capable of advising
others. But you see, I'm strong on the breed. Now a girl can't show
her true colors like the girl's brother did, but get her in the
harness once, and then she'll show you the white of her eye, balk, and
possibly kick over the wagon tongue. No, I believe in the
breed--blood'll tell."

"I worked for a cowman once," said Bull, irrelevantly, "and they told
it on him that he lost twenty thousand dollars the night he was
married."

"How, gambling?" I inquired.

"No. The woman he married claimed to be worth twenty thousand dollars
and she never had a cent. Spades trump?"

"No; hearts," replied The Rebel. "I used to know a foreman up in
DeWitt County,--'Honest' John Glen they called him. He claimed the
only chance he ever had to marry was a widow, and the reason he didn't
marry her was, he was too honest to take advantage of a dead man."

While we paid little attention to wind or weather, this was an ideal
night, and we were laggard in seeking our blankets. Yarn followed
yarn; for nearly every one of us, either from observation or from
practical experience, had a slight acquaintance with the great
mastering passion. But the poetical had not been developed in us to an
appreciative degree, so we discussed the topic under consideration
much as we would have done horses or cattle.

Finally the game ended. A general yawn went the round of the loungers
about the fire. The second guard had gone on, and when the first rode
in, Joe Stallings, halting his horse in passing the fire, called out
sociably, "That muley steer, the white four year old, didn't like to
bed down amongst the others, so I let him come out and lay down by
himself. You'll find him over on the far side of the herd. You all
remember how wild he was when we first started? Well, you can ride
within three feet of him to-night, and he'll grunt and act sociable
and never offer to get up. I promised him that he might sleep alone as
long as he was good; I just love a good steer. Make down our bed,
pardner; I'll be back as soon as I picket my horse."

CHAPTER VII

THE COLORADO

The month of May found our Circle Dot herd, in spite of all drawbacks,
nearly five hundred miles on its way. For the past week we had been
traveling over that immense tableland which skirts the arid portion of
western Texas. A few days before, while passing the blue mountains
which stand as a southern sentinel in the chain marking the headwaters
of the Concho River, w