S. J.--Oh, that is all right about the rain! The old man does not need rain. He has a wind-mill and a trough to water his stock, and I can tell you that his stock is first class. I saw some of them and the milch cows had bags on them the size of washtubs and the teats hung down like baseball bats. He is well fitted in every way. He has a top buggy with a high back and a low seat all for himself. He wears a white shirt just as some folks do in Texas when they are running for office. I met his boy on the train a day or so ago and he shows good raising. He had shoes and stockings on, and he is no more than fifteen years old. He also had on a collar and tie and did not swear once while I was talking to him. I asked him where his pa had got the big stock and he said that they came from Ohio, and that they were Poland China or something like that. B. J.--Let me tell you, Slim, if that old man is from Chicago and is a Republican, he has no use for a cow-puncher or a Democrat, no more than a pig has for side pockets. He would not want you to picket your horse on the trail in front of his place, nor to holler in his rain barrel, much less going to call on one of his daughters. Why, they scare the children back there and compel them to be good by telling them that the nasty, old, long-haired cow-puncher will take them away to the ranch where there is nothing but wild cattle, cow-punchers, tarantulas and centipedes, and a lot of other reptiles. [Illustration: CHEYENNE INDIAN GIRL.] S. J.--Well, I have to leave you Jack, and the next time I see you I shall be on my honeymoon trip. I am now on my way to the farm to see the lady that I expect to soon be Mrs. Slim Jim. B. J.--Good-bye, Jim. Good luck to you! About two weeks afterwards, Broncho Jack and I were seated on the bank of Crooked Creek discussing the situation, whether the opportunities for making money were better in hunting or picking bones, catching mustangs, or blacksmithing. I came to the conclusion that the last was the most conducive to wealth just then, and later on opened up a shop there. During our conversation Slim Jim rode up. Throwing the reins over his pony's head, he dismounted and shook hands. Slowly he rolled a cigarette and began to unbosom himself to Jack.