The Californian rode the pony until it was completely mastered, then coming up to me, jumped to the ground, handed me the rope, and said: 

“Here’s your pony.  He’s all right now.”

I led Prince away, while father and the stranger sat down in the shade of a tent, and began talking about the latter’s horsemanship, which father considered very remarkable.

“Oh, that’s nothing; I was raised on horseback,” said the Californian; “I ran away from home when a boy, went to sea, and finally landed in the Sandwich Islands, where I fell in with a circus, with which I remained two years.  During that time I became a celebrated bare-back rider.  I then went to California, being attracted there by the gold excitement, the news of which had reached the Islands.  I did not go to mining, however, but went to work as a bocarro-catching and breaking wild horses, great numbers of which were roaming through California.  Last summer we caught this herd that we have brought with us across the plains, and are taking it to the States to sell.  I came with the outfit, as it gave me a good opportunity to visit my relatives, who live at Cleveland, Ohio.  I also had an uncle over at Weston, across the river, when I ran away, and to-morrow I am going to visit the town to see if he is there yet.”

[Illustration:  Billings as A bocarro]

“I am acquainted in Weston,” said father, “and perhaps I can tell you about your uncle.  What is his name?”

“Elijah Cody,” said the Californian.

“Elijah Cody!” exclaimed father, in great surprise; “why Elijah Cody is my brother.  I am Isaac Cody.  Who are you?”

“My name is Horace Billings,” was the reply.

“And you are my nephew.  You are the son of my sister Sophia.”

Both men sprang to their feet and began shaking hands in the heartiest manner possible.

The next moment father called me, and said:  “Come here, my son.  Here is some one you want to know.”

As I approached he introduced us.  “Horace, this is my only son.  We call him little Billy;” and turning to me said:  “Billy, my boy, this is a cousin of yours, Horace Billings, whom you’ve often heard me speak of.”

Horace Billings had never been heard of from the day he ran away from home, and his relatives had frequently wondered what had become of him.  His appearance, therefore, in our camp in the guise of a Californian was somewhat of a mystery to me, and I could hardly comprehend it until I had heard his adventurous story and learned the accidental manner in which he and father had made themselves known to each other.

Neither father nor myself would be satisfied until he had given us a full account of his wanderings and adventures, which were very exciting to me.

Late in the afternoon and just before the sun sank to rest, the conversation again turned upon horses and horsemanship.  Father told Billings all about Little Gray, and his great fault of running away.  Billings laughed and said Little Gray could not run away with him.