One summer night John told Martha to get her guitar, while he saddled Texas and his own pony for a ride. In a few moments they were galloping over the prairie on their way to a cow-boy camp about three miles away. When they reached it, they found all the five men, but one, rolled up from top to toe in their tarpaulins, and asleep on the prairie. The one who was awake welcomed them in effusive cow-boy style, and then with a "Wake up, you-uns! Yar's John Fredding an' 'is little woman!" kicked each of his sleeping companions into consciousness with his foot. They were all glad to see John and Martha, for they knew them of old. In the twinkling of an eye the smoldering fire was livened into a cheery blaze, the visitors' ponies were picketed, and the men were grouped around Martha and the fire. For a little while John talked business with them; but, before long, one of the men arose and, deferentially taking off his broad hat to Martha, asked her if she wouldn't give them a "chune." The music of her guitar was indescribably sweet, there in the little oasis of light in the prairie's desert of darkness, and for a time the men sat silently, with their hands clasped about their knees, enjoying it. Then she struck into a rollicking cow-boy song, and they joined in shouting it out. It is a favorite among the cow-boys of southern Texas, and begins thus: I'd rather hear a rattler rattle, I'd rather do a Greaser battle, I'd rather buck stampeding cattle, Than Than to Than to fight Than to fight the bloody In-ji-ans. I'd rather eat a pan of dope, I'd rather ride without a rope, I'd rather from this country lope, Than Than to Than to fight Than to fight the bloody In-ji-ans. After that came "I'm Gwine Back to Dixie," and "'Way Down Upon the Suwanee River," and then John said it was time to start home again. Loud were the protests of the cow-boys, and when John and Martha went, the whole party went with them except one man, who was left to watch the cattle. They were "full of sing," as one of them put it, and it was a jolly ride back to the ranch. When it was finally reached, the cow-boys gave them a "send-off" that could have been heard a mile away. They shouted and yelled like the wild "In-ji-ans" they had sung about, and as they wheeled around to gallop back to camp, they fired all the charges in their revolvers into the air as a parting courtesy. Then there was a mad scamper of horses' hoofs, the yells grew fainter, and the cow-boys were gone.