“There do be a dash now and then into the Camanche trail when buffaloes are plenty, or to bring down a stray buck or so. Mayhap, too, they cut off an Injian fellow or two, if he linger too late in the fall; and then they come back with wonderful stories of storming villages, and destroying war-parties, and the rest of it; but we knows better. Most of 'em 'ere chaps are more used to picklocks than rifles, and can handle a 'jemmy' better than a 'bowie-knife.'”
“And in the present case, what kind of fellows are they?”
He rolled a tobacco quid from side to side of his mouth, and seemed to hesitate whether he would speak out.
“There is no danger with me, Captain; I am an Englishman, a perfect stranger here, and have never seen or heard of a man amongst them.”
“I see that,” said he; “and your friends must be rank green 'uns to let you go and join this trail,—that's a fact.”
“But what are they?”
“Well, they call 'emselves horse-dealers; but above Austin there, and along by Bexar, they call 'em horsestealers!” and he laughed heartily at the excessive drollery of the remark.
“And where do they trade with their cattle?”
“They sells 'em here, or up in the States away north sometimes; but they picks up the critters along the Chehuhua Line, or down by Aguaverde, or San Pueblo. I 've known 'em to go to Mexico too. When they don't get scalped, they 've rather good fun of it; but they squable a bit now and then among 'emselves; and so there's a Texan proverb that 'buffalo-meat in spring is as rare as a mustang merchant with two eyes!'”
“What does that mean?”