a bed ground for the night.  The rest of us grazed the cattle, now thoroughly watered, forward until the wagon was sighted, when, leaving two men as usual to nurse them up to bed, the remainder of us struck out for camp.  As I rode in, I sought out my bunkie to get his opinion regarding our guest.  But The Rebel was reticent, as usual, of his opinions of people, so my inquiries remained unanswered, which only served to increase my confidence in the old man.

On arriving at camp we found Stallings and Honeyman entertaining our visitor in a little game of freeze-out for a dollar a corner, while McCann looked wistfully on, as if regretting that his culinary duties prevented his joining in.  Our arrival should have been the signal to our wrangler for rounding in the remuda for night horses, but Stallings was too absorbed in the game even to notice the lateness of the hour and order in the saddle stock.  Quarternight, however, had a few dollars burning holes in his pocket, and he called our horse rustler’s attention to the approaching twilight; not that he was in any hurry, but if Honeyman vacated, he saw an opportunity to get into the game.  The foreman gave the necessary order, and Quarternight at once bargained for the wrangler’s remaining beans, and sat into the game.  While we were catching up our night horses, Honeyman told us that the old man had been joking Stallings about the speed of Flood’s brown, even going so far as to intimate that he didn’t believe that the gelding could outrun that old bay harness mare which he was driving.  He had confessed that he was too hard up to wager much on it, but he would risk a few dollars on his judgment on a running horse any day.  He also said that Stallings had come back at him, more in earnest than in jest, that if he really thought his harness mare could outrun the brown, he could win every dollar the outfit had.  They had codded one another until Joe had shown some spirit, when the old man suggested they play a little game of cards for fun, but Stallings had insisted on stakes to make it interesting, and on the old homesteader pleading poverty, they had agreed to make it for a dollar on the corner.  After supper our segundo wanted to renew the game; the old man protested that he was too unlucky and could not afford to lose, but was finally persuaded to play one more game, “just to pass away the evening.”  Well, the evening passed, and within the short space of two hours, there also passed to the supposed lean purse of our guest some twenty dollars from the feverish pockets of the outfit.  Then the old man felt too sleepy to play any longer, but loitered around some time, and casually inquired of his boy if he had picketed their mare where she would get a good bait of grass.  This naturally brought up the proposed race for discussion.

“If you really think that that old bay palfrey of yours can outrun any horse in our remuda,” said Stallings, tauntingly, “you’re missing the chance of your life not to pick up a few honest dollars as you journey along.  You stay with us to-morrow, and when we meet our foreman at the Republican, if he’ll loan me the horse, I’ll give you a race for any sum you name, just to show you that I’ve got a few drops of sporting blood in me.  And if your mare can outrun a cow, you stand an easy chance to win some money.”