His most exciting adventure on this trip had occurred far out on the desert when he had been accosted by three tramps, who demanded the canteen of water that he carried on his shoulder. He unslung it with the intention of sharing the precious fluid, but one attempted to snatch it from his hand. As they struggled, another approached and struck him from the rear with a rock. With a sudden sidelong leap, he wrenched himself free, and swinging the canteen by the strap with all his force, let the first man have it full in the forehead. The fellow went down without a groan, and with a backhand motion, the soldier brought the canteen up and around, striking the second tramp on the point of the jaw. His companions out of commission, the third man took to his heels, while our hero gathered up the first hobo, who still lay unconscious, and with the aid of the second carried him to the railroad track and there flagged a passing freight, which took the two tramps to the next town. As the evening advanced, the Irishman entertained us with descriptions of the many strange corners of the world that he had visited in the service of Uncle Sam, and told wild yarns of his experiences in the Philippines and in China during the Boxer rebellion. After a last creepy story of a looted temple and a dead Chinese priest, who came to life while the foreign devils were holding high carnival, and walking into their midst in his grave clothes, caused them to drop their spoils and flee, we stretched ourselves beside the glowing coals and slept. The sharp cold of early morning awakened me, and heaping the ashes high with dry wood, I kindled a fire and started breakfast. Our soldier friend lay with head on knapsack, and in the deep relaxation of sleep the harsh footprints of the years disappeared and his face looked pure and boyish in the soft light of dawn. As he whimpered with cold and weariness, I could scarcely restrain myself from easing his head with a motherly touch, but contented myself with covering him with our blankets. Breakfast concluded, we prepared to follow our diverging paths. The soldier wrote a note to a pal at the military reservation at Cheyenne, commending us to his care. Then, as we said good-bye, he thrust the battered canteen into my hands. “Your need is to come, but mine is ended. Keep it in remembrance of me.” He lifted his hat and was gone. ELEVEN ABOARD A MODERN PRAIRIE SCHOONER. ELEVEN _Aboard a Modern Prairie Schooner._ Dates are a thing of the past along with newspapers, street cars, electric lights, the hope of a speedy arrival in California, and last, but not least, our faithful companion, the stout, green tandem. And it came about thus: