Of course I knew that all herds near about were through cattle and under herd, and the absence of any men in sight aroused my curiosity.I concluded to investigate it, and riding back found over five hundred head of the cattle we had lost the night before.'Here's a chance to make a record with my new boss,' Isaid to myself, and circling in behind, began drifting them out of the bottoms towards the uplands.By ten o'clock I had got them to the first divide, when who should ride up but the owner, the old cowman himself--the sure enough big auger.
"'Well, son,' said my boss, 'you held some of them, didn't you?''yes,' I replied, surly as I could, giving him a mean look, 'I've nearly ridden this horse to death, holding this bunch all night.If I had only had a good man or two with me, we could have caught twice as many.What kind of an outfit are you working, anyhow, Captain?' And at dinner that day, the boss pointed me out to the others and said, 'That little fellow standing over there with the button shoes on is the only man in my outfit that is worth a -- --.'"The cook had finished his work, and now joined the circle.Parent began regaling us with personal experiences, in which it was evident that he would prove the hero.Fortunately, however, we were spared listening to his self-laudation.Dorg Seay and Tim Stanley, bunkies, engaged in a friendly scuffle, each trying to make the other get a firebrand for his pipe.In the tussle which followed, we were all compelled to give way or get trampled underfoot.When both had exhausted themselves in vain, we resumed our places around the fire.Parent, who was disgusted over the interruption, on resuming his seat refused to continue his story at the request of the offenders, replying, "The more I see of you two varmints the more you remind me of mule colts."Once the cook refused to pick up the broken thread of his story, John Levering, our horse-wrangler, preempted the vacated post."Iwas over in Louisiana a few winters ago with a horse herd," said John, "and had a few experiences.Of all the simple people that Iever met, the 'Cajin' takes the bakery.You'll meet darkies over there that can't speak a word of anything but French.It's nothing to see a cow and mule harnessed together to a cart.One day on the road, I met a man, old enough to be my father, and inquired of him how far it was to the parish centre, a large town.He didn't know, except it was a long, long ways.He had never been there, but his older brother, once when he was a young man, had been there as a witness at court.The brother was dead now, but if he was living and present, it was quite possible that he would remember the distance.The best information was that it was a very long ways off.I rode it in the mud in less than two hours; just about ten miles.
"But that wasn't a circumstance to other experiences.We had driven about three hundred horses and mules, and after disposing of over two thirds of them, my employer was compelled to return home, leaving me to dispose of the remainder.I was a fair salesman, and rather than carry the remnant of the herd with me, made headquarters with a man who owned a large cane-brake pasture.It was a convenient stopping-place, and the stock did well on the young cane.Every week I would drive to some distant town eighteen or twenty head, or as many as I could handle alone.
