slouch hat, and a pair of heavy horseman's boots. Now, he sports a suit
of clothes cut in the height of fashion--that is, Mexican fashion. They
are not exactly of the description that we see on the streets every day,
but they are common among the farmers of Southern California, for that
is where this young gentleman lives. He is dressed in a short jacket of
dark blue cloth, trimmed around the edges, and on the sleeves, with gold
lace, and wide trousers of the same material, also gaudily ornamented.
The hat, with which he fans his flushed face, is a sombrero, bound with
gold cord, the ends of which are adorned with tassels, that fall
jauntily over the edge of the brim. An embroidered shirt of gray cloth,
and shoes and stockings, complete his attire; or, we may add, a long
crimson sash, which is wound several times around his waist, and tied at
the side, and a pair of small Mexican spurs, whose rowels are ornamented
with little silver bells, which tinkle musically as he moves his feet
about. If you fail to recognize an old acquaintance in this excited,
sunburnt boy, you surely can call the name of the tall,
broad-shouldered, sober-looking youth, who stands at his side. Three
months in the saddle have not changed Frank Nelson a great deal, only he
is a little more robust, and, perhaps, more sedate. He has lost none of
his love of excitement, and he is quite as interested in what is going
on before him as Archie; but he stands with his hands in his pockets,
looking as dignified as a judge. It would be a wonder if they were not
somewhat excited, as they are witnessing a desperate battle that is
going on between two of their uncle's Rancheros and a wild steer, which
one of them has lassoed, and is trying to pull through the gate into the
cow-pen. The animal is struggling furiously for his freedom, and the
issue of the contest is doubtful.

At the time our story begins, Frank and his cousin had lived two months
in Southern California, where Mr. Winters owned a farm--or, in the