When we had caught our horses for the afternoon, and Flood had saddled
and was ready to start, he said to us, "You fellows just mosey along
up the trail. I'll not be gone long, but when I get back I shall
expect to find everything running smooth. An outfit that can't run
itself without a boss ought to stay at home and do the milking. So
long, fellows!"

The country was well watered, and when rounded the cattle into the bed
ground that night, they were actually suffering from stomachs gorged
with grass and water. They went down and to sleep like tired children;
one man could have held them that night. We all felt good, and McCann
got up an extra spread for supper. We even had dried apples for
dessert. McCann had talked the storekeeper at Doan's, where we got our
last supplies, out of some extras as a _pelon_. Among them was a can
of jam. He sprung this on us as a surprise. Bob Blades toyed with the
empty can in mingled admiration and disgust over a picture on the
paper label. It was a supper scene, every figure wearing full dress.
"Now, that's General Grant," said he, pointing with his finger, "and
this is Tom Ochiltree. I can't quite make out this other duck, but I
reckon he's some big auger--a senator or governor, maybe. Them old
girls have got their gall with them. That style of dress is what you
call _lo_ and _behold_. The whole passel ought to be ashamed. And they
seem to be enjoying themselves, too."

Though it was a lovely summer night, we had a fire, and supper over,
the conversation ranged wide and free. As the wagon on the trail is
home, naturally the fire is the hearthstone, so we gathered and
lounged around it.