n.
Its hooks or claws are sharper than a cat's, very strong and recurve on
the stems: so that a man afoot cannot possibly advance through it, and
even on a horse it will tear the trousers off you in a very few minutes.
Is the name not appropriate?

Nothing so far has been said on the subject of "hold-ups." Railway train
hold-ups were a frequent occurrence, and were only undertaken by the
most desperate of men. One celebrated gang, headed by the famous outlaw,
Black Jack, operated mostly on a railway to the north of us and another
railway to the south, the distance between being about 400 miles. Their
line of travel between these two points was through Fort Sumner; and in
our immediate neighbourhood they sometimes rested for a week or two,
hiding out as it were, resting horses and laying plans. No doubt they
cost us some calves for beef, though they were not the worst offenders.
What annoyed me most was that Black Jack himself, when evading pursuit,
raided my horse pasture one night, caught up the very best horse I ever
owned, rode him fifty miles, and cut his throat.

In New Mexico, where at first it seemed everybody's hand was against me,
I was gratified to find that I had got a reputation as a fist-fighter,
and as I never practised boxing in my life, never had the gloves on,
never had a very serious fist fight with anyone, the idea of having such
a reputation was too funny; but why should one voluntarily repudiate it?
It was useful. The men had also somehow heard that I could hold a
six-shooter pretty straight. Such a reputation was even more useful. I
was not surprised therefore that a plan should be hatched to test my
powers in that line. It came at the round-up dinner-hour on the
Company's range (New Mexico). A small piece of board was nailed to a
fence post and the boys began shooting at it. In a casual way someone
asked me to try my hand. Knowing how much depended on it I got out my
faithful old 45 deg. six-shooter that I had carried for fifteen years, and
taking quick aim, as much to my own surprise as to others', actually hit
the centre of the mark! It was an extraordinarily good shot (could not
do it again perhaps in twenty trials) but it saved my reputation. Of
course no pressure could have persuaded me to fire again. That reminds
me of another such occasion.

Once when camped alone on the Reservation in Arizona, a party of
officers from Camp Apache turned up. They had a bite to eat with me and
the subject