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.”

But I had warmed up to our guest, and gave Fox’s criticism very little weight, well knowing if any one of us had been left in charge, he would have shown the old man similar courtesies.  In this view I was correct, for when Stallings had ridden on ahead to look up water that afternoon, the very man that entirely monopolized our guest for an hour was Mr. John Fox Quarternight.  Nor did he jar loose until we reached water, when Stallings cut him off by sending all the men on the right of the herd to hold the cattle from grazing away until every hoof had had ample time to drink.  During this rest, the old man circulated around, asking questions as usual, and when I informed him that, with a half mile of water front, it would take a full hour to water the herd properly, he expressed an innocent amazement which seemed as simple as sincere.  When the wagon and remuda came up, I noticed the boy had tied his team behind our wagon, and was riding one of Honeyman’s horses bareback, assisting the wrangler in driving the saddle stock.  After the wagon had crossed the creek, and the kegs had been filled and the teams watered, Stallings took the old man with him and the two rode away in the lead of the wagon and remuda to select a camp and