"And you are my nephew. You are the son of my sister Sophia."

Both men sprang to their feet and began shaking hands in the heartiest
manner possible.

The next moment father called me, and said: "Come here, my son. Here is
some one you want to know."

As I approached he introduced us. "Horace, this is my only son. We call
him little Billy;" and turning to me said: "Billy, my boy, this is a
cousin of yours, Horace Billings, whom you've often heard me speak of."

Horace Billings had never been heard of from the day he ran away from
home, and his relatives had frequently wondered what had become of him.
His appearance, therefore, in our camp in the guise of a Californian was
somewhat of a mystery to me, and I could hardly comprehend it until I had
heard his adventurous story and learned the accidental manner in which he
and father had made themselves known to each other.

Neither father nor myself would be satisfied until he had given us a full
account of his wanderings and adventures, which were very exciting to me.

Late in the afternoon and just before the sun sank to rest, the
conversation again turned upon horses and horsemanship. Father told
Billings all about Little Gray, and his great fault of running away.
Billings laughed and said Little Gray could not run away with him.

After supper he went out to look at the horse, which was picketed in the
grass. Surveying the animal carefully, he untied the lariat and slipped a
running noose over his nose; then giving a light bound, he was on his