We all knew what horse he would ride, and when he dropped his rope on “Alazanito,” he had not only picked his own mount of twelve, but the top horse of the entire _remuda_,--a chestnut sorrel, fifteen hands and an inch in height, that drew his first breath on the prairies of Texas. No man who sat him once could ever forget him. Now, when the trail is a lost occupation, and reverie and reminiscence carry the mind back to that day, there are friends and faces that may be forgotten, but there are horses that never will be. There were emergencies in which the horse was everything, his rider merely the accessory. But together, man and horse, they were the force that made it possible to move the millions of cattle which passed up and over the various trails of the West. When we had caught our horses for the afternoon, and Flood had saddled and was ready to start, he said to us, “You fellows just mosey along up the trail. I’ll not be gone long, but when I get back I shall expect to find everything running smooth. An outfit that can’t run itself without a boss ought to stay at home and do the milking. So long, fellows!” The country was well watered, and when rounded the cattle into the bed ground that night, they were actually suffering from stomachs gorged with grass and water. They went down and to sleep like tired children; one man could have held them that night. We all felt good, and McCann got up an extra spread for supper. We even had dried apples for dessert. McCann had talked the storekeeper at Doan’s, where we got our last supplies, out of some extras as a _pelon_. Among them was a can of jam. He sprung this on us as a surprise. Bob Blades toyed with the empty can in mingled admiration and disgust over a picture on the paper label. It was a supper scene, every figure wearing full dress. “Now, that’s General Grant,” said he, pointing with his finger, “and this is Tom Ochiltree. I can’t quite make out this other duck, but I reckon he’s some big auger--a senator or governor, maybe. Them old girls have got their gall with them. That style of dress is what you call _lo_ and _behold_. The whole passel ought to be ashamed. And they seem to be enjoying themselves, too.” Though it was a lovely summer night, we had a fire, and supper over, the conversation ranged wide and free. As the wagon on the trail is home, naturally the fire is the hearthstone, so we gathered and lounged around it. “The only way to enjoy such a fine night as this,” remarked Ash, “is to sit up smoking until you fall asleep with your boots on. Between too much sleep and just enough, there’s a happy medium which suits me.” “Officer,” inquired Wyatt Roundtree, trailing into the conversation very innocently, “why is it that people who live up among those Yankees always say ‘be’ the remainder of their lives?” “What’s the matter with the word?” countered Officer. “Oh, nothing, I reckon, only it sounds a little odd, and there’s a tale to it.”