“Bet your life!” said the man. “First lot has been stuck here four days.” “Plumb starved, ain’t they?” inquired the Virginian. “Bet your life! They’ve eat up their dining cars and they’ve eat up this town.” “Well,” said the Virginian, looking at the town, “I expaict the dining-cyars contained more nourishment.” “Say, you’re about right there!” said the man. He walked beside the caboose as we puffed slowly forward from the water-tank to our siding. “Fine business here if we’d only been ready,” he continued. “And the Crow agent has let his Indians come over from the reservation. There has been a little beef brought in, and game, and fish. And big money in it, bet your life! Them Eastern passengers has just been robbed. I wisht I had somethin’ to sell!” “Anything starting for Rawhide this afternoon?” said Trampas, out of the caboose door. “Not until morning,” said the man. “You going to the mines?” he resumed to the Virginian. “Why,” answered the Southerner, slowly and casually, and addressing himself strictly to the man, while Trampas, on his side, paid obvious inattention, “this hyeh delay, yu’ see, may unsettle our plans some. But it’ll be one of two ways,--we’re all goin’ to Rawhide, or we’re all goin’ to Billings. We’re all one party, yu’ see.” Trampas laughed audibly inside the door as he rejoined his men. “Let him keep up appearances,” I heard him tell them. “It don’t hurt us what he says to strangers.” “But I’m goin’ to eat hearty either way,” continued the Virginian. “And I ain’ goin’ to be robbed. I’ve been kind o’ promisin’ myself a treat if we stopped hyeh.” “Town’s eat clean out,” said the man. “So yu’ tell me. But all you folks has forgot one source of revenue that yu’ have right close by, mighty handy. If you have got a gunny sack, I’ll show you how to make some money.” “Bet your life!” said the man. “Mr. Le Moyne,” said the Virginian, “the outfit’s cookin’ stuff is aboard, and if you’ll get the fire ready, we’ll try how frawgs’ laigs go fried.” He walked off at once, the man following like a dog. Inside the caboose rose a gust of laughter. “Frogs!” muttered Scipio. And then turning a blank face to me, “Frogs?” “Colonel Cyrus Jones had them on his bill of fare,” I said. “‘FROGS’ LEGS A LA DELMONICO.’” “Shoo! I didn’t get up that thing. They had it when I came. Never looked at it. Frogs?” He went down the steps very slowly, with a long frown. Reaching the ground, he shook his head. “That man’s trail is surely hard to anticipate,” he said. “But I must hurry up that fire. For his appearance has given me encouragement,” Scipio concluded, and became brisk. Shorty helped him, and I brought wood. Trampas and the other people strolled off to the station, a compact band.