"The big fellow adjourned to the rear and proceeded to wash and drain his quail. After some little time, he called to the cook: 'Ignacio, I smell kerosene. Look in the wagon, please, and see if the lantern isn't leaking.' "'In a minute,' answered the cook, busy elsewhere. "The sheriff went on washing the quail, and when about halfway through the task, he halted. 'Ignacio, I smell that kerosene again. See if the lantern isn't upset, or the oil jug leaking.' "'Just in a minute,' came the answer as before. 'My hands are in the flour.' "The big man went on, sniffing the air from time to time, nearly finishing his task, when he stopped again and pleadingly said: 'Ignacio, I surely smell kerosene. We're out for a week, and a lantern without oil puts us in a class with the foolish virgins. Drop your work and see what the trouble is. There's a leak somewhere.' "The cook dusted the flour from his hands, clambered up on the wagon wheel, lifted the kerosene jug, pulled the stopper, smelt it, shook it, and lifted it above his head in search of a possible crack. The empty jug, the absence of any sign of leakage, gradually sifted through his mind, and he cast an inquiring glance at the big sheriff, just then finishing his task. Invoking heaven and all the saints to witness, he gasped, 'Mr. Charlie, you've washed the quail in the kerosene!' "The witless, silly expression that came into that big man's face is only seen once in a lifetime," said Sargent in conclusion. "I've been fortunate, I've seen it twice; once on the face of a Texas sheriff, and again, when you shot a hole in the ground with your eye on an antelope. Whenever I feel blue and want to laugh, I conjure up the scene of a Mexican, standing on a wagon wheel, holding a jug, and a six-footer in the background, smelling the fingers of one hand and then the other." CHAPTER XIX AN INDIAN SCARE The year closed with dry, open weather. The cattle scattered wide, ranging farther afield, unmolested except by shifting winds. The latter was a matter of hourly observation, affording its lesson to the brothers, and readily explained by the older and more practical men. For instance, a north or the dreaded east wind brought the herd into the valley, where it remained until the weather moderated, and then drifted out of its own free will. When a balmy south wind blew, the cattle grazed against it, and when it came from a western quarter, they turned their backs and the gregarious instinct to flock was noticeable. Under settled weather, even before dawn, by noting the quarter of the wind, it was an easy matter to foretell the movement of the herd for the coming day.