dled together on the platform, encumbered by
bundles and boxes. I knew this must be the
immigrant family the conductor had told us
about. The woman wore a fringed shawl tied
over her head, and she carried a little tin
trunk in her arms, hugging it as if it were a
baby. There was an old man, tall and stooped.
Two half-grown boys and a girl stood holding
oilcloth a bundles, and a little girl clung to
her mother's skirts. Presently a man with a
lantern approached them and began to talk,
shouting and exclaiming. I pricked up my
ears, for it was positively the first time I had
ever heard a foreign tongue.

Another lantern came along. A bantering
voice called out: "Hello, are you Mr. Bur-
den's folks? If you are, it's me you're looking
for. I'm Otto Fuchs. I'm Mr. Burden's
hired man, and I'm to drive you out. Hello,
Jimmy, ain't you scared to come so far west?"

I looked up with interest at the new face
in the lantern light. He might have stepped
out of the pages of "Jesse James." He wore
a sombrero hat, with a wide leather band and
a bright buckle, and the ends of his mustache
were twisted up stiffly, like little horns. He
looked lively and ferocious, I thought, and

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