On crossing the railroad at Grinnell, our foreman received a letter from Lovell, directing him to go to Culbertson, Nebraska, and there meet a man who was buying horses for a Montana ranch. Our employer had his business eye open for a possible purchaser for our _remuda_, and if the horses could be sold for delivery after the herd had reached its destination, the opportunity was not to be overlooked. Accordingly, on reaching Beaver Creek, where we encamped, Flood left us to ride through to the Republican River during the night. The trail crossed this river about twenty miles west of Culbertson, and if the Montana horse buyer were yet there, it would be no trouble to come up to the trail crossing and look at our horses. So after supper, and while we were catching up our night horses, Flood said to us, “Now, boys, I’m going to leave the outfit and herd under Joe Stallings as _segundo_. It’s hardly necessary to leave you under any one as foreman, for you all know your places. But some one must be made responsible, and one bad boss will do less harm than half a dozen that mightn’t agree. So you can put Honeyman on guard in your place at night, Joe, if you don’t want to stand your own watch. Now behave yourselves, and when I meet you on the Republican, I’ll bring out a box of cigars and have it charged up as axle grease when we get supplies at Ogalalla. And don’t sit up all night telling fool stories.” “Now, that’s what I call a good cow boss,” said Joe Stallings, as our foreman rode away in the twilight; “besides, he used passable good judgment in selecting a _segundo_. Now, Honeyman, you heard what he said. Billy dear, I won’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_.