't rob you of this chance to stand a guard.
McCann, have you got on your next list of supplies any jam and jelly
for Sundays? You have? That's right, son--that saves you from standing
a guard tonight. Officer, when you come off guard at 3.30 in the
morning, build the cook up a good fire. Let me see; yes, and I'll
detail young Tom Quirk and The Rebel to grease the wagon and harness
your mules before starting in the morning. I want to impress it on
your mind, McCann, that I can appreciate a thoughtful cook. What's
that, Honeyman? No, indeed, you can't ride my night horse. Love me,
love my dog; my horse shares this snap. Now, I don't want to be under
the necessity of speaking to any of you first guard, but flop into
your saddles ready to take the herd. My turnip says it's eight o'clock
now."

"Why, you've missed your calling--you'd make a fine second mate on a
river steamboat, driving niggers," called back Quince Forrest, as the
first guard rode away.

When our guard returned, Officer intentionally walked across
Stallings's bed, and catching his spur in the tarpaulin, fell heavily
across our _segundo_.

"Excuse me," said John, rising, "but I was just nosing around looking
for the foreman. Oh, it's you, is it? I just wanted to ask if 4.30
wouldn't be plenty early to build up the fire. Wood's a little scarce,
but I'll burn the prairies if you say so. That's all I wanted to know;
you may lay down now and go to sleep."

Our camp-fire that night was a good one, and in the absence of Flood,
no one felt like going to bed until drowsiness compelled us. So we
lounged around the fire smoking the hours away, and in spite of the
admonition of our foreman, told stories far into the night. During the
early portion of the evening, dog stories occupied the boards. As the
evening wore on, the subject of revisiting the old States came up for
discussion.

"You all talk about going back to the old States," said Joe Stallings,
"but I don't take very friendly to the idea. I felt that way once and
went home to Tennessee; but I want to tell you that after you live a
few years in the sunny Southwest and get onto her ways, you can't
stand it back there like you think you can. Now, when I went back, and
I reckon my relations will average up pretty well,--fought in the
Confederate army, vote the Democratic ticket, and belong to the
Methodist church,--they all seemed to be rapidly getting locoed. Why,
my uncles, when they think of planting the