My name is Bowers, of Mendocino; I reckon there ain't much that grows in the way o' standin' timber on the Pacific Slope that I don't know and can't locate, though I DO say it.

I've got ez big a mill, and ez big a run in my district, ez there is anywhere.

Ef you're ever up my way, you ask for Bowers--Jim Bowers--and that's ME." There is probably nothing more conducive to conversation between strangers than a wholesome and early recognition of each other's foibles.

Mr.Bowers, believing his chance acquaintance a superior woman, naively spoke of himself in a way that he hoped would reassure her that she was not compromising herself in accepting his civility, and so satisfy what must be her inevitable pride.

On the other hand, the woman regained her self-possession by this exhibition of Mr.Bowers's vanity, and, revived by the refreshing breeze caused by the rapid motion of the buggy along the road, thanked him graciously.
"I suppose there are many strangers at the Green Springs Hotel," she said, after a pause.
"I didn't get to see 'em, as I only put up my hoss there," he replied.
"But I know the stage took some away this mornin': it seemed pretty well loaded up when I passed it." The woman drew a deep sigh.