“This old man was a retired stage-driver, and was doing the wrangling act for the stage-horses. After supper I went out to the corral and wormed the information out of him that the woman was a widow; that her husband had died before she came there, and that she was from Michigan. Amongst other things that I learned from the old man was that she had only been there a few months, and was a poor but deserving woman. I told Bibleback all this after we had gone to bed, and we found that our finances amounted to only four dollars, which she was more than welcome to. So the next morning after breakfast, when I asked her what I owed her for our trouble, she replied so graciously: ‘Why, gentlemen, I couldn’t think of taking advantage of your necessity to charge you for a favor that I’m only too happy to grant.’ ‘Oh,’ said I, ‘take this, anyhow,’ laying the silver on the corner of the table and starting for the door, when she stopped me. ‘One moment, sir; I can’t think of accepting this. Be kind enough to grant my request,’ and returned the money. We mumbled out some thanks, bade her good-day, and started for the corral, feeling like two sheep thieves. While we were saddling up—will you believe it?—her little boy came out to the corral and gave each one of us as fine a cigar as ever I buttoned my lip over. Well, fellows, we had had it put all over us by this little Michigan woman, till we couldn’t look each other in the face. We were accustomed to hardship and neglect, but here was genuine kindness enough to kill a cat. “Until we got within five miles of our camp that morning, old Bibleback wouldn’t speak to me as we rode along. Then he turned halfway in his saddle and said: ‘What kind of folks are those?’ ‘I don’t know,’ I replied, ‘what kind of people they are, but I know they are good ones.’ ‘Well, I’ll get even with that little woman if it takes every sou in my war-bags,’ said Hunt. “When within a mile of camp, Bibleback turned again in his saddle and asked, ‘When is Christmas?’ ‘In about five weeks,’ I answered. ‘Do you know where that big Wyoming stray ranges?’ he next asked. I trailed onto his game in a second. ‘Of course I do.’ ‘Well,’ says he, ‘let’s kill him for Christmas and give that little widow every ounce of the meat. It’ll be a good one on her, won’t it? We’ll fool her a plenty. Say nothing to the others,’ he added; and giving our horses the rein we rode into camp on a gallop.