The resorters were a puzzle to them, their ways were so strange and their interests so trivial.

They drove the resorters over the mountain roads and listened in shamed surprise at their bursts of enthusiasm over the scenery.

The farmers had had that scenery on exhibition from their mountain roosts all their lives, and had never noticed anything remarkable about it.

By way of an incident: a pair of these primitives were overheard chatting about the resorters, one day, and in the course of their talk this remark was dropped: "I was a-drivin' a passel of 'em round about yisterday evenin', quiet ones, you know, still and solemn, and all to wunst they busted out to make your hair lift and I judged hell was to pay.

Now what do you reckon it was?
It wa'n't anything but jest one of them common damned yaller sunsets." In those days-- [_Tuesday, October 16, 1906._] ...