ter from Quayle, read it himself.

"That's plain enough," said he, on the first reading. "John will go with
you Sunday, and if it rains next month, I'll take Theodore with me when
I go over for a cat hunt with old man Pierre. I'll let him act as master
of the horse,--no, of the hounds,--and give him a chance to toot his own
horn with Frances. Honest, boys, I'm getting disgusted with the white
element of Las Palomas. We raise most everything here but white babies.
Even Enrique, the rascal, has to live in camp now to hold down his
breakfast. But you young whites--with the country just full of young
women--well, it's certainly discouraging. I do all I can, and Sis helps
a little, but what does it amount to--what are the results? That poem
that Jean reads to us occasionally must be right. I reckon the Caucasian
is played out."

Before the sun was an hour high, John Cotton and myself rode into the
Vaux ranch on Sunday morning. The girls gave us a cheerful welcome.
While we were breakfasting, several other lads and lasses rode up, and
we were informed that a little picnic for the day had been arranged.
As this was to our liking, John and I readily acquiesced, and shortly
afterward a mounted party of about a dozen young folks set out for a
hackberry grove, up the river several miles. Lunch baskets were taken
along, but no chaperons. The girls were all dressed in cambric and
muslin and as light in heart as the fabrics and ribbons they flaunted.
I was gratified with the boldness of Cotton, as he cantered away with
Frances, and with the day before him there was every reason to believe
that his cause would he advanced. As to myself, with Esther by my side
the livelong day, I could not have asked the world to widen an inch.

It was midnight when we reached Las Palomas returning. As we rode along
that night, John confessed to me that Frances was a tantalizing enigma.
Up to a certain point, she offered every encouragement, but beyond that
there seemed to be a dead line over which she allowed no sentiment to
pass. It was plain to be seen that he was discouraged, but I told him I
had gone through worse ordeals.

Throughout southern Texas and the country tributary to the Nueces River,
we always looked for our heaviest rainfall during the month of June.
This year in particular, we were anxious to see a regular downpour to
start the _arroyo_ and test our new tank. Besides, we had sold for
delivery in July, twelve hundred beef steers fo