to have a third of the net profits.  Within a week after this agreement was perfected, things were moving.  I had the horses and wagons, men were plentiful, and two outfits were engaged.  Early in March a contract was let in Parker County for thirty-one hundred two-year-old steers, and another in Young for fourteen hundred threes, the latter to be delivered at my ranch.  George Edwards was to have the younger cattle, and he and Mr. Hunter received the same, after which the latter hurried west, fully ninety miles, to settle for those bought for delivery on the Clear Fork.  In the mean time my ranch outfit had gathered all our steer cattle two years old and over, having nearly twenty-five hundred head under herd on my arrival to receive the three-year-olds.  This amount would make an unwieldy herd, and I culled back all short-aged twos and thin steers until my individual contingent numbered even two thousand.  The contracted steers came in on time, fully up to the specifications, and my herd was ready to start on the appointed day.

Every dollar of the fifty thousand was invested in cattle, save enough to provision the wagons en route.  My ranch outfit, with the exception of two men and ten horses, was pressed into trail work as a matter of economy, for I was determined to make some money for my partners.  Both herds were to meet and cross at Red River Station.  The season was favorable, and everything augured for a prosperous summer.  At the very last moment a cloud arose between Mr. Hunter and me, but happily passed without a storm.  The night before the second herd started, he and I sat up until a late hour, arranging our affairs, as it was not his intention to accompany the herds overland.  After all business matters were settled, lounging around a camp-fire, we grew reminiscent, when the fact developed that my quiet little partner had served in the Union army, and with the rank of major.  I always enjoy a joke, even on myself, but I flashed hot and cold on this confession.  What!  Reed Anthony forming a partnership with a Yankee major?  It seemed as though I had.  Fortunately I controlled myself, and under the excuse of starting the herd at daybreak, I excused myself and sought my blankets.  But not to sleep.  On the one hand, in the stillness of the night and across the years, came the accusing voices of old comrades.  My very wounds seemed to reopen and curse me.  Did my sufferings after Pittsburg Landing mean nothing?  A vision of my dear old mother in Virginia, welcoming me, the only one of her three sons who returned from the war, arraigned me sorely.  And yet, on the other hand, this man was my guest.  On my invitation he had eaten my salt.  For mutual benefit we had entered into a partnership, and I expected to profit from the investment of his money.  More important, he had not deceived me nor concealed anything; neither did he know that I had served in the Confederate army.  The man was honest.  I was anxious to do right.  Soldiers are generous to a foe.  While he lay asleep in my camp, I reviewed the situation carefully, and judged him blameless.  The next morning, and ever afterward, I addressed him by his military title.  Nearly a year passed before Major Hunter knew that he and his Texas partner had served in the civil war under different flags.