MYDEARHARRYMERCER：WhenLinMcLeanwasonlyaheroinmanuscript，hereceivedhisfirstwelcomeandchasteningbeneathyourpatientroof。Bynonesomuchasbyyouhasheinprivatebeenhelpedandaffectionatelydisciplined，annowyoumuststandgodfathertohimuponthispublicpage。
Intheolddays，thehappydays，whenWyomingwasaTerritorywithafutureinsteadofaStatewithapast，andtheunfencedcattlegrazeduponherrangesbyprosperousthousands，youngLinMcLeanawakedearlyonemorningincowcamp，andlaystaringoutofhisblanketsupontheworld。Hewouldbetwenty-twothisweek。Hewastheyoungestcow-puncherincamp。Butbecausehecouldbreakwildhorses，hewasearningmoredollarsamonththananymanthere，exceptone。Thecookwasamoreindispensableperson。Nonesavethecookwasup，sofar，thismorning。
Lin’sbrotherpuncherssleptabouthimontheground，somemotionless，someshiftingtheirproneheadstoburrowdeeperfromtheincreasingday。
Thebusyworkofspringwasover，thatofthefall，orbeefround-up，notyetcome。Itwasmid-July，alullforthesehard-ridingbachelorsofthesaddle，andmanyunspentdollarsstoodtoMr。McLean’screditontheranchbooks。
“What’sthematterwithsomevariety？“mutteredtheboyinhisblankets。
Thelongrangeofthemountainsliftedclearintheair。Theyslantedfromthepurplefoldsandfurrowsofthepinesthatrichlycloakedthem，upwardintorockandgrassybarenessuntiltheybrokeremotelyintobrightpeaks，andfilmedintothedistantlavenderofthenorthandthesouth。OntheirwesternsidethestreamsranintoSnakeorintoGreenRiver，andsoatlengthmetthePacific。Onthisside，WindRiverflowedforthfromthem，descendingoutoftheLakeofthePaintedMeadows。A
meretrout-brookitwasupthereatthetopofthedivide，witheasyrifflesandstepping-stonesinmanyplaces；butdownhere，outsidethemountains，itwasbecomeastreamingavenue，abroadeningcourse，impetuousbetweenitstwotallgreenwallsofcottonwood-trees。Andsoitwoundawaylikeavastgreenribbonacrossthelilac-graysage-brushandtheyellow，vanishingplains。
“Variety，youbet!“youngLinrepeated，aloud。
Heunrolledhimselffromhisbed，andbroughtfromthegarmentsthatmadehispillowafewtoiletarticles。Hegotonhislongboylegsandlimpedblithelytothemargin。Inthemorningshisslightlamenesswasalwaysmorevisible。ThecampwasatBullLakeCrossing，wheretheforkfromBullLakejoinsWindRiver。HereLinfoundsomeconvenientshingle-stones，withdark，deepishwateragainstthem，whereheplungedhisfaceandenergeticallywashed，andcameupwiththeshortcurlyhairshininguponhisroundhead。Afterenoughlooksathimselfinthedarkwater，andhavingknottedaclean，jauntyhandkerchiefathisthroat，hereturnedwithhisslightlimptocamp，wheretheywerejustsittingatbreakfasttotherearofthecook-shelfofthewagon。
“Buggeduptokill!“exclaimedone，perceivingLin’scarefuldress。
“Hesurehasnotshavedagain？“anotherinquired，withconcern。
“Iain’tgotmyopera-glasseson，“answeredathird。
“Hehassparedthatpansy-blossommustache，“saidafourth。
“Myspringcrop，“remarkedyoungLin，roundingonthislastone，“hasjuicierprospectsthanthatrat-eatencatastropheoflastyear’shaywhichwandersoutofyourface。“
“Why，you’llsoonbetalkingyourselfintoaregularman，“saidtheother。
ButthecamplaughremainedonthesideofyoungLintillbreakfastwasended，whentheranchforemanrodeintocamp。
HimLinMcLeanatonceaddressed。“Iwaswantin’tospeaktoyou，“saidhe。
Theexperiencedforemannoticedtheboy’sholidayappearance。“I
understandyou’retiredofwork，“heremarked。
“Whotoldyou？“askedthebewilderedLin。
Theforemantouchedtheboy’sprettyhandkerchief。“Well，Ihaveawayoftakingthingsinataglance，“saidhe。“That’swhyI’mforeman，I
expect。Soyou’vehadenoughwork？“
“Mysystem’sfullofit，“repliedLin，grinning。Astheforemanstoodthinking，headded，“AndI’dlikemytime。“
Time，inthecattleidiom，meantback-payuptodate。
“It’sgoodwe’renotbusy，“saidtheforeman。
“Meanin’I’dquitallthesame？“inquiredLin，rapidly，flushing。
“No——notmeaninganyoffence。Catchupyourhorse。Iwanttomakethepostbeforeitgetshot。“
TheforemanhadcomedowntheriverfromtheranchatMeadowCreek，andthepost，hisgoal，wasFortWashakie。AllthispartofthecountryformedtheShoshoneIndianReservation，where，bypermission，pasturedtheherdswhoseownerwouldpayLinhistimeatWashakie。Sotheyoungcow-puncherflungonhissaddleandmounted。
“So-long!“heremarkedtothecamp，bywayoffarewell。Hemightneverbegoingtoseeanyofthemagain；butthecow-puncherswerenotdemonstrativebyhabit。
“GoingtostoplongatWashakie？“askedone。
“Almaisnotwaiter-girlatthehotelnow，“anothermentioned。
“Ifthere’sanewgirl，“saidathird，“kissheroneforme，andtellherI’mhandsomerthanyou。“
“Iain’tadeceiverofwomen，“saidLin。
“That’swhyyou’lltellher，“repliedhisfriend。
“Say，Lin，whyareyouquittin’ussosudden，anyway？“askedthecook，grievedtolosehim。
“I’maftersomevariety，“saidtheboy。
“Ifyoupickupmorethanyoucanuse，justcanalittleofitforme!“
shoutedthecookatthedepartingMcLean。
ThiswasthelastofcampbyBullLakeCrossing，andintheforeman’scompanyyoungLinnowtooktheroadforhisaccumulateddollars。
“Soyou’releavingyourbeddingandstuffwiththeoutfit？“saidtheforeman。
“Broughtmytooth-brush，“saidLin，showingitinthebreast-pocketofhisflannelshirt。
“GoingtoDenver？“
“Why，maybe。“
“TakeinSanFrancisco？“
“Soundsslick。“
“Madeanyplans？“
“Gosh，no!“
“Don’twantanythingonyourbrain？“
“Nothin’exceptmyhat，Iguess，“saidLin，andbrokeintocheerfulsong：
“’Twasanastybabyanyhow，Anditonlydiedtospiteus；
’TwasafflictedwiththecerebrowSpinalmeningitis!’“
TheywoundupoutofthemagicvalleyofWindRiver，throughthebastionedgulliesandthegnome-likemysteryofdrywater-courses，upwardanduptothelevelofthehugesage-brushplainabove。Behindlaythedeepvalleytheyhadclimbedfrom，mighty，expanding，itstreeslikebushes，itscattlelikepebbles，itsoppositesidetoweringalsototheedgeofthisupperplain。Thereitlay，anotherworld。Onestepfartherawayfromitsrim，andthetwoedgesoftheplainhadflowedtogetheroveritlikeaclosingsea，coveringwithoutasignorripplethegreatcountrywhichlaysunkbeneath。
“Amanmightthinkhe’ddreamedhe’dsawthatplace，“saidLintotheforeman，andwheeledhishorsetotheedgeagain。“She’ssurethere，though，“headded，gazingdown。Foramomenthisboyfacegrewthoughtful。“Shucks!“saidhethen，abruptly，“where’sanyjoyinmoneythat’scomin’tillitarrives？Ihavemostforgotthefeelo’spot-cash。“
Heturnedhishorseawayfromthefar-windingvisionoftheriver，andtookasharpjogaftertheforeman，whohadnotbeenwaitingforhim。
Thustheycrossedtheeighteenmilesofhighplain，andcamedowntoFortWashakie，inthevalleyofLittleWind，beforethedaywashot。
Hisrollofwagesoncejammedinhispocketlikeanoldhandkerchief，youngLinprecipitatedhimselfoutofthepost-trader’sstoreandawayonhishorseupthestreamamongtheShoshonetepeestoanunexpectedentertainment——awolf-dance。Hehadmeanttogoandseewhatthenewwaiter-girlatthehotellookedlike，butputthisoffpromptlytoattendthedance。ThishospitalitytheShoshoneIndianswereextendingtosomevisitingUtefriends，andtheneighborhoodwasassembledtowatchtheringofpaintednakedsavages。
Thepost-traderlookedafterthegallopingLin。“What’shequittinghisjobfor？“heaskedtheforeman。
“Sameasmostof’emquit。“
“Nothing？“
“Nothing。“
“Beensatisfactory？“
“Neverhadaboymoreso。Good-hearted，willing，aplumbdare-devilwithahorse。“
“Andworthless，“suggestedthepost-trader。
“Well——notyet。He’sheadedthatway。“
“Beenpunchingcattlelong？“
“Cameinthecountryaboutseventy-eight，Ibelieve，androdefortheBordeauxOutfitmostayear，andquit。BlewinatCheyennetillhewentbroke，andworkedoverontothePlatte。RodefortheC。Y。Outfitmostayear，andquit。BlewinatBuffalo。RodeforBalaamawhileonButteCreek。Brokehisleg。WenttotheDryboneHospital，andwhenthefracturewascommencingtoknitprettygoodhebrokeitagainatthehog-ranchacrossthebridge。Nexttimeyou’reinCheyennegetDr。Barkertotellyouaboutthat。McLeandriftedtoGreenRiverlastyearandwentupoverontoSnake，andupSnake，andwasaroundwithaprospectingoutfitonGalenaCreekbyPitchstoneCanyon。SeemshegotinterestedinsomeDutchwomanupthere，butshehadtrouble——died，Ithinktheysaid——andhecamedownbyMeteetseetoWindRiver。He’sliabletogotoMexicoorAfricanext。“
“Ifyouneedhim，“saidthepost-trader，closinghisledger，“youcanofferhimfivemoreamonth。“
“That’llnotholdhim。“
“Well，lethimgo。Haveacigar。ThebishopisexpectedforSunday，andI’vegottoseehisroomisfixedupforhim。“
“Thebishop!“saidtheforeman。“I’veheardhimhighlyspokenof。“
“Youcanhearhimpreachto-morrow。Thebishopisagoodman。“
“He’sbetterthanthat；he’saman，“statedtheforeman——“atleastsotheytellme。“
Now，savinganIndiandance，scarceanypossibleeventattheShoshoneagencycouldassembleinonespotsomanysortsofinhabitantsasavisitfromthisbishop。Inhabitantsoffourcolorsgatheredtoviewthewolf-dancethisafternoon——redmen，whitemen，blackmen，yellowmen。
Nextday，threesortscametochurchattheagency。TheChineselaundrywasabsent。Butbecause，indeedastheforemansaid，thebishopwasnotonlyagoodmanbutaman，Wyomingheldhiminrespectandwenttolookathim。HestoodintheagencychurchandheldtheEpiscopalservicethisSundaymorningforsomebrightlyglitteringarmyofficersandtheirfamilies，somewhitecavalry，andsomeblackinfantry；theagencydoctor，thepost-trader，hisforeman，thegovernmentscout，threegamblers，thewaiter-girlfromthehotel，thestage-driver，whowastherebecauseshewas；oldChiefWashakie，white-hairedandroyalinblankets，withtworoyalUtessplendidbesidehim；onebenchfulofsquattingIndianchildren，silentandmarvelling；and，onthebackbench，thecommandingofficer’snewhired-girl，and，besideher，LinMcLean。