IN THE SHADE OF THE OAKS. 165 



watched another bush-tit's nest there, sitting in 

 the crotch of the oak with Mountain Billy looking 

 over my shoulder. Although Billy was, in his 

 prime, a bucking mustang, he became more of a 

 petted companion than Canello had been ; and 

 when we were out alone together, we were a great 

 deal of company for each other. As soon as I 

 dismounted he would put his head down to have 

 me slip the reins off over his ears, so that he 

 could graze by himself. Sometimes, when he 

 stood behind me he rested his bridle on my sun- 

 hat, and once went so far as to take a bite out 

 of the brim — in consideration of its being straw. 

 If I were sitting on the ground and he was grazing 

 near, he would at times walk up and gravely raise 

 his face to look into mine. When he got tired, 

 he would rub up against my arm and yawn, look- 

 ing down at me with a friendly smile in his eyes. 

 Birding was rather dull for Billy — when there 

 was neither grass nor poison ivy at hand, but he 

 had one never-failing source of enjoyment — 

 rolling. He tried it in the sand under the oak, 

 one day, with the saddle on. Before I knew what 

 he was about he was down on his knees, sitting 

 still, with a comical, helpless look in his eyes, as 

 if quite at a loss to know what to do next, having 

 become conscious of the saddle. When I had 

 gotten him on his feet and finished lecturing him 

 I uncinched the saddle, laid it one side on the 

 ground, took hold of the end of the long bridle, 



