d mules to the government."

On the return of our party to the arbor, Happersett claimed a dance with
Esther, thus freeing me. Uncle Lance was standing some little distance
away, still entertaining the mail contractors, and I edged near enough
to notice Oxenford's florid face and leery eye. But on my employer's
catching sight of me, he excused himself to the stage men, and taking my
arm led me off. Together we promenaded out of sight of the crowd. "How
do you like my style of a man herder?" inquired the old matchmaker, once
we were out of hearing. "Why, Tom, I'd have held those mail thieves
until dark, if Dan hadn't drifted in and given me the wink. Shepherd
kicked like a bay steer on letting me have a second quart bottle, but it
took that to put the right glaze in the young Yank's eye. Oh, I had him
going south all right! But tell me, how did you and Esther make it?"

We had reached a secluded spot, and, seating ourselves on an old fallen
tree trunk, I told of my success, even to the using of his horse. Never
before or since did I see Uncle Lance give way to such a fit of hilarity
as he indulged in over the perfect working out of our plans. With his
hat he whipped me, the ground, the log on which we sat, while his peals
of laughter rang out like the reports of a rifle. In his fit of ecstasy,
tears of joy streaming from his eyes, he kept repeating again and again,
"Oh, sister, run quick and tell pa to come!"

As we neared the grounds returning, he stopped me and we had a further
brief confidential talk together. I was young and egotistical enough to
think that I could defy all the rivals in existence, but he cautioned
me, saying: "Hold on, Tom. You're young yet; you know nothing about the
weaker sex, absolutely nothing. It's not your fault, but due to your
mere raw youth. Now, listen to me, son: Don't underestimate any rival,
particularly if he has gall and money, most of all, money. Humanity is
the same the world over, and while you may not have seen it here among
the ranches, it is natural for a woman to rave over a man with money,
even if he is only a pimply excuse for a creature. Still, I don't see
that we have very much to fear. We can cut old lady McLeod out of the
matter entirely. But then there's the girl's sister, Mrs. Martin, and
I look for her to cut up shameful when she smells the rat, which she's
sure to do. And then there's her husband to figure on. If the ox knows
his master's crib, it's only reasonable