FOREST AND STREAM 
Nov. 15, 1913. 
TO 
the concluding page of his “Man’s Place in 
Nature”: “It is indeed true that the Poet, the 
Philosopher or the Artist, whose genius is the 
glory of his age, is degraded from his high 
estate by the undoubted historical probability, 
not to say certainty, that he is the direct de¬ 
scendant of some naked and bestial savage? 
B EING an Englishman, I am naturally fond 
of riding. It was therefore with a feel¬ 
ing of pleasant anticipation that I ac¬ 
cepted Frank Cary’s offer of taking his 
thoroughbred filly, Gala Day, over to the Texas 
fair grounds, where she was to start in the 
quarter-mile dash on the following week. Frank 
Cary is an old friend of the family, who had 
moved to the States following the death of his 
parents in England, and settled down to the 
quiet life of a Texas ranchman. As he had 
been a boyhood chum of mine, his ranch was 
the first place I visited after coming to America. 
My host had been in the habit of sending 
his runners over to the little race course at 
night, in order to avoid the scorching rays of 
the Texas sun. “Keeping them fresh and full 
of life is the whole thing in these quarter-mile 
dashes,” he explained, “and there is nothing 
that’ll take it out of ’em quicker than a long 
drill under the rays of Old Sol.” 
The moon had risen in all her silvery splen¬ 
dor, shedding a pale fairy-like beauty over 
nature as I swung myself into the saddle; and 
bidding Frank a cheery good-night, I prepared 
to enjoy my long journey under the enchanting 
influence of her beaming smiles. Never before 
in all my life had I felt so sure that the man 
in the moon is not a man, but a woman, and a 
very charming one at that. 
“You know the way, old man,” shouted 
Frank as I gently lifted the filly’s head, with a 
slight pull on the lines. “Follow the road we 
took last Tuesday, and you can’t possibly go 
wrong. You will find fairly good food and 
lodging in Dorson’s Hotel just outside the 
track, and you ought to make it by 2 o’clock.” 
I had some doubt as to the “fairly good¬ 
ness” of the food and lodging to be found in 
the hostelries of that section of Texas, but I 
was too well pleased with the world in general 
at just that moment to give the matter much 
thought. I drew a sigh of pure contentment as 
little Gala Day settled into her long, slinking, 
thoroughbred trot. 
There is nothing more conducive to medi¬ 
tation than the sweet calm of a summer’s night, 
and ruminating on the strange vagaries of fate 
that hadl brought me, a retired officer of the 
British army, so far away from my native heath 
in order to repair the damage done my consti¬ 
tution by twelve years’ hard service in India, I 
suddenly became aware of the fact that I had 
taken the wrong road and was riding through a 
country wholly unfamiliar to me. As I was 
Nay, thoughtful men once escaped from the 
blinding influences of traditional prejudices 
will find in the lowly stock whence man has 
sprung, the best evidence of the splendor of his 
capacities; and will discern in his long progress 
through the past, a reasonable ground of faith 
in his attainment of a nobler future.” 
about to turn the filly’s head, thinking to ride 
back and find the road I had been instructed 
to follow, I saw coming toward me a 
unique figure mounted on a small Texas 
cow pony. I have said unique, but that 
is putting it rather mild. Of all the 
apparel that I had seen during my sojourn in 
Texas, the one that now greeted my eyes was 
certainly the strangest; a blue and white striped 
jockey cap, and a pair of cowboy trousers, en¬ 
circled below the knees by tan riding leggings 
of a distinctly English pattern, were the princi¬ 
pal features as I now recall them. 
The newcomer’s speech, like his dress, pro¬ 
claimed him to be an odd mixture between an 
English groom and a Texas cow puncher. 
“Fine night, fine mare you ’ave, sir. 
Thoroughbred, too, hi see. Run much? ’Ow’s 
that, pardner?” The “ ’Ow’s that, pardner?” was 
not intended as a query to anything I had said, 
but was evidently meant to signify that my new 
acquaintance would stop talking long enough 
to receive an answer concerning the filly’s run¬ 
ning qualities. “Fastest quarter horse in 
Texas,” I replied. 
“Great place, Texas, for quarter ’orses. 
Now hover hin Hingland we should never think 
of bothering with an ’orse that couldn’t go 
somethink hof a distance. Hinglishman your¬ 
self, aren’t you? ’Ow’s that, pardner?” 
I observed by the thickness of his speech 
that he had been drinking, but as he seemed an 
amusing sort of character, I was glad to have 
his company, besides which I learned that he 
was bound for a place not more than quarter 
of a mile from the fair grounds, and having 
him for a companion insured my arrival at my 
destination without further mishap. 
For a time his odd mannerisms, and 
peculiar expressions amused me greatly, but 
after we had traveled together for over an 
hour and I had answered his never-ending cross 
fire of questions, which invariably ended with 
“ ’Ow’s that, pardner?” I began to weary of 
his ceaseless prattle, and almost wished that I 
had dismissed him after inquiring the way to 
the fair grounds. 
We had traveled about half the distance to 
the grounds, when my companion suddenly 
ceased his chattering, and upon turning to 
see what could have caused so remarkable an 
incident, I noticed that he was regarding me 
with a look that was piercing in its intensity. 
At first I thought little of the matter, but after 
we had journeyed for some tin -J in silence, and 
I felt his gaze still on me, I began to feel 
rather uncomfortable, and although I told my¬ 
self over and over again that it was sheer non¬ 
sense, I could not shake off the feeling that 
something unpleasant was about to happen. I 
was about to make some casual remark with the 
intention of detracting my mind from such un¬ 
pleasant contemplations, when, upon arriving 
at a sharp divergence in the road we had been 
following, I saw to my utter astonishment that 
our path was blocked by a large saloon situated 
in the very center of the highway. Before I 
had had an opportunity of giving vent to my 
opinion of the laws of a State which allowed its 
thoroughfares to be obstructed in such a high¬ 
handed manner, however, my companion had 
jumped from his pony’s back, and seizing Gala 
Day by the bridle, invited me in to have a drink. 
Now although I am a man of temperate 
habits, I am no Prohibitionist, and I have never 
been able to reach a satisfactory conclusion as 
to why, on this particular occasion, I not only 
refused point blank to indulge in any liquid 
refreshments whatsoever, but took it upon my¬ 
self to play the part of a temperance crank, and 
soundly berated my new acquaintance for daring 
to tempt me away from the straight and narrow 
path, nor have I ever reached a satisfactory con¬ 
clusion as to how he had become possessed of 
the ax which he now flourished above his head. 
If, however, I have never ascertained where he 
obtained it, I was not long in finding out why 
he had done so. For, jumping in the air, he 
gave vent to a series of uncanny yells, and 
vowed that I was the very chap he had been 
waiting for these many years, and that, as I 
had not only injured him in days gone by, but 
had now added insult to injury by lecturing him 
on his only weakness, he would take his revenge 
then and there by obtaining my “ ’art’s blood.” 
Now I protest that I’m no coward, but I 
refuse to play the hero when the other fellow 
has an ax. Just where he had seen me in days 
gone by, I did not stop to inquire, neither did 
I lose any time ascertaining how I came to be 
on the ground, although I had no recollection 
of getting off Gala Day’s back. Men of action 
are fond of relating the rapidity with which 
their brain works in cases of emergency. Are 
they always as proud of the rapidity with which 
the lower portion of their anatomy, known to 
science as the apparatus of locomotion, obeys 
the dictum of their brains? I frankly admit that 
for my part I am ashamed of neither my brains 
nor my legs. Both of these attributes are 
necessary adjuncts to a fully developed man¬ 
hood, and I can use both when occasion re¬ 
quires. On this occasion, occasion did require, 
and I am proud to state that I met the require¬ 
ments. I ran. And I ran with all diligence, 
making good use of the long slim shanks with 
which nature has seen fit to endow me, and only 
wishing they were longer and slimmer. 
I have always been something of a sprinter, 
but I soon found that my pursuer was no slouch, 
and that he spoke truly when he shouted in a 
voice most unpleasant to hear, “So that’s yer 
game hy? Thinks yer can houtleg me? Run 
some meself, comes to that.” 
Needless to say, I did not think it necessary 
to reply, but saved all my breath for the busi¬ 
ness at hand, which business was none other than 
the reaching of a strip of woods that loomed 
up before me in the moonlight. 
A Midsummer Night’s Ride 
By WALTER H. DEARING 
Illustrated by C. A. Bond. 
