ments of a cowboy's life. It
was understood, therefore, that he was to be rated as a full hand among
the eight men who, under his uncle, were to have charge of two thousand
cattle about to start on the long tramp northward.

"It's the hardest kind of work," said the captain to his nephew, as the
two sat in the low, flat structure where the veteran made his home, with
his wife and one colored servant, "but I haven't any fear that you will
not pull through all right."

"If I am not able to do so _now_, I never shall be," replied Avon, with
a smile, as he sat on the rough, home-made stool, slowly whittling a
piece of wood, while his aunt, looking up from her sewing, remarked in
her quiet way:

"It will be lonesome without Avon."

"But not so bad as when uncle was off to the war," ventured the youth,
gazing affectionately at the lady.

The captain was sitting with his legs crossed, slowly smoking the old
briarwood which he had carried through many a fierce campaign, and
seemingly sunk in deep thought. Like his nephew, he was clad in the
strong serviceable costume of the Texan cowboy, his broad sombrero
resting with a number of blankets on pegs in the wall.

It was evening, with a cold, piercing wind almost like one of the
cutting northers blowing around the homely structure. The herd were
gathered at a point about five miles to the northward, whence the real
start was to be made at an early hour on the morrow. This arrangement
permitted the captain and his young friend to spend their last night at
home.

"No," replied Mrs. Shirril, referring to the last remark of her nephew,
"there never can be any worse days than those, when I did not know
whether your uncle had not been dead for weeks or possibly months."

"You must have had pretty tough times, aunt."

"Well, they might have been improved, but Dinah and I managed to get
along a great deal better than some of our neighbors. Here in Texas we
were so far from the war that I may say I never heard a hostile shot
fired, except by the Indians who came down this way now and then."

"They were the same, I suppose, that still trouble us."

"I believe so, mostly Comanches and sometimes Kioways, with perhaps
others that we didn't know. They did much to prevent our life from
becoming dull," added the brave little lady, with another smile.

"The women in those days had to know how to shoot the rifle, ride
horses, and do the work of the absent men."

"I don't know how we