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"Skull Valley desert; we stopped to feed and rest."
I concluded with these words: "It is very gratifying for me to know so many are interested in Mac A'Rony's welfare. I hope to take him through with me to the Pacific. I do not like it to appear that I, while a guest of the hotel, am taking undue advantage of its privileges, but if there are any among you who desire a souvenir of our novel trip I have a few pictures which may be procured at twenty-five cents each. I now formally bid you all adieu."
The souvenirs went like hot cakes. Presently a sweet girl who had purchased three pictures, with beaming eyes and a winsome smile, asked, "Oh, Mr. Pod, won't you please put your autograph on these photos?"
"Certainly," I replied, "but each signature will cost twenty-five cents extra." I said it, just to see how it would take.
"Of course, I'll be glad to pay for the autographs," the maid returned, and handed me the photos to sign. And I was kept busy signing pictures until my hand ached.
My last afternoon in Glenwood was a busy one. I decided to heed the admonitions of many Westerners I had met, to avoid the Green River desert, a barren waste of shifting sands, utterly devoid of water, stretching a hundred and thirty miles and more, and, instead, to trail northwesterly via Meeker, White River, and the Ute Reservation. On the Meeker route I was promised fair grazing and ample water supply every twenty or thirty miles of the distance to the Mormon City.
It was five in the p. m. when Coonskin brought my caravan to the hotel, and saluting me, said, "Professor, your donkeys are ready and packed for the journey." The guests of the hotel, with few exceptions, were assembled to witness the start, and my dog in appreciation of the compliment strode grandly among the ladies and kissed their hands, and I believe bade every one an affectionate farewell.
I thought this a good time, for once on my trip, to put on stylish "airs." I had never called upon Coonskin to exercise the duties of a valet, in the strictest sense. As soon as he buckled the guns on the saddles, I dropped my ragged canvas leggings at his feet, put forth a foot, and gave him a significant look. Immediately the gallant "Sancho" knelt down on one knee and proceeded to lace the leggings on me, creating much amusement. I then made a short farewell address, got into Mac A'Rony's saddle, and gave the word to start. Such a cheer as arose from the ladies that lined the veranda! I'll bet there wasn't one who would have missed the event for a five dollar note.