d's, and a
Mexican boy had been sent down on this errand and also to get the mail
of the past two weeks. On the boy's return, he brought a message from
the merchant, saying that Henry Annear had been accidentally killed by a
horse that day, and that the burial would take place at ten o'clock the
next morning.

The news threw the mistress of Las Palomas into a flutter. Her brother
was absent, and she felt a delicacy in consulting Deweese, and very
naturally turned to me for advice. Funerals in the Nueces valley were so
very rare that I advised going, even if the unfortunate man had stood
none too high in our estimation. Annear lived on the divide between
Shepherd's and the Frio at a ranch called Las Norias. As this ranch was
not over ten miles from the mouth of the San Miguel, the astute mind can
readily see the gleam of my ax in attending. Funerals were such events
that I knew to a certainty that all the countryside within reach would
attend, and the Vaux ranch was not over fifteen miles distant from Las
Norias. Acting on my advice, the mistress ordered the ambulance to be
ready to start by three o'clock the next morning, and gave every one on
the ranch who cared, permission to go along. All of us took advantage
of the offer, except Deweese, who, when out of hearing of the mistress,
excused himself rather profanely.

The boy had returned late in the day, but we lost no time in acting on
Miss Jean's orders. Fortunately the ambulance teams were in hand hauling
rock, but we rushed out several vaqueros to bring in the _remuda_ which
contained our best saddle horses. It was after dark when they returned
with the mounts wanted, and warning Tiburcio that we would call him at
an early hour, every one retired for a few hours' rest. I would resent
the charge that I am selfish or unsympathetic, yet before falling asleep
that night the deplorable accident was entirely overlooked in the
anticipated pleasure of seeing Esther.

As it was fully a thirty-five-mile drive we started at daybreak, and to
encourage the mules Quayle and Happersett rode in the lead until sun-up,
when they dropped to the rear with Cotton and myself. We did not go by
way of Shepherd's, but crossed the river several miles above the ferry,
following an old cotton road made during the war, from the interior of
the state to Matamoras, Mexico. It was some time before the hour named
for the burial when we sighted Las Norias on the divide, and spurred
up the ambulan