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 vegetables in Malcolm Duncan's garden to the flowers within his house, where Mrs. Duncan greeted Winch by his first name with the familiarity of an old friend, and shook hands like a man with Texas Hartwell, and presented her daughters.

"Malcolm home?" Winch inquired.

"No. Him and the girls got home about midnight from the fair, and he was in the saddle at daylight this morning to see how things is goin' with the boys."

Mrs. Duncan spoke with the twang of Indiana on her tongue. She was a lady of large girth, with a red wrapper and a red face. Outwardly and inwardly she appeared to be exceedingly hot. Her daughters gave no promise of following the maternal lines. They were straight-backed and tall, rather handsome, and cool as daisies in the field in their white dresses. To Texas they appeared out of place in that island of a home in the great raw sweep of prairie, for they carried themselves as if they had been accustomed to meeting people all their lives.

They recognized Texas as the man who had won first place in the roping contest, and spoke of his work with compliments. Texas felt like a rooster with his tail feathers plucked, he admitted to himself, when it came to sitting down to dinner with those young ladies in his shirt-sleeves. But there