"Don't tell me that," I come back. "I know you're lyin'. When you talked that gal into the op'ra business, you had 'a' ax t' grind, yas, you did. Now, _where is she?_" He looked plumb nervous. "I tell y', I don't know," he answers; "_honest,_ I don't. I've saw her just oncet--the day after she got here. I offered t' do anythin' I could fer her, but she didn't seem t' appreciate my kindness." "All right," I says. "But, Simpson, listen: If you've said a word t' that gal that you oughtn't to, 'r if you've follered 'round after her any when she didn't want you should, you'll hear from _me_. Salt _that_ down." And I let him go. Meetin' _him_ that-a-way, made me feel a heap better. If I could run into the only man I knowed in the city of Noo York, then, sometime, I'd shore come acrosst _her_. That was the last day I set on the steps of the statue. About sundown, I ast a police feller if anybody could ride in the park without me seein' 'em from where I was. "Why, yas," he says, "they's plenty of entrances, all right. This is just where a few comes in and out. The best way to see the riders is to go ride you'self." Don't know why I didn't think of that _afore_. But I didn't lose no time. Next mornin', I was up turrible early and makin' fer a barn clost to the park. I found one easy--pretty frequent thereabouts, y' savvy,--and begun t' dicker on rentin' a hoss. Prices was high, but I done my best, and they led out a nag. And what do you think? It had on one of them saddles with no horn,--a shore enough _muley_. Say! that was a hard proposition. "I ast fer a saddle," I says, "not a postage stamp." But the stable-keeper didn't have no other. So I got on and rode slow. When I struck the timber, I felt better, and I started my bronc up. She was one of them kind that can go all day on a shingle. And her front legs acted plumb funny--jerked up and down. I figgered it was the spring halt. But pretty soon I seen other hosses goin' the same way. So I swallered it, like I done the saddle. But they was one thing about my cayuse made me hot. She wouldn't lope. No, ma'am, it was trot, trot, trot, trot, till the roots of my hair was loose, and the lights was near shook outen me. You bet I was mighty glad none of the outfit could see me! But if they'd 'a' thought _I_ was funny, they'd 'a' had a duck-fit at what I seen. First a passel of men come by, all in bloomers, humpin' fast,--_up_ and down, _up_ and down--Monkey Mike, shore's you live! None of 'em looked joyful, and you could pretty nigh hear they knees squeak! Then 'long come a gal, humpin' just the same, and hangin' on to the side of her cayuse fer dear life, lookin' ev'ry step like she was goin' to avalanche. And oncet in a while I passed a feller that was runnin' a cultivator down the trail,--to keep it nice and soft, I reckon, fer the ladies and gents t' fall on.