by wagon.

"Well, on the first heat we voted sparingly, and as the vote was read
out about every quarter hour, Precilla June Jones on the first turn
was fourth in the race. On the second report, our favorite had moved
up to third place, after which the weaker ones were deserted, and all
the voting blood was centered on the two white leaders, with our
blackbird a close third. We were behaving ourselves nicely, and our
money was welcome if we weren't. When the third vote was announced,
Frog's pickaninny was second in the race, with her nose lapped on the
flank of the leader. Then those who thought a darky was as good as any
one else got on the prod in a mild form, and you could hear them
voicing their opinions all over the hall. We heard it all, but sat as
nice as pie and never said a word.

"When the final vote was called for, we knew it was the home stretch,
and every rascal of us got his weasel skin out and sweetened the
voting on Miss Precilla June Jones. Some of those old long-horns
didn't think any more of a twenty-dollar gold piece than I do of a
white chip, especially when there was a chance to give those good
people a dose of their own medicine. I don't know how many votes we
cast on the last whirl, but we swamped all opposition, and our
favorite cantered under the wire an easy winner. Then you should have
heard the kicking, but we kept still and inwardly chuckled. The
minister announced the winner, and some of those good people didn't
have any better manners than to hiss and cut up ugly. We stayed until
Frog got the new baby wagon in his clutches, when we dropped out
casually and met at the Ranch saloon, where Colonel Zellers had taken
possession behind the bar and was dispensing hospitality in proper
celebration of his victory."

Much to our disappointment, our guests remained silent and showed no
disposition to talk, except to answer civil questions which Flood
asked regarding the trail crossing on the Missouri, and what that
river was like in the vicinity of old Fort Benton. When the questions
had been answered, they again relapsed into silence. The fire was
replenished, and after the conversation had touched on several
subjects, Joe Stallings took his turn with a yarn.

"When my folks first came to Texas," said Joe, "they settled in Ellis
County, near Waxahachie. My father was one of the pioneers in that
county at a time when his nearest neighbor lived ten miles from his
front gate. But after the war, w