To digress for a moment--the people of Montana pride themselves on their universal courtesy to strangers. Time and again, we had people say, “You have found our people polite and obliging?”--“Yes; they are kindness itself”--and they were. When we reached the Olive Hotel we were agreeably surprised. Everything was clean and comfortable, looking like Paradise after the dust and scorching sun of the plains. We were having our lunches put up by the hotel each morning, as there was absolutely nothing decent en route (shades of Medora!). I asked for the manager, Mr. Murphy. “We shall be glad to put you up a lunch,” he said. “What would you like?” “Anything but _ham_ sandwiches. We have been so fed up on them that we can’t look a pig in the face for fear we will see a family resemblance.” Then I added, “May the bread be cut thin, and buttered?” He laughed and assured us that it would be “all right.” Right! Ye gods, we had a feast! Oh, how we have blessed dear Mr. Murphy! May his shadow never grow less! As we were starting in the morning the head waitress came out with the lunch neatly done up, saying, “Mr. Murphy has had some extras put in. We like Easterners and try to please tourists.” We paid the modest price of $2.50 (for three people) and decided to curb our curiosity until noon. This was a _real_ occasion, and just the proper spot must be found for our party. Some days we had driven many miles to find a clump of trees to lunch under. Today we went ten miles and never even saw a tree--the deadly monotony of the endless plains--heat, dust, sand, sagebrush the color of ashes, and only a jolly little prairie-dog scurrying to his hole or a hawk flying overhead. Not a tree--not even a big bush to give shade! We asked some ranchers where they got wood for fuel. “There ain’t no wood. Every fellow digs his coal in his own backyard.” It sounded simple, and I was glad to hear that nature had provided some compensations for the farmer, whose life at the best is not all “beer and skittles.” On we drove until one o’clock--and still no trees! A wail from Toodles: “What about having lunch in the car?” There was a bend in the road over the top of a hill. “I have a hunch that there will be a tree around the bend,” ventured the bird-man. There was!--just one big, glorious cottonwood tree that would shelter a drove of cattle, and the only tree in sight on those plains as far as the eye could see. Out came the faithful old rug and the hamper--and then we unpacked the lunch! Three juicy melons, a whole broiled chicken for each one, thin bread and butter, a jar of potato salad, fresh tomatoes, three jars of marmalade, eggs, crisp lettuce, pickles, and the best chocolate-cake I ever tasted, besides peaches, pears, and hot coffee. You may think we were a lot of greedy pigs, but that was the banner lunch of the trip. May Mr. Murphy never go hungry! He has made three friends for life.