can’t explain it to yuh, Calamity. You’d have to see it for yourself.” We pilgrims down to Paradise, and ties our steeds on a side street. There’s a scarcity of rolling stock in sight, and it makes me wonder a heap. Usually yuh can see broncs tied all over town, when a celebration is in prospect. We pokes along up the street to Mike Pelly’s saloon and goes inside. Mike is alone in there, setting at the end of the bar, with a shotgun beside him.