6 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CEUISEE 



and work half a year, to wish to find out as quickly 

 as possible what each co-worker and companion is 

 like, whether he is to be looked upon as a "good 

 fellow" or a "grouch," a blessing or a pest. No 

 one knew much of Horace or his antecedents. 

 Frazer had, it is true, heard in a roundabout way 

 that the new man was experienced in cruising. But 

 in the matter of his personality we were wholly 

 ignorant. 



The train drew in on time, a rare enough phenom- 

 enon, and we watched the passengers eagerly. Two 

 cowpunchers got off first. They had evidently been 

 to the city Albuquerque or El Paso, most likely 

 and were dressed in gala attire. Everything one 

 wore was duplicated by the other; they were alike 

 as a pair of spurs. Each, perhaps, had feared to 

 draw upon himself the ridicule of the other by dis- 

 playing any unique detail of town-bought finery. 

 Grinning sheepishly, they greeted a solemn group 

 of friends with formality and shook hands all round 

 in angular, pump-handle fashion. The new black 

 Stetsons, red neckties and polished boots seemed to 

 impart to their friends as well as to themselves an 

 uneasy self-consciousness, and by common consent 

 the crowd headed almost at once for the nearest 

 bar, to dissolve in drink the uncomfortable stiffness 

 of the reunion. 



John Ferguson, a cowman, back from a month's 

 business trip, waved to us as he hastened toward 

 his wife, who sat behind a team of restive po- 



