outfit. He was a wiry, gray, old pioneer, over seventy years,
hollow-cheeked and bronzed, with blue-gray eyes still keen with fire.
He was no longer robust, but he was tireless and willing. When he told
a story he always began: "In the early days--" His son Lee had charge
of the horses of which we had fourteen, two teams and ten saddle
horses. Lee was a typical westerner of many occupations--cowboy,
rider, rancher, cattleman. He was small, thin, supple, quick, tough
and strong. He had a bronzed face, always chapped, a hooked nose,
gray-blue eyes like his father's, sharp and keen.

Lee had engaged the only man he could find for a cook--Joe Isbel, a
tall, lithe cowboy, straight as an Indian, with powerful shoulders,
round limbs, and slender waist, and Isbel was what the westerners
called a broncho-buster. He was a prize-winning rider at all
the rodeos. Indeed, his seat in the saddle was individual and
incomparable. He had a rough red-blue face, hard and rugged, like the
rocks he rode over so fearlessly, and his eyes were bright hazel,
steady and hard. Isbel's vernacular was significant. Speaking of one
of our horses he said: "Like a mule he'll be your friend for twenty
years to git a chance to kick you." Speaking of another that had to be
shod he said: "Shore, he'll step high to-morrow." Isbel appeared to be
remarkably efficient as camp-rustler and cook, but he did not inspire
me with confidence. In speaking of this to the Doyles I found them
non-committal on the subject. Westerners have sensitive feelings. I
could not tell whether they were offended or not, and I half regretted
mentioning my lack of confidence in Isbel. As it turned out, however,
I was amply justified.

Sievert Nielsen, whom I have mentioned elsewhere, was the fourth of my
men.

Darkness had enveloped us at supper time. I was tired out, but the
red-embered camp-fire, the cool air, the smell of wood-smoke, and the
white stars kept me awake awhile. Romer had to be put to bed. He was
wild with excitement. We had had a sleeping-bag made for him so that
once snugly in it, with the flaps buckled he could not kick off the
blankets. When we got him into it he quieted down and took exceeding
interest in his first bed in the open. He did not, however, go quickly
to sleep. Presently he called R.C. over and whispered: "Say, Uncle
Rome, I coiled a lasso an' put it under Nielsen's bed. When he's
asleep you go pull it. He's tenderfoot like Dad was. He'll think it's