The Last of the Plainsmen 



stalk it at night; but even a cougar has to take second 

 to a mustang when it comes to sight.&quot; 



The hours passed slowly. The sun baked us ; the 

 stones were too hot to touch ; flies buzzed behind our 

 ears; tarantulas peeped at us from holes. The after 

 noon slowly waned. 



At dark we returned to where we had left Wallace 

 and the cowboys. Frank had solved the problem of 

 water supply, for he had found a little spring trickling 

 from a cliff, which, by skillful management, produced 

 enough drink for the horses. We had packed our 

 water for camp use. 



&quot; You take the first watch to-night,&quot; said Jones 

 to me after supper. &quot; The mustangs might try to 

 slip by our fire in the night and we must keep a watch 

 for them. Call Wallace when your time s up. Now, 

 fellows, roll in.&quot; 



When the pink of dawn was shading white, we 

 were at our posts. A long, hot day interminably 

 long, deadening to the keenest interest passed, and 

 still no mustangs came. We slept and watched again, 

 in the grateful cool of night, till the third day broke. 



The hours passed; the cool breeze changed to hot; 

 the sun blazed over the canon wall; the stones 

 scorched; the flies buzzed. I fell asleep in the scant 

 shade of the sage bushes and awoke, stifled and moist. 

 The old plainsman, never weary, leaned with his back 



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