een range stallions which he had once
witnessed, and on its conclusion Theodore Quayle took his turn.

"The man I was working for once moved nearly a thousand head of mixed
range stock, of which about three hundred were young mules, from the San
Saba to the Concho River. It was a dry country and we were compelled to
follow the McKavett and Fort Chadbourne trail. We had timed our drives
so that we reached creeks once a day at least, sometimes oftener. It was
the latter part of summer, and was unusually hot and drouthy. There was
one drive of twenty-five miles ahead that the owner knew of without
water, and we had planned this drive so as to reach it at noon, drive
halfway, make a dry camp over night, and reach the pools by noon the
next day. Imagine our chagrin on reaching the watering place to find the
stream dry. We lost several hours riding up and down the _arroyo_ in the
hope of finding relief for the men, if not for the stock. It had been
dusty for weeks. The cook had a little water in his keg, but only enough
for drinking purposes. It was twenty miles yet to the Concho, and make
it before night we must. Turning back was farther than going ahead, and
the afternoon was fearfully hot. The heat waves looked like a sea of
fire. The first part of the afternoon drive was a gradual ascent for
fifteen miles, and then came a narrow plateau of a divide. As we reached
this mesa, a sorrier-looking lot of men, horses, and mules can hardly be
imagined. We had already traveled over forty miles without water for the
stock, and five more lay between us and the coveted river.

"The heat was oppressive to the men, but the herd suffered most from the
fine alkali dust which enveloped them. Their eyebrows and nostrils were
whitened with this fine powder, while all colors merged into one. On
reaching this divide, we could see the cotton-woods that outlined the
stream ahead. Before we had fully crossed this watershed and begun the
descent, the mules would trot along beside the riders in the lead, even
permitting us to lay our hands on their backs. It was getting late in
the day before the first friendly breeze of the afternoon blew softly in
our faces. Then, Great Scott! what a change came over man and herd. The
mules in front threw up their heads and broke into a grand chorus. Those
that were strung out took up the refrain and trotted forward. The horses
set up a rival concert in a higher key. They had scented the water five
miles off.