"Listen a minute!" Curly's ears had detected the rattle of distant wagon wheels.

"That's Tom comin' now," said he.

"He's a heap more regular than the Socorro stage.

That's him, because I can hear him singin'." "Tom, he's stuck on music," said McKinney.
Afar, but approaching steadily, might be heard the jolting vehicle coming down the canon; and presently there was borne to our ears the sound of Tom Osby's voice in his favorite melody:-- "I never _lo-o-oved_ a fo-o-o-o-nd ga-a-a-z-elle!" He proclaimed this loudly.
We knew that Tom would drive up to Whiteman's store, hence we waited for him near the corral fence.

As he approached and observed our occupation he arrested his salutations and gazed for a moment in silent meditation.
"Prithee, sweet sirs," said he, at length, "what in blazes you doin' ?" "These gentlemen," said Dan Anderson from the fence, "are engaged in showin' the endurin' quality of the Anglo-Saxon temperament.