good income from home,
and a beautiful wife, the Lady Charlotte, daughter of a noble English
family. At the Ashley Ranch the traditions of Ashley Court were
preserved as far as possible. The Hon. Fred appeared at the wolf-hunts
in riding-breeches and top boots, with hunting crop and English saddle,
while in all the appointments of the house the customs of the English
home were observed. It was characteristic, however, of western life that
his two cowboys, Hi Kendal and Bronco Bill, felt themselves quite his
social equals, though in the presence of his beautiful, stately wife
they confessed that they "rather weakened." Ashley was a thoroughly good
fellow, well up to his work as a cattle-man, and too much of a gentleman
to feel, much less assert, any superiority of station. He had the
largest ranch in the country and was one of the few men making money.

Ashley's chief friend, or, at least, most frequent companion, was a man
whom they called "The Duke." No one knew his name, but every one said
he was "the son of a lord," and certainly from his style and bearing
he might be the son of almost anything that was high enough in rank. He
drew "a remittance," but, as that was paid through Ashley, no one knew
whence it came nor how much it was. He was a perfect picture of a man,
and in all western virtues was easily first. He could rope a steer,
bunch cattle, play poker or drink whisky to the admiration of his
friends and the confusion of his foes, of whom he had a few; while as to
"bronco busting," the virtue par excellence of western cattle-men, even
Bronco Bill was heard to acknowledge that "he wasn't in it with the
Dook, for it was his opinion that he could ride anythin' that had legs
in under it, even if it was a blanked centipede." And this, coming from
one who made a profession of "bronco busting," was unquestionably high
praise. The Duke lived alone, except when he deigned to pay a visit
to some lonely rancher who, for the marvellous charm of his talk, was
delighted to have him as guest, even at the expense of the loss of a few
games at poker. He made a friend of no one, though some men could tell
of times when he stood between them and their last dollar, exacting only
the promise that no mention should be made of his deed. He had an easy,
lazy manner and a slow cynical smile that rarely left his face, and the
only sign of deepening passion in him was a little broadening of his
smile. Old Latour, who kept the Stopping Pla