Emigrant Trail--she's wore in tur'ble deep--you can see the ruts
to-day. When we topped the rise we see a little old outfit just
makin' out to drag along.

It was one little schooner all by herself, drug along by two poor
old cavallos that couldn't have pulled my hat off. Their tongues
was out, and every once in a while they'd stick in a chuck-hole.
Then a man would get down and put his shoulder to the wheel, and
everybody'd take a heave, and up they'd come, all a-trembling and
weak.

Tim and I rode down just to take a look at the curiosity.

A thin-lookin' man was drivin', all humped up.

"Hullo, stranger," says I, "ain't you 'fraid of Injins?"

"Yes," says he.

"Then why are you travellin' through an Injin country all alone?"

"Couldn't keep up," says he. "Can I get water here?"

"I reckon," I answers.

He drove up to the water trough there at Texas Pete's, me and
Gentleman Tim followin' along because our trail led that way.
But he hadn't more'n stopped before Texas Pete was out.

"Cost you four bits to water them hosses," says he.