And the fellow did. Presently there was a deafening report, and the cook was lifted off the steamer, while dumplings flew in every direction, striking the ceiling, and then, from heaviness, dropping on the floor. One broke my plate into a dozen pieces. Another hot and saucy dumpling shot through the bursted side of the steamer, hitting one of the cowboys in the eye.
"Just my luck," I said; "they would have been as light as a feather."
"Light!" exclaimed the injured fellow with a handkerchief against his scalded optic. "It was the heaviest thing that ever hit me, let me tell you, and I've been punching cattle seven years."
When the excitement was over, and we had found sufficient grub to complete our meal, all assembled in the cool outer air, where Coonskin and I entertained with our musical instruments until bedtime.
Next morning, on my suggestion, a cowboy threw his lariat round my body good-naturedly and pulled me over, but before I could right myself Don took three bounds and pulled the fellow down by the shoulder, frightening one and all. I shouted so loudly to the dog that I was hoarse for a week. That demonstration of Don's loyalty was a revelation to me. The man was not injured, although his coat was torn.
The lack of energy and enterprise of the town of the western plains was both surprising and amusing. I expected a package of photos at Willow Island. When I called for it I was informed that the railroad station had burned a few months before, and that their express stopped at Cozad, which I had passed through. So I wrote to have the package forwarded to a station farther west.
Gothenburg, the next town, was in a decline, the reaction of a boom. A traveler approaching it expects to find a business center. Many stores and dwellings were of brick, but whole rows were vacant at the time. The soothing melody of the squalling infant was only a memory to the village druggist; the itinerant butcher and milkman had ceased their daily rounds; and all that was left to distinguish the half-deserted village from the desert was an occasional swallow that went down the parched mouth of a chimney. There is another town characteristic of the plains. I had a letter to post at Paxton, but forgot it; some miles beyond, a ranchman whom we met said I would find a post-office at Korty, five miles further on. After traveling two hours, we could see no vestige of a village anywhere. Don ran ahead to the top of every sand hill and stood on his hind feet to have the first peep at the mysterious town. I came to the conclusion the ranchman had said twenty-five miles instead of five. Finally the trail approached the railroad.
"I see the town of Korty!" my valet exclaimed.
"Where?" I asked.
"There. Plain as day. Can't you see it?" he asked, pointing straight ahead.