" The mare is locoed, all the symp- 

 toms," he announced. 



" Locoed!" echoed Bobbie, who 

 had arrived in time to hear the tale. 

 "I know what that means! Then she 

 is really luny, sees things, a little 

 thing looks big, another big thing 

 looks little at the same time. They 

 say that a horse or cow that eats of 

 the loco weed never is cured. It's 

 like the opium habit or ' "hasheesh" 

 mighty uncanny. They go along for 

 days and weeks without an attack, 

 then all of a sudden there's the devil 

 to pay." Bobbie settled in a heap 

 on his horse! His chagrin was so 

 obliterating, it was funny. "Mrs. 

 Nimrod what do you think of me! 

 I'll never buy another horse! You 

 are welcome to use me for a door 

 mat!" 



My feelings had sustained the prin- 

 cipal injury, so it behooved me to 

 be magnanimous. 



"Caesar once made a mistake, 

 I believe." 



I rode the rest of the way on 

 Bobbie's other failure, the " Whited 

 Sepulchre." He insisted upon it, 

 while he walked behind leading Ken- 



