ed around to the hotel where the outfit were
supposed to be stopping, and lined up at the bar for a final drink.
It was just daybreak, and between that Dutch cattle salesman and the
barkeeper and myself, it would have taken a bookkeeper to have kept a
check on the drinks we consumed--every one the last.

"Then the Dutchman gave me the slip and was gone, and I wandered into
the office of the hotel. A newsboy sold me a paper, and the next minute
a bootblack wanted to give me a shine. Well, I took a seat for a shine,
and for two hours I sat there as full as a tick, and as dignified as
a judge on the bench. All the newsboys and bootblacks caught on, and
before any of the outfit showed up that morning to rescue me, I had
bought a dozen papers and had my boots shined for the tenth time. If I'd
been foxy enough to have got rid of that sack of salt, no one could have
told I was off the reservation; but there it was under my arm. If ever
I make another trip over the trail, and touch at Kansas City returning,
I'll hunt up that cattle salesman, for he's the only man I ever met that
can pace in my class."

"Did you hear that tree break a few minutes ago?" inquired Mr. Nathan.
"There goes another one. It hardly looks possible that enough pigeons
could settle on a tree to break it down. Honestly, I'd give a purty to
know how many birds are in that roost to-night. More than there are
cattle in Texas, I'll bet. Why, Hugh killed, with both barrels,
twenty-two at one shot."

We had brought blankets along, but it was early and no one thought of
sleeping for an hour yet. Mr. Nathan was quite a sportsman, and after he
and Uncle Lance had discussed the safest method of hunting _javalina_,
it again devolved on the boys to entertain the party with stories.

"I was working on a ranch once," said Glenn Gallup, "out on the Concho
River. It was a stag outfit, there being few women then out Concho way.
One day two of the boys were riding in home when an accident occurred.
They had been shooting more or less during the morning, and one of them,
named Bill Cook, had carelessly left the hammer of his six-shooter on a
cartridge. As Bill jumped his horse over a dry _arroyo_, his pistol
was thrown from its holster, and, falling on the hard ground, was
discharged. The bullet struck him in the ankle, ranged upward,
shattering the large bone in his leg into fragments, and finally lodged
in the saddle.

"They were about five miles from camp when the acc