“That’sthetrouble，“saidthecow-puncher。“Ido。Awfulfar。“Hestaredoutofthewindow。
“Well，Imightcomesometime。Iwishyou’dwritemealetter。Canyouwrite？““What’sthat？CanIwrite？Ohyes。“
“Icanwrite，an’Icanreadtoo。I’vebeentoschoolinSidney，Nebraska，an’Magaw，Kansas，an’SaltLake——that’sthefinesttownexceptDenver。“
Billyfellintothatcheerfulstrainofcommentwhich，unrepliedto，yetgoesoncontentedandself-sustaining，whileMr。McLeangaveamiablesignsofassent，butchieflylookedoutofthewindow；andwhenthenowinterestedwaitersaidrespectfullythathedesiredtoclosetheroom，theywentouttotheoffice，wherethemoneywasgotoutofthesafeandthebillpaid。
Thestreetswerefullofthebrightsun，andseeminglyatDenver’sgatesstoodthemountainssparkling；anaircrispandpleasantwaftedfromtheirpeaks；nosmokehungamongtheroofs，andtheskyspreadwideoverthecitywithoutastain；itwasholidayupamongthechimneysandtallbuildings，anddownamongthequietground-storiesbelowaswell；andpresentlyfromtheirscatteredpinnaclesthroughthetownthebellsbrokeoutagainstthejocundsilenceofthemorning。