The six bay horses started as one, the gorgeous green and gold vehicle bounded forward, the red dust rose behind, and the yellow dog danced in and out of it to the very outskirts of the settlement. And then he soberly returned.

A day or two later he was missed —but the fact was afterwards known that he was at Spring Valley, the county town where Miss Preston lived—and he was forgiven. A week afterwards he was missed again, but this time for a longer period, and then a pathetic letter arrived from Sacramento for the storekeeper’s wife.

“Would you mind,” Wrote Miss Pinky Preston, “asking some of your boys to come over here to Sacramento and bring back Bones? I don’t mind having the dear dog walk out with me at Spring Valley, where every one knows me; but here he does make one so noticeable, on account of his color. I ’ve got scarcely a frock that he agrees with. He don’t go with my pink muslin, and that lovely buff tint he makes three shades lighter. You know yellow is so try- ing.”

A consultation was quickly held by the whole settlement, and a deputation sent to