IN CO WBO Y LAND. 2 1 1 



them; but when they had grown to regard 

 a man as a friend and companion they would 

 often recount various incidents of their past 

 lives with perfect frankness, and as they com- 

 bined in a very curious degree both a decided 

 sense of humor, and a failure to appreciate 

 that there was anything especially remarkable 

 in what they related, their tales were always 

 entertaining. 



Early one spring, now nearly ten years ago, 

 I was out hunting some lost horses. They 

 had strayed from the range three months be- 

 fore, and we had in a roundabout way heard 

 that they were ranging near some broken 

 country, where a man named Brophy had a 

 ranch, nearly fifty miles from my own. When 

 I started thither the weather was warm, but 

 the second day out it grew colder and a heavy 

 snowstorm came on. Fortunately I was able 

 to reach the ranch all right, finding there one 

 of the sons of a Little Beaver ranchman, and 

 a young cowpuncher belonging to a Texas 

 outfit, whom I knew very well. After putting 

 my horse into the corral and throwing him 

 down some hay I strode into the low hut, 

 made partly of turf and partly of cottonwood 

 logs, and speedily warmed myself before the 

 fire. We had a good warm supper, of bread, 

 potatoes, fried venison, and tea. My two 

 companions grew very sociable and began to 

 talk freely over their pipes. There were two 

 bunks one above the other. I climbed into 

 the upper, leaving my friends, who occupied 

 the lower, sitting together on a bench recount* 



