The horses scampered down the flat to search out alfilaria. We roosted under a slanting shed—where were stock saddles, silver-mounted bits and spurs, rawhide riatas, branding-irons, and all the lumber of the cattle business. ∗ ∗ ∗ Shortly the riders began to come in, jingling up to the shed, with a rattle of spurs and bit-chains. ∗ ∗ ∗ The chief, a six-footer wearing beautifully decorated gauntlets and a pair of white buckskin chaps, went so far as to say it was a little warm for the time of year.
STEWART EDWARD WHITE,
in The Mountains.
OCTOBER 30.
HANDS UP!
This is a request that, in the wild and woolly West, "may not be denied"; and the braver the man is to whom it is addressed, the quicker does he hasten to comply. Indeed, it would argue the height of folly if, after a glance into the barrels of a "sawed off", and a look at the determined eyes behind them, covering your every move, you did not instantly elevate your hands, and do it with cheerful alacrity. The plea, "He had the drop on me", will clear you in any frontier Court of Honor.
A.E. LYNCH,
in Self-Torture.
OCTOBER 31.
OUT WEST.