“It’s from Mike Sutton. I authorized him to secure the services of the best lawyer in the West, and he has just wired me that he has retained Senator Aspgrain of Sioux City, Iowa. They will report at Fort Buford on September the 5th and will take care of any legal complications which may arise. I don’t know who this senator is, but Mike has orders not to spare any expense as long as we have the other fellow’s money to fight with. Well, if the Iowa lawyers are as good stuff as the Iowa troops were down in Dixie, that’s all I ask. Now, we’ll get our suppers and then sack our saddles—why, sure, you’ll need them; every good cowman takes his saddle wherever he goes, though he may not have clothes enough with him to dust a fiddle.” CHAPTER XIX. IN QUARANTINE We reached Miles City shortly after midnight. It was the recognized cattle centre of Montana at that time, but devoid of the high-lights which were a feature of the trail towns. The village boasted the usual number of saloons and dance-houses, and likewise an ordinance compelling such resorts to close on the stroke of twelve. Lovell had been there before, and led the way to a well-known hostelry. The house was crowded, and the best the night clerk could do was to give us a room with two beds. This was perfectly satisfactory, as it was a large apartment and fronted out on an open gallery. Old man Don suggested we take the mattresses outside, but as this was my first chance to sleep in a bed since leaving the ranch in March, I wanted all the comforts that were due me. Sponsilier likewise favored the idea of sleeping inside, and our employer yielded, taking the single bed on retiring. The night was warm, and after thrashing around for nearly an hour, supposing that Dave and I were asleep, old man Don arose and quietly dragged his mattress outside. Our bed was soft and downy, but in spite of the lateness of the hour and having been in our saddles at dawn, we tossed about, unable to sleep. After agreeing that it was the mattress, we took the covering and pillows and lay down on the floor, falling into a deep slumber almost instantly. “Well, wouldn’t that jar your eccentric,” said Dave to me the next morning, speaking of our inability to sleep in a bed. “I slept in one in Ogalalla, and I wasn’t over-full either.”