"No, I didn't know it," replied Flood, "but I'm glad to hear he is. I
don't want to ruin an innocent man, and a trail outfit is not supposed
to have any morals. Just so the herd don't count out shy on the day of
delivery, I don't mind how many drinks the outfit takes."

The next morning after going into camp, the first thing was the
allotment of our mounts for the trip. Flood had the first pick, and
cut twelve bays and browns. His preference for solid colors, though
they were not the largest in the _remuda_, showed his practical sense
of horses. When it came the boys' turn to cut, we were only allowed to
cut one at a time by turns, even casting lots for first choice. We had
ridden the horses enough to have a fair idea as to their merits, and
every lad was his own judge. There were, as it happened, only three
pinto horses in the entire saddle stock, and these three were the last
left of the entire bunch. Now a little boy or girl, and many an older
person, thinks that a spotted horse is the real thing, but practical
cattle men know that this freak of color in range-bred horses is the
result of in-and-in breeding, with consequent physical and mental
deterioration. It was my good fortune that morning to get a good mount
of horses,--three sorrels, two grays, two coyotes, a black, a brown,
and a _grulla_. The black was my second pick, and though the color is
not a hardy one, his "bread-basket" indicated that he could carry food
for a long ride, and ought to be a good swimmer. My judgment of him
was confirmed throughout the trip, as I used him for my night horse
and when we had swimming rivers to ford. I gave this black the name of
"Nigger Boy."

For the trip each man was expected to furnish his own accoutrements.
In saddles, we had the ordinary Texas make, the housings of which