ce of my companions by describing my own; for I am
tricked out very much like themselves.

I wear a hunting-shirt of dressed deerskin. It is a garment more after
the style of an ancient tunic than anything I can think of. It is of a
light yellow colour, beautifully stitched and embroidered; and the cape,
for it has a short cape, is fringed by tags cut out of the leather
itself. The skirt is also bordered by a similar fringe, and hangs full
and low. A pair of "savers" of scarlet cloth cover my limbs to the
thigh; and under these are strong jean pantaloons, heavy boots, and big
brass spurs. A coloured cotton shirt, a blue neck-tie, and a
broad-brimmed Guayaquil hat, complete the articles of my everyday dress.
Behind me, on the cantle of my saddle, may be observed a bright red
object folded into a cylindrical form. That is my "Mackinaw," a great
favourite, for it makes my bed by night and my greatcoat on other
occasions. There is a small slit in the middle of it, through which I
thrust my head in cold or rainy weather; and I am thus covered to the
ankles.

As I have said, my _compagnons de voyage_ are similarly attired. There
may be a difference of colour in the blanket or the leggings, or the
shirt may be of other materials; but that I have described may be taken
as a character dress.

We are all somewhat similarly armed and equipped. For my part, I may
say that I am "armed to the teeth." In my holsters I carry a pair of
Colt's large-sized revolvers, six shots each. In my belt is another
pair of the small size, with five shots each. In addition, I have a
light rifle, making in all twenty-three shots, which I have learned to
deliver in as many seconds of time. Failing with all these, I carry in
my belt a long shining blade known as a "bowie knife." This last is my
hunting knife, my dining knife, and, in short, my knife of all work.
For accoutrements I have a pouch and a flask, both slung under the right
arm. I have also a large gourd canteen and haversack for my rations.
So have all my companions.

But we are differently mounted. Some ride saddle mules, others bestride
mustangs, while a few have brought their favourite American horses. I
am of this number. I ride a dark-brown stallion, with black legs, and
muzzle like the withered fern. He is half-Arab, and of perfect
proportions. He is called Moro, a Spanish name given him by the
Louisiana planter from whom I bought him, but why I do not know. I h