boys
had a fiddle, and bringing it along, the festivities opened with a stag
dance, the "ladies" being designated by wearing a horse-hobble loosely
around their necks. While the pies were baking, a slow process with
Dutch ovens, I sat on the wagon-tongue and played the violin by the
hour. A rude imitation of the gentler sex, as we had witnessed in
dance-halls in Dodge and Ogalalla, was reproduced with open shirt
fronts, and amorous advances by the sterner one.

The dancing ceased the moment the banquet was ready. The cooks had
experienced considerable trouble in restraining some of the boys from
the too free exercise of what they looked upon as the inalienable right
of man to eat his pie when, where, and how it best pleased him. But
Sponsilier, as host, stood behind the culinary trio, and overawed the
impetuous guests. The repast barely concluded in time for the wranglers
and first guard from Forrest's and my outfit to reach camp, catch
night-horses, bed the cattle, and excuse the herders, as supper was
served only at the one wagon. The relieved ones, like eleventh-hour
guests, came tearing in after darkness, and the tempting spread soon
absorbed them. As the evening wore on, the loungers gathered in several
circles, and the raconteur held sway. The fact that we were in a country
in which game abounded suggested numerous stories. The delights of
cat-hunting by night found an enthusiast in each one present. Every dog
in our memory, back to early boyhood, was properly introduced and
his best qualities applauded. Not only cat-hounds but coon-dogs had a
respectful hearing.

"I remember a hound," said Forrest's wrangler, "which I owned when a
boy back in Virginia. My folks lived in the foot-hills of the Blue Ridge
Mountains in that state. We were just as poor as our poorest neighbors.
But if there was any one thing that that section was rich in it was
dogs, principally hounds. This dog of mine was four years old when I
left home to go to Texas. Fine hound, swallow marked, and when he opened
on a scent you could always tell what it was that he was running. I
never allowed him to run with packs, but generally used him in treeing
coon, which pestered the cornfields during roasting-ear season and
in the fall. Well, after I had been out in Texas about five years, I
concluded to go back on a little visit to the old folks. There were
no railroads within twenty miles of my home, and I had to hoof it that
distance, so I arrived aft