s, in
the capacity of foreman, felt it incumbent on him to act the host in
behalf of the outfit. In the course of conversation, the old man
managed to unearth the fact that our acting foreman was a native of
Tennessee, and when he had got it down to town and county, claimed
acquaintanceship with a family of men in that locality who were famed
as breeders of racehorses. Our guest admitted that he himself was a
native of that State, and in his younger days had been a devotee of
the racecourse, with the name of every horseman in that commonwealth
as well as the bluegrass regions of Kentucky on his tongue's end. But
adversity had come upon him, and now he was looking out a new country
in which to begin life over again.

After dinner, when our _remuda_ was corralled to catch fresh mounts,
our guest bubbled over with admiration of our horses, and pointed out
several as promising speed and action. We took his praise of our
horseflesh as quite a compliment, never suspecting flattery at the
hands of this nomadic patriarch. He innocently inquired which was
considered the fastest horse in the _remuda_, when Stallings pointed
out a brown, belonging to Flood's mount, as the best quarter horse in
the band. He gave him a critical examination, and confessed he would
never have picked him for a horse possessing speed, though he admitted
that he was unfamiliar with range-raised horses, this being his first
visit in the West. Stallings offered to loan him a horse out of his
mount, and as the old man had no saddle, our _segundo_ prevailed on
McCann to loan his for the afternoon. I am inclined to think there was
a little jealousy amongst us that afternoon, as to who was best
entitled to entertain our company; and while he showed no partiality,
Stallings seemed to monopolize his countryman to our disadvantage. The
two jollied along from point to rear and back again, and as they
passed us riders in the swing, Stallings ignored us entirely, though
the old man always had a pleasant word as he rode by.

"If we don't do something to wean our _segundo_ from that old man,"
said Fox Quarternight, as he rode up and overtook me, "he's liable to
quit the herd and follow that old fossil back to Tennessee or some
other port. Just look at the two now, will you? Old Joe's putting on
as much dog as though he was asking the Colonel for his daughter.
Between me and you and the gatepost, Quirk, I 'm a little dubious
about the old varmint--he talks too much."