tion of domestic economy with a raucous hoot such as passed with her for sprightly laughter.
The orgy in the Boston Cash Store was not completed until the lady in hidden overalls had cajoled and threatened Phenie to choose for herself something nifty in shirt waists, this being Woolly Annie's unvarying prerogative in the direction of reward for the girl's shopping instincts, always requisitioned. Then the sheep woman swung out into Main Street alone while Phenie hurried back to preside over whatever short orders might come to the Rhihoceros during the afternoon. The mother of the promising nine on the Poison Spider consciously made her peregrinations up the town's chief street a sort of unofficial triumph. Who would not if a trip to town was something repeated but three or four times on the year's calendar?
She stopped to roll and smoke a cigarette with Sheriff Red Agnew in front of the Homesteader bar. She hailed with trumpet voice old Dad Armbruster, owner of the Yellow and Black sheep outfit up on the headwaters of Crazy Squaw, and held him in a half-hour professional conversation on the outlook for the next shearing and what in deletion he was
