from among a thousand others and stood entranced over the simple
song. In my younger days my voice was considered musical; I could sing
the folk-songs of my country better than the average, and when
the herdsmen left us, I was pleased to see that my vocal efforts
fascinated the late arrival from Texas. Within a week I could call him
out with a song, when I fell so deeply in love with the broad-horn
Texan that his life was spared through my disloyalty. In the daily
issue to the army we kept him back as long as possible; but when our
supply was exhausted, and he would have gone to the shambles the
following day, I secretly cut him out at night and drove him miles to
our rear, that his life might be spared. Within a year he returned
with another consignment of beef; comrades who were in the secret
would not believe me; but when a quartette of us army herders sang
"Rock of Ages," the steer walked out and greeted us with mute
appreciation. We enjoyed his company for over a month, I could call
him with a song as far as my voice reached, and when death again
threatened him, we cut him to the rear and he was never spoken again.
Loyal as I was to the South, I would have deserted rather than have
seen that steer go to the shambles.

In bringing these reminiscences to a close, I wish to bear testimony
in behalf of the men who lent their best existence that success
should crown my efforts. Aside from my family, the two pleasantest
recollections of my life are my old army comrades and the boys who
worked with me on the range and trail. When men have roughed it
together, shared their hardships in field and by camp-fire like true
comrades, there is an indescribable bond between them that puts to
shame any pretense of fraternal brotherhood. Among the hundreds, yes,
the thousands, of men who worked for our old firm on the trail, all
feel a pride in referring to former associations. I never leave home
without meeting men, scattered everywhere, many of them prosperous,
who come to me and say, "Of course you don't remember me, but I made
a trip over the trail with your cattle,--from San Saba County in '77.
Jake de Poyster was foreman. By the way, is your old partner, the
little Yankee major, still living?" The acquaintance, thus renewed by
chance, was always a good excuse for neglecting any business, and many
a happy hour have I spent, living over again with one of my old boys
the experiences of the past.

I want to say a parting word i