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smart enough to spot that I was walking powerful weak, and they followed me. "Wal! I walked and walked till I could see them black specks as plain as I see you, and then you can bet your life they warn't no work-bulls; they was nothing but buffalo. Truth to tell, I knowed as much before, but when a man's more'n half mad he plays it on himself that things ain't what they rightly are. And so I went on playing with myself even after I knowed. I set myself to still hunt 'em-played it that I was a professional buffalo hunter who was going to shoot a fat cow for meat. Them wolves sneaked off again when they saw me go to playing hunter so earnest-like, and I guess they concluded to look out for a calf for themselves. Likely they told themselves that fat buffalo calf was sweeter than man-meat any day. As for me, you bet you, I still-hunted them buffalo good. I got down-wind of 'em, and I crept and crawled till I got within a hundred yards, and then I put up my head, holding my butcher knife like it

"I lay where I fell, as a log."

was a pistol, and I drew a bead on one of 'em, squinting along the back of it same as if it had sights. Loony, yes; you bet I was loony, and it was enough to make any man loony to see a thousand of them critters stomping around and each last one of them carrying a thousand pounds of good fat fall meat, and me there starving in the midst of plenty.

"But as they stomped around I seen something else with the buffalo that made my heart give a jump. It was a great big red steer with short curly horns. He was for all the world the exact spirit an' image of old Dave, a big wheel-ox that my daddy owned. I watched him and I seen he moved round amongst the buffalo sort of friendly like. They 'peared to be used to him and didn't mind him one bit.

"I tumbled to it at once as he was jes' a stray work-bull as had got lost from somebody's bull-team crossing the plains and had took up with the buffalo for company. So next thing I give up being a buffalo hunter and let on to myself instead that I was a bullwhacker, played it as how this ox really was my daddy's old Dave, played it as how he'd got lost on the plains same as me, and now here was the pair of us met together again. We wasn't a very well matched pair, though, for I was skin poor and Dave was rolling fat on buffalo grass. But you can't fatten no bullwhacker on buffalo grass roots.

"Just as I was thinking this, Dave, for I was grown so childish I did really call him that to myself, put up his great broad face, and he seen me at once. The buffalo hadn't taken no notice of me, but cattle has a heap better sight than buffalo. And he looked and he looked, and he began to walk my way slowly; you bet, cattle air mighty inquisitive critters. I lay right still, and Dave came slouching along just like any other old workbull; up he came, holding his head high till I could see the big, fleshy nose of him snuffing to smell what I was.

"When he got close. 'Whoa-a, Dave,' says I, talking to him very soft; and then I kept on talking quietly to him, builwhacker's talk. He knowed what it was, you bet, and it reminded him of old times, and he stood thar patiently listen

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ing to my chin music. Then I got up, allers very quiet, and keeping him betwixt me and the buffalo, I went gently up to him. He stood like a lamb. My old dad's Dave was the quietest old wheel-ox ever you see, and this Dave was jes' the same.

"Woo-haw, Dave,' says I, 'woo-come"; and at the word you should have seen him swing around 'haw,' for all the world as if he was turning the plough at the end of the furrow. I made him come haw two or three times, and he minded my voice every time. Then I stepped alongside of him, and laid my hand on his pack. He started at that and made as if to run off. 'Yay-ee-ee,' says I, warningly, and he stopped as obedient as you please. I got my hand on him again and handled him all over, and ne stood like a lamb.

"But the taste of that prairie dog was in my mouth still, and it made me ravenous for meat. You'll scarce believe it, but the very first thing I done, I felt for his jugular, and I got out my butcher knife and set the stub point of it against the vein and tried to cut in. Lord love you! that stub of a butcher knife woudn't no more'n jes' scratch Dave's thick hide; but he felt the scratch of it, and he let a little bawl out of him and jumped away from me sideways.

"And as soon as he bawled the buffalo heard him and looked up and some on 'em seen me, and the next moment they was scooting off acrost the prairie lickity-split as tight as they could send. They'd been hunted enough to know what the sight of a man meant.

"Dave he starts to run after 'em, but 'Yay-ee-ee' shouts I to him again, not soft this time, but loud and angry. He stopped. I ran to his head and hammered him over the nose with the handle of the butcher knife. 'Back there,' I says to him. 'Git back.' I believe he thought he had the old ox-yoke on his neck already; anyway he backed-old use and wont was too much for him when he heard a man's voice. I kept him there woo-hawing and backing as if we was working a log-wagon in thick lumber till them buffalo was miles away, clean out of sight and hearing. Then I starts

out to drive Dave north and find that road. For I still thought it was north I'd got to go.

"Lord! but if I was to talk for a week I never could make you understand what company that steer was to me. I hoofed it alongside him all day; we got that friendly that I held on to his tail at last and let him tow me same as if I was hanging on to the back of a wagon. believe I could have rid on his back if I'd bin strong enough to climb on. I stopped one or two hours to dig grass roots in the afternoon, and Dave jes' grazed around.

"Come night I feared as I'd lose my companion, so I made him lay down, and we was that familiar by then that ne let me lay down beside him right up agin his back. Scott! but that was bully. Dave's warm body kept me warmer'n a fire. I didn't freeze no more toes that night, tho' of course, like all cattle, Dave had to get up for a couple of hours in the middle of the night and feed awhile

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before he'd lay down again and chew his cud. But I walked round with him in the dark while he fed, standing just to leeward of him, so he'd kind of act as a wind break and keep the wind off me. And then when he laid down after midnight I cuddled up to his warm side a second time. I'd have froze sure but for him. He jes' saved my life, and I knowed it.

"Four days and four nights I wandered round with that ox, working north all the time and living on grass roots, for I couldn't catch no more prairie dogs.

"And then on the fourth day I chanced upon a lady. Oh, yes, you kin look surprised, but that's what she was-a reg'ar lady, young, handsome, and high-toned, if she was only a girl of fifteen, all by herself out in the middle of the plains. Nor she wasn't lost there, neither. She was quite at home, only she was jes' quietly taking a little scoot around, riding on a fine American horse with a fine new lady's saddle cinched on his back. Soon as she saw me with Dave she loped up to us.

"Morning, mister,' says she when she got pretty close, 'seen any more stray work cattle around?"

""No, miss,' says I; 'I don't seem to have seed no cattle 'cept this ox, not for about a year and a half.' And with that I laffed right out, for I was plump lightheaded.

"She looked me all over from head to foot. She was jes' as rosy as an apple and as sassy as a jay-bird.

"Why, whar you bin so long?' says she. 'You do look mighty peaked. D' you belong to one of them busted outfits going back from Pike's Peak?' and with that she laffed right out, too.

"There was heaps of fellers that year as started out with 'Pike's Peak or Bust' painted big on their wagon covers, and a lot of 'em when they got thar soured on the whole show and wrote 'Busted' instead, and turned and lit out for home.

"No, miss,' says I; 'I'm about busted but I'm not going back. I'm going to Pike's Peak.' I felt kind of nettled by her laugh. But can you tell me, miss,' says I, 'wharabouts the Smoky Hill road is? I've been looking for it quite a while, but I don't quite seem to find it.'

"Why, pore man,' says she, her eyes growing pitiful, and she looking at me harder'n ever, 'I do believe you've bin lost. Why, the Smoky Hill Fork's hundreds of miles away from here. Yander's the Platte jes' beyond that bluff, and Major Beech-he's my pa-he's camped down there with his wagon train. We've lost one of our best steers, and we thought as some of them busted outfits of returning emigrants had bin and stolen it. He's gone down the Platte road to try and overtake 'em.' Then she looked hard at Dave and began to ask questions.

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""What steer's that you're driving thar anyway? Whose team does he belong to?" 'Belongs to me, miss,' says I, 'but I ain't aworking of him. I've just got him along for a kind of pet, something to talk to and keep me warm o' nights.'

"She looked at me as if I had got six heads; nor I don't wonder if she thought I was loony.

""I gather as how you didn't come up the Platte, then,' she says suspiciously. "No, miss,' says I; 'I've come out over the Smoky Hill route. It's kind of accidental, as I took this little pasear across to the Platte. And I'm traveling light, you see.'

""What!' she cries, 'you're alone? You've got no outfit? You've come ali that way with no blankets and no food?"

"'Yes, miss,' says I; I've had some food. I've eaten a whole prairie dog. And I've dug grass roots mostly. But I feel as if it was a year since I had a square meal.'

"'Pore man!' says she, softly, and I swear she looked as if she was going to cry. 'You must come right down to our camp and let me give you some food,' she says, 'and Major Beech shall fix you up the best way he can.'

"Lord! but how good Miss Sally Beech did fix me! She had some buffalo meat astewing over the fire, and I begged and prayed of her to let me have a full meal of it-prayed for it till I cried, I didbut 'twan't no use; she was rocky, she was, and nary morsel of solid meat aid I get at first. Broth she gave me, and only three spoonfuls at a time of that, but she sat there all day long and give me my three spoonfuls every few min

utes till by evening I began to feel a heap better.

"Major Beech came back after a while. He'd overtaken the train of returning emigrants, but he hadn't found his strayed work-bull with them, and one of his own bullwhackers who'd been looking for tracks while Major Beech was gone swore as he'd trailed the lost bull down to the Platte, and he must have gone in and got swallowed up in a quicksand. Thar's quicksand in the bed of the Platte that'll swallow a horse or a steer right out of sight in five minutes.

"But I loaned Dave to the Major to work instead of him, and they hauled me to Denver in one of his wagons and the doctor thar cut off them three toes I'd froze and said I was powerful lucky to save the foot. But it's a good useful foot still to stump alongside a bull team

on.

"I never found the feller as had my outfit on his wagon; when I got lost I reckon he must have put me down as died intestate, and appointed himself executor and heir-at-law to the hull lot of it. Anyway I never seen no more of him or of my property. But I froze to Dave. Major Beech 'ud have bought him of me, but I wouldn't sell him. However, I took a job at bull-whacking for the Major myself, and the upshot of it was that I became his wagon boss and ended by buying his bull train off him, and now I'm running it on my own account.

"I've got old Dave still, too. He don't do no work, the old sinner, but jes' loafs round."

"Why, thar he is now," cried Ike's chum, who was lying smoking beside the fire. "Blamed if I don't think he allus hears when you get to gassing about him."

Ike sprang up, went to his wagon, and putting his hand inside brought out a fistful of salt.

"Woo-come, Dave," said he, "woocome!" and a big, red steer advanced half snyly into the firelight, breathing deep and loud, as he thrust forward his broad, upturned face, his fleshy lips working with anticipation.

Ike held out the salt, and the great tongue eagerly licked it off his master's hand.

"Tame as a little dog," said Ike's chum to me with a laugh, as she lazily rolled his huge length over to watch the performance. "Of all the gaul-derned pets for a bull-whacker to keep! But thar! Ike owes him something for saving the rest of them toes."

"I owe him for more'n that," Ike flung back at him over his shoulder as he scratched the curly front of the big steer. "Hark now!" From a tent benind the wagon the wail of a lusty infant demanding sustenance from nature's fount broke upon the night air, at which sound the bronzed face of Ike broadened into a conscious grin of pride.

"We call him Young Dave," he said to me with a nod towards the origin of the sound. "Reason enough, too; Miss Sally's bin Mrs. Ike any time these two years, but we owe the honor of the first introduction to Old Dave."

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OWN on the San Cristobal road was the habitation of old Mother Harney. The house, half cottage, half store, was placed a hundred yards or SO back from the highway, and a clump of mazanitas reared their reddish stems and dust-covered leaves at the back. It was to this humble emporium that the Mexicans in the vicinity came for their supplies of dried peppers, frijoles, onions, needles, thread, and other small articles of domestic economy. Occasionally a tourist halted for a glass of water or a bit of lunch, but such visitors were few. То the abode of Mother Harney came one day a ragged boy. Jose was the son of a low caste Mexican, and his mother was of mixed blood, the Indian predominating. The boy had been sent to shift for himself, and was sick from exposure and bad food. Though Mother Harney was distrustful of strays, she took pity on Jose. She hated men, but this was only a boy. "Ye may stay out there," said she, indicating an out-house, where the burro and a family of chickens had their abode. "I have no room inside, but I will tend ye and feed ye, and when ye are strong enough ye can market my eggs."

John P Wilson

And Jose thought this was better than the chapparal. Faithfully did Mother Harney care for the sick boy till he grew strong and well again, though never did she allow him to enter the house. Once a week the boy rode the burro to the neighboring town with the eggs, bringing the few silver pieces received for them home to Mother Harney, who praised his punctuality and honesty. Once when he returned the old woman was not outside to receive the money, and he started to enter the house, but she met him at the door.

"Ye'r not to come in, Jose, me bye; I told ye that before; ye'r place is there," pointing to the ramshackle stable. It had never occurred to his slow intellect that Mother Harney must have some strong reason for excluding him from the house, but now the thought took lodgment beneath his straggling mat black hair, that the old woman had a secret she did not wish him to share. And he resented this banishment, though to be sure Mother Harney was kind, barring now and then a curse flung at him when he was careless and broke an egg.

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"Why does she keep me out?" soliloquized the Mexican boy. "Has mamma got a nest egg there she doesn't wish me to see?"

And so, Mexican-like, the boy waited

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