little value. He who wanted beef killed beef. He who wanted
leather killed cattle for their hides. But beyond these scant and
infrequent uses cattle had no definite value.

The Mexican, however, knew how to handle cows. He could ride a
horse, and he could rope cattle and brand them. Most of the
cattle of a wide range would go to certain water-holes more or
less regularly, where they might be roughly collected or
estimated. This coming of the cattle to the watering-places made
it unnecessary for owners of cattle to acquire ranch land. It was
enough to secure the water-front where the cows must go to drink.
That gave the owner all the title he needed. His right to the
increase he could prove by another phenomenon of nature, just as
inevitable and invariable as that of thirst. The maternal
instinct of a cow and the dependence of the calf upon its mother
gave the old rancher of immemorial times sufficient proof of
ownership in the increase of his herd. The calf would run with
its own mother and with no other cow through its first season. So
that if an old Mexican ranchero saw a certain number of cows at
his watering-places, and with them calves, he knew that all
before him were his property--or, at least, he claimed them as
such and used them.

Still, this was loose-footed property. It might stray away after
all, or it might be driven away. Hence, in some forgotten time,
our shrewd Spaniard invented a system of proof of ownership which
has always lain at the very bottom of the organized cow industry;
he invented the method of branding. This meant his sign, his
name, his trade-mark, his proof of ownership. The animal could
not shake it off. It would not burn off in the sun or wash off in