The door was unlocked, and there, under the ranchero’s bed, dust-covered, were possibly a dozen sacks of silver.  Finding one tagged with the required amount, I brought it out and laid it on the table between the two men.  But on my return I noticed Uncle Lance had turned his chair from the table and was gazing out of the window, apparently absorbed in thought.  I saw at a glance that he was gazing into the past, for I had become used to these reveries on his part.  I had not been excused, and an embarrassing silence ensued, which was only broken as he looked over his shoulder and said:  “There it is, Whit; count it if you want to.”

But Mr. Booth, knowing the oddities of Uncle Lance, hesitated.  “Well—­why—­Look here, Lance.  If you have any reason for not wanting to loan me this amount, why, say so.”

“There’s the money, Whit; take it if you want to.  It’ll pay for the hundred cows you are figuring on buying.  But I was just thinking:  can two men at our time of life, who have always been friends, afford to take the risk of letting a business transaction like this possibly make us enemies?  You know I started poor here, and what I have made and saved is the work of my lifetime.  You are welcome to the money, but if anything should happen that you didn’t repay me, you know I wouldn’t feel right towards you.  It’s probably my years that does it, but—­now, I always look forward to the visits of your family, and Jean and I always enjoy our visits at your ranch.  I think we’d be two old fools to allow anything to break up those pleasant relations.”  Uncle Lance turned in his chair, and, looking into the downcast countenance of Mr. Booth, continued:  “Do you know, Whit, that youngest girl of yours reminds me of her aunt, my own Mary, in a hundred ways.  I just love to have your girls tear around this old ranch—­they seem to give me back certain glimpses of my youth that are priceless to an old man.”

“That’ll do, Lance,” said Mr. Booth, rising and extending his hand.  “I don’t want the money now.  Your view of the matter is right, and our friendship is worth more than a thousand cattle to me.  Lizzie and the girls were anxious to come with me, and I’ll go right back and send them down.”

CHAPTER II

SHEPHERD’S FERRY

Within a few months after my arrival at Las Palomas, there was a dance at Shepherd’s Ferry.  There was no necessity for an invitation to such local meets; old and young alike were expected and welcome, and a dance naturally drained the sparsely settled community of its inhabitants from forty to fifty miles in every direction.  On the Nueces in 1875, the amusements of the countryside were extremely limited; barbecues, tournaments, and dancing covered the social side of ranch life, and whether given up or down our home river, or north on the Frio, so they were within a day’s ride, the white element of Las Palomas could always be depended on to be present, Uncle Lance in the lead.