was made so by the tireless riding, the deadly shooting, and the
indomitable courage of the Texas Rangers.




THE BLUE QUAIL OF THE CACTUS


THE Quartermaster and I both had trouble which the doctors could not
cure--it was January, and it would not do for us to sit in a "blind ";
besides, I do not fancy that. There are ever so many men who are
comfortable all over when they are sitting in a blind waiting on the
vagrant flying of the ducks; but it is solemn, gloomy business, and, I
must say, sufficient reason why they take a drink every fifteen minutes
to keep up their enthusiasm. We both knew that the finest winter resort
for shot-gun folks was in the Southwest--down on the Rio Grande in
Texas--so we journeyed to Eagle Pass. As we got down from the train we
saw Captain Febiger in his long military cloak by a lantern-light.

"Got any quail staked out for us, Feb?" asked the Quartermaster.

"Oodles," said Febiger; "get into my trap," and we were rattled through
the unlighted street out to the camp, and brought up by the Captain's
quarters.

In the morning we unpacked our trunks, and had everything on the floor
where we could see it, after the fashion with men. Captain Febiger's
baby boy came in to help us rummage in the heaps of canvas clothes,
ammunition, and what not besides, finally selecting for his amusement a