best are kept up for the use of the Captain and his friends.
We looked at them in their clean, commodious stalls; we inspected the
harness and saddle room, glistening and satiny with polished metal and
well-oiled leather; we examined the half dozen or so of vehicles of all
descriptions. The hostess told with relish of her one attempt to be
stylish.

"We had such beautiful horses," said she, "that I thought we ought to
have something to go with them, so I sent up to the city for my
brougham. It made a very neat turnout; and Tom was as proud of it as I
was, but when it came to a question of proper garb for Tom I ran up
against a deadlock. Tom refused point blank to wear a livery or anything
approaching a livery. He was perfectly respectful about it; but he
refused. Well, I drove around all that winter, when the weather was bad,
in a well-appointed brougham drawn by a good team in a proper harness;
and on the box sat a lean-faced cow puncher in sombrero, red
handkerchief, and blue jeans!"

Tom led forth the horses one after the other--Kingmaker, the Fiddler,
Pittapat, and the others. We spent a delightful two hours. The sun
dropped; the shadows lengthened. From the fields the men began to come
in. They drove the wagons and hay ricks into the spacious enclosure, and
set leisurely about the task of caring for their animals. Chinese and
Japanese drifted from the orchards, and began to manipulate the
grindstone on their pruning knives. Presently a cowboy jogged in, his
spurs and bit jingling. From the cook house a bell began to clang.

We turned back to the house. Before going in I faced the west. The sky
had turned a light green full of lucence. The minor sounds of the ranch
near by seemed to be surrounded by a sea of silence outside. Single
sounds came very clearly across it. And behind everything, after a few
moments, I made out a queer, monotonous background of half-croaking
calling. For some time this puzzled me. Then at last my groping
recollection came to my assistance. I was hearing the calling of myriads
of snow geese.

CHAPTER IV

THE EARLY BIRD

I was awakened rather early by Redmond, who silently entered the room,
lit a kerosene stove, closed the windows, and departed. As I was now
beneath two blankets and an eiderdown quilt, and my nose was cold, I was
duly grateful. Mistaking the rite for a signal to arise, I did so; and
shortly descended. The three fireplaces were crackling away merrily, but
they