ntry girl scrutinizes the new gown of a
visiting city cousin. He changed his manner of riding (which was more
nearly that of the cavalry) to theirs. He slung a red kerchief around
his neck, and bought a pair of "chaps," a sort of fringed leather
leggings. He had been wearing his pistol at his side, he now slewed it
around to his hip. He purchased also a pair of high-heeled boots and a
"rope" (no one called it a "lariat"), and began to acquire the
technicalities of the range. A horse that reared and leaped to fling its
rider was said to "pitch." Any firearm was a "gun," and any bull, steer,
or heifer, a "cow." In a few days all these distinctions had been
mastered, and only the closest observer was able to "cut out" Mose as a
"tenderfoot."

Pratt was bound for his brother's ranch on the Big Sandy River, and so
pushed on steadily, although it was evident that he was not looked upon
with favor. He had reached a section of country where the cattlemen eyed
his small outfit with contempt and suspicion. He came under the head of
a "nester," or "truck farmer," who was likely to fence in the river
somewhere and homestead some land. He was another menace to the range,
and was to be discouraged. The mutter of war was soon heard.

One day a couple of whisky-heated cowboys rode furiously up behind Mose
and called out:

"Where in h--l ye think ye're goin', you dam cow milker?"

Mose was angry on the instant and sullenly said: "None of your
business."

After threatening to blow his liver into bits they rode on and repeated
their question to Pratt, who significantly replied: "I'm a-goin' to the
mouth o' the Cannon Ball ef I don't miss it. Any objection?"

"You bet we have, you rowdy baggage puller. You better keep out o' here;
the climate's purty severe."

Pratt smiled grimly. "I'm usen to that, boys," he replied, and the
cowboys rode on, cursing him for a fool.

At last, late in July, the mouth of the Cannon Ball was reached. One
afternoon they cut across a peninsular body of high land and came in
sight of a wide green flat (between two sluggish, percolating streams)
whereon a cluster of gray log buildings stood.

"I reckon that's Jake's," said Pratt as they halted to let the horses
breathe. A minute, zig-zag line of deep green disclosed the course of
the Cannon Ball, deep sunk in the gravelly soil as it came down to join
the Big Sandy. All about stood domed and pyramidal and hawk-headed
buttes. On the river bank huge old c