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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 297 pages of information about The Log of a Cowboy.
and feared some of them, in their locoed condition, might have passed the water during the night.  Our misfortune was an ill wind by which Straw profited, for he had fully expected to keep on by the old route, but with our disaster staring him in the face, a similar experience was to be avoided.  His herd reached the lakes during the middle of the afternoon, and after watering, turned and went westward over the new route taken by the two herds which preceded us.  He had a herd of about three thousand steers, and was driving to the Dodge market.  After the experience we had just gone through, his herd and outfit were a welcome sight.  Flood made inquiries after Lovell’s second herd, under my brother Bob as foreman, but Straw had seen or heard nothing of them, having come from Goliad County with his cattle.

After the Ellison herd had passed on and out of sight, our squad which had been working the country to the northward, over the route by which the abandoned herd had returned, came in with the information that that section was clear of cattle, and that they had only found three head dead from thirst.  On the fourth morning, as the herd left the bed ground, a count was ordered, and to our surprise we counted out twenty-six head more than we had received on the banks of the Rio Grande a month before.  As there had been but one previous occasion to count, the number of strays absorbed into our herd was easily accounted for by Priest:  “If a steer herd could increase on the trail, why shouldn’t ours, that had over a thousand cows in it?” The observation was hardly borne out when the ages of our herd were taken into consideration.  But 1882 in Texas was a liberal day and generation, and “cattle stealing” was too drastic a term to use for the chance gain of a few cattle, when the foundations of princely fortunes were being laid with a rope and a branding iron.

In order to give the Ellison herd a good start of us, we only moved our wagon to the farthest lake and went into camp for the day.  The herd had recovered its normal condition by this time, and of the troubles of the past week not a trace remained.  Instead, our herd grazed in leisurely content over a thousand acres, while with the exception of a few men on herd, the outfit lounged around the wagon and beguiled the time with cards.

We had undergone an experience which my bunkie, The Rebel, termed “an interesting incident in his checkered career,” but which not even he would have cared to repeat.  That night while on night herd together—­the cattle resting in all contentment—­we rode one round together, and as he rolled a cigarette he gave me an old war story:—­

“They used to tell the story in the army, that during one of the winter retreats, a cavalryman, riding along in the wake of the column at night, saw a hat apparently floating in the mud and water.  In the hope that it might be a better hat than the one he was wearing, he dismounted to get it.  Feeling his way carefully through the ooze until he reached the hat, he was surprised to find a man underneath and wearing it.  ‘Hello, comrade,’ he sang out, ‘can I lend you a hand?’

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