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waste Indians。 Indians were a source of revenue to so many people in
Washington and elsewhere。 But the process of catching Indians； armed
with weapons sold them by friends of the Interior Department； was not
entirely harmless。 Therefore there came to be graves in the Drybone
graveyard。 The pale weather…washed head…boards told all about it： 〃Sacred
to the memory of Private So…and…So； killed on the Dry Cheyenne； May 6；
1875。〃 Or it would be； 〃Mrs。 So…and…So； found scalped on Sage Creek。〃
But even the financiers at Washington could not wholly preserve the
Indian in Drybone's neighborhood。 As the cattle by ten thousands came
treading with the next step of civilization into this huge domain； the
soldiers were taken away。 Some of them went West to fight more Indians
in Idaho； Oregon； or Arizona。 The battles of the others being done； they
went East in better coffins to sleep where their mothers or their comrades
wanted them。 Though wind and rain wrought changes upon the hill； the
ready…made graves and boxes which these soldiers left behind proved
heirlooms as serviceable in their way as were the tenements that the living
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had bequeathed to Drybone。 Into these empty barracks came to dwell and
do business every joy that made the cow…puncher's holiday； and every
hunted person who was baffling the sheriff。 For the sheriff must stop
outside the line of Drybone； as shall presently be made clear。 The captain's
quarters were a saloon now； professional cards were going in the adjutant's
office night and day； and the commissary building made a good dance…hall
and hotel。 Instead of guard…mounting； you would see a horse…race on the
parade…ground； and there was no provost…sergeant to gather up the broken
bottles and old boots。 Heaps of these choked the rusty fountain。 In the tufts
of yellow； ragged grass that dotted the place plentifully were lodged many
aces and queens and ten…spots； which the Drybone wind had blown wide
from the doors out of which they had been thrown when a new pack was
called for inside。 Among the grass tufts would lie visitors who had applied
for beds too late at the dance…hall； frankly sleeping their whiskey off in the
morning air。
Above； on the hill； the graveyard quietly chronicled this new epoch of
Drybone。 So…and…so was seldom killed very far out of town； and of course
scalping had disappeared。 〃Sacred to the memory of Four…ace Johnston；
accidently shot； Sep。 4； 1885。〃 Perhaps one is still there unaltered： 〃Sacred
to the memory of Mrs。 Ryan's babe。 Aged two months。〃 This unique
corpse had succeeded in dying with its boots off。
But a succession of graves was not always needed to read the changing
tale of the place； and how people died there； one grave would often be
enough。 The soldiers； of course； had kept treeless Drybone supplied with
wood。 But in these latter days wood was very scarce。 None grew nearer
than twenty or thirty milesnone； that is； to make boards of a sufficient
width for epitaphs。 And twenty miles was naturally far to go to hew a
board for a man of whom you knew perhaps nothing but what he said his
name was； and to whom you owed nothing； perhaps； but a trifling poker
debt。 Hence it came to pass that headboards grew into a sort of directory。
They were light to lift from one place to another。 A single coat of white
paint would wipe out the first tenant's name sufficiently to paint over it the
next comer's。 By this thrifty habit the original boards belonging to the
soldiers could go round； keeping pace with the new civilian population；
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and though at first sight you might be puzzled by the layers of names still
visible beneath the white paint； you could be sure that the clearest and
blackest was the one to which the present tenant had answered。
So there on the hill lay the graveyard； steadily writing Drybone's
history； and making that history lay the town at the bottomone thin line
of houses framing three sides of the old parade ground。 In these slowly
rotting shells people rioted； believing the golden age was here； the age
when everybody should have money and nobody should be arrested。 For
Drybone soil； you see； was still government soil； not yet handed over to
Wyoming； and only government could arrest there； and only for
government crimes。 But government had gone； and seldom worried
Drybone！ The spot was a postage…stamp of sanctuary pasted in the middle
of Wyoming's big map； a paradise for the Four…ace Johnstons。 Only； you
must not steal a horse。 That was really wicked； and brought you instantly
to the notice of Drybone's one officialthe coroner！ For they did keep a
coronerJudge Slaghammer。 He was perfectly illegal； and lived next door
in Albany County。 But that county paid fees and mileage to keep tally of
Drybone's casualties。 His wife owned the dance…hall； and between their
industries they made out a living。 And all the citizens made out a living。
The happy cow…punchers on ranches far and near still earned and instantly
spent the high wages still paid them。 With their bodies full of youth and
their pockets full of gold； they rode into town by twenties； by fifties； and
out again next morning； penniless always and happy。 And then the Four…
ace Johnstons would sit card…playing with each other till the innocents
should come to town again。
To…night the innocents had certainly come to town； and Drybone was
furnishing to them all its joys。 Their many horses stood tied at every post
and cornerpatient； experienced cow…ponies； well knowing it was an all…
night affair。 The talk and laughter of the riders was in the saloons； they
leaned joking over the bars； they sat behind their cards at the tables； they
strolled to the post…trader's to buy presents for their easy sweethearts their
boots were keeping audible time with the fiddle at Mrs。 Slaghammer's。
From the multitude and vigor of the sounds there； the dance was being
done regularly。 〃Regularly〃 meant that upon the conclusion of each set the
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gentleman led his lady to the bar and invited her to choose and it was also
regular that the lady should choose。 Beer and whiskey were the
alternatives。
Lin McLean's horse took him across the square without guiding from
the cow…puncher； who sat absently with his hands folded upon the horn of
his saddle。 This horse； too； was patient and experienced； and could not
know what remote thoughts filled his master's mind。 He looked around to
see why his master did not get off lightly； as he had done during so many
gallant years； and hasten in to the conviviality。 But the lonely cow…puncher
sat mechanically identifying the horses of acquaintances。
〃Toothpick Kid is here；〃 said he； 〃and Limber Jim； and the Doughie。
You'd think he'd stay away after the trouble heI expect that pinto is Jerky
Bill's。〃
〃Go home！〃 said a hearty voice。
McLean eagerly turned。 For the moment his face lighted from its
sombreness。 〃I'd forgot you'd be here；〃 said he。 And he sprang to the
ground。 〃It's fine to see you。〃
〃Go home！〃 repeated the Governor of Wyoming； shaking his ancient
friend's hand。 〃You in Drybone to…night； and claim you're reformed？
〃Yu' seem to be on hand yourself；〃 said the cow…puncher； bracing to be
jocular； if he could。
〃Me！ I've gone fishing。 Don't you read the papers？ If we poor
governors can't lock up the State House and take a whirl now and then〃
〃Doc；〃 interrupted Lin； 〃it's plumb fine to see yu'！〃 Again he shook
hands。
〃Why； yes！ we've met here before； you and I。〃 His Excellency the Hon。
Amory W。 Barker； M。D。； stood laughing； familiar and genial； his sound
white teeth shining。 But behind his round spectacles he scrutinized
McLean。 For in this seco