the morning, allowing the beeves to graze and rest along the road, and
securing good pastures for them at night. Several times it rained,
making the road soft, but I stripped off my shoes and took it
barefooted through the mud. The lead ox was a fine, big fellow, each
horn tipped with a brass knob, and he and I set the pace, which was
scarcely that of a snail. The days were long, I grew desperately
hungry between meals, and the novelty of leading that ox soon lost its
romance. But I was determined not to show that I was tired or hungry,
and frequently, when my father was with us and offered to take me up
behind him on his horse, I spurned his offer and trudged on till
the end of the day. The mere driving of the beeves would have been
monotonous, but the constant change of scene kept us in good spirits,
and our darkies always crooned old songs when the road passed through
woodlands. After the beeves were marketed we spent a day in the city,
and my father took my brother and me to the theatre. Although the
world was unfolding rather rapidly for a country boy of twelve, it
was with difficulty that I was made to understand that what we had
witnessed on the stage was but mimicry.

The third day after reaching the city we started on our return. The
proceeds from the sale of the cattle were sent home by boat. With only
two horses, each of which carried double, and walking turn about, we
reached home in seven days, settling all bills on the way. That year
was a type of others until I was eighteen, at which age I could guess
within twenty pounds of the weight of any beef on foot, and when I
bought calves and yearling steers I knew just what kind of cattle they
would make at maturity. In the mean time, one summer my father had
gone west as far as the State of Missouri, traveling by boat to
Jefferson City, and thence inland on horseback. Several of our
neighbors had accompanied him, all of them buying land, my father