We received and branded the two hundred Wilson cattle that forenoon, sending them to the main herd across the river.  Mr. Wilson and Uncle Lance were great cronies, and as the latter was feeling in fine fettle over the successful fulfillment of his contract, he was tempted also to jolly his neighbor ranchero over his cattle, which, by the way, were fine.  “Nate,” said he to Mr. Wilson, “it looks like you’d quit breeding goats and rear cattle instead.  Honest, if I didn’t know your brand, I’d swear some Mexican raised this bunch.  These Fort Worth cowmen are an easy lot, or yours would never have passed under the classification.”

An hour before noon, Tomas Martines, the corporal of Santa Maria, rode up to inquire what time we wished his cattle at the corrals.  They were back several miles, and he could deliver them on an hour’s notice.  One o’clock was agreed upon, and, never dismounting, the corporal galloped away to his herd.  “Quirk,” said Nancrede to me, noticing the Mexican’s unaccustomed air of enterprise, “if we had that fellow under us awhile we’d make a cow-hand out of him.  See the wiggle he gets on himself now, will you?” Promptly at the hour, the herd were counted and corralled, Don Mateo Gonzales not troubling to appear, which was mystifying to the North Texas men, but Uncle Lance explained that a mere incident like selling seven hundred cattle was not sufficient occasion to arouse the ranchero of Santa Maria when his corporal could attend to the business.

That evening saw the last of the cattle branded.  The herd was completed and ready to start the following morning.  The two contractors were driven across the river during the afternoon to look over the herd and remuda.  At the instance of my employer, I wrote a letter of congratulation to Don Mateo, handing it to his corporal, informing him that in the course of ten days a check would he sent him in payment.  Uncle Lance had fully investigated the financial standing of the contractors, but it was necessary for him to return with them to San Antonio for a final settlement.

The ambulance made an early start for Oakville on the morning of the twenty-sixth, carrying the contractors and my employer, and the rest of us rode away to witness the start of the herd.  Nancrede’s outfit numbered fifteen,—­a cook, a horse wrangler, himself, and twelve outriders.  They comprised an odd mixture of men, several barely my age, while others were gray-haired and looked like veteran cow-hands.  On leaving the Nueces valley, the herd was strung out a mile in length, and after riding with them until they reached the first hills, we bade them good-by.  As we started to return Frank Nancrede made a remark to June Deweese which I have often recalled:  “You fellows may think this is a snap; but if I had a job on as good a ranch as Las Palomas, you’d never catch me on a cattle trail.”

CHAPTER VII

SAN JACINTO DAY