Shepherd’s Ferry is somewhat of a misnomer, for the water in the river was never over knee-deep to a horse, except during freshets.  There may have been a ferry there once; but from my advent on the river there was nothing but a store, the keeper of which also conducted a road-house for the accommodation of travelers.  There was a fine grove for picnic purposes within easy reach, which was also frequently used for camp-meeting purposes.  Gnarly old live-oaks spread their branches like a canopy over everything, while the sea-green moss hung from every limb and twig, excluding the light and lazily waving with every vagrant breeze.  The fact that these grounds were also used for camp-meetings only proved the broad toleration of the people.  On this occasion I distinctly remember that Miss Jean introduced a lady to me, who was the wife of an Episcopal minister, then visiting on a ranch near Oakville, and I danced several times with her and found her very amiable.

On receipt of the news of the approaching dance at the ferry, we set the ranch in order.  Fortunately, under seasonable conditions work on a cattle range is never pressing.  A programme of work outlined for a certain week could easily be postponed a week or a fortnight for that matter; for this was the land of “la manana,” and the white element on Las Palomas easily adopted the easy-going methods of their Mexican neighbors.  So on the day everything was in readiness.  The ranch was a trifle over thirty miles from Shepherd’s, which was a fair half day’s ride, but as Miss Jean always traveled by ambulance, it was necessary to give her an early start.  Las Palomas raised fine horses and mules, and the ambulance team for the ranch consisted of four mealy-muzzled brown mules, which, being range bred, made up in activity what they lacked in size.

Tiburcio, a trusty Mexican, for years in the employ of Uncle Lance, was the driver of the ambulance, and at an early morning hour he and his mules were on their mettle and impatient to start.  But Miss Jean had a hundred petty things to look after.  The lunch—­enough for a round-up—­was prepared, and was safely stored under the driver’s seat.  Then there were her own personal effects and the necessary dressing and tidying, with Uncle Lance dogging her at every turn.

“Now, Sis,” said he, “I want you to rig yourself out in something sumptuous, because I expect to make a killing with you at this dance.  I’m almost sure that that Louisiana mule-drover will be there.  You know you made quite an impression on him when he was through here two years ago.  Well, I’ll take a hand in the game this time, and if there’s any marry in him, he’ll have to lead trumps.  I’m getting tired of having my dear sister trifled with by every passing drover.  Yes, I am!  The next one that hangs around Las Palomas, basking in your smiles, has got to declare his intentions whether he buys mules or not.  Oh, you’ve got a brother, Sis, that’ll look out for you.  But you must play your part.  Now, if that mule-buyer’s there, shall I”—­