poles were set up and a
tarpaulin arranged for Mrs. Louderer and me to sleep under. Mrs.
Louderer and Jerrine lay down on some blankets and I unrolled some
more, which I was glad to notice were clean, for Baby and myself. I
can't remember ever being more tired and sleepy, but I couldn't go to
sleep. I could hear the boss giving orders in quick, decisive tones. I
could hear the punchers discussing the raid, finally each of them
telling exploits of his favorite heroes of outlawry. I could hear
Herman, busy among his pots and pans. Then he mounted the tongue of the
mess-wagon and called out, "We haf for breakfast cackle-berries, first
vot iss come iss served, und those vot iss sleep late gets nodings."

I had never before heard of cackle-berries and asked sleepy Mrs.
Louderer what they were. "Vait until morning and you shall see," was
all the information that I received.

Soon a gentle, drizzling rain began, and the punchers hurriedly made
their beds, as they did so twitting N'Yawk about making his between
our tent and the fire. "You're dead right, pard," I heard one of them
say, "to make your bed there, fer if them outlaws comes this way
they'll think you air one of the women and they won't shoot you. Just
us _men_ air in danger."

"Confound your fool tongues, how they goin' to know there's any women
here? I tell you, fellers, my old man waded in bloody gore up to his
neck and I'm just like him."

They kept up this friendly parleying until I dozed off to sleep, but I
couldn't stay asleep. I don't think I was afraid, but I certainly was
nervous. The river was making a sad, moaning sound; the rain fell
gently, like tears. All nature seemed to be mourning about something,
happened or going to happen. Down by the river an owl hooted dismally.
Half a mile away the night-herders were riding round and round the
herd. One of them was singing,--faint but distinct came his song: "Bury
me not on the lone prairie." Over and over again he sang it. After a
short interval of silence he began again. This time it was, "I'm
thinking of my dear old mother, ten thousand miles away."

Two punchers stirred uneasily and began talking. "Blast that Tex," I
heard one of them say, "he certainly has it bad to-night. What the
deuce makes him sing so much? I feel like bawling like a kid; I wish
he'd shut up." "He's homesick; I guess we all are too, but they ain't
no use staying awake and letting it soak in. Shake the water off the
tarp, you air