“No, I’ll not ship any more cattle to your town,” said Pierce to a cattle solicitor during the dinner, his voice in righteous indignation resounding like a foghorn through the dining-room, “until you adjust your yardage charges.  Listen!  I can go right up into the heart of your city and get a room for myself, with a nice clean bed in it, plenty of soap, water, and towels, and I can occupy that room for twenty-four hours for two bits.  And your stockyards, away out in the suburbs, want to charge me twenty cents a head and let my steer stand out in the weather.”

After dinner, all the boys, with the exception of Priest and myself, returned to the gambling houses as though anxious to work overtime.  Before leaving the hotel, Forrest effected the loan of ten from Roundtree, and the two returned to the Long Branch, while the others as eagerly sought out a monte game.  But I was fascinated with the conversation of these old cowmen, and sat around for several hours listening to their yarns and cattle talk.

“I was selling a thousand beef steers one time to some Yankee army contractors,” Pierce was narrating to a circle of listeners, “and I got the idea that they were not up to snuff in receiving cattle out on the prairie.  I was holding a herd of about three thousand, and they had agreed to take a running cut, which showed that they had the receiving agent fixed.  Well, my foreman and I were counting the cattle as they came between us.  But the steers were wild, long-legged coasters, and came through between us like scared wolves.  I had lost the count several times, but guessed at them and started over, the cattle still coming like a whirlwind; and when I thought about nine hundred had passed us, I cut them off and sang out, ’Here they come and there they go; just an even thousand, by gatlins!  What do you make it, Bill?’

“‘Just an even thousand, Colonel,’ replied my foreman.  Of course the contractors were counting at the same time, and I suppose didn’t like to admit they couldn’t count a thousand cattle where anybody else could, and never asked for a recount, but accepted and paid for them.  They had hired an outfit, and held the cattle outside that night, but the next day, when they cut them into car lots and shipped them, they were a hundred and eighteen short.  They wanted to come back on me to make them good, but, shucks!  I wasn’t responsible if their Jim Crow outfit lost the cattle.”

Along early in the evening, Flood advised us boys to return to the herd with him, but all the crowd wanted to stay in town and see the sights.  Lovell interceded in our behalf, and promised to see that we left town in good time to be in camp before the herd was ready to move the next morning.  On this assurance, Flood saddled up and started for the Saw Log, having ample time to make the ride before dark.  By this time most of the boys had worn off the wire edge for gambling and were comparing notes.  Three of them were broke, but Quince Forrest had turned