handing him the postal card. Coberly scanned it intently and a change came over his face. 'Why didn't you show me this at first? Of course you can have the horse. Hey there, some of you boys! Round up the horses and rope Star for Mr. Waring. Jump lively now!' "Eight o'clock found twenty-three miles behind Star's nimble feet, and the Bar Triangle Ranch in sight. It lacked twenty minutes to ten o'clock when Waring drew rein at the foot of the great divide, the railroad station still fifteen miles away. He unsaddled Star and turned him into a corral for an hour's rest to put new life into him. At a quarter past ten Star, refreshed by rubbing and water, was carrying him up the road. Up, up, they went, mile after mile, towards the snowy summit of the pass. Two miles from the top Waring dismounted and led his panting horse along the icy trail. He still had twelve miles to go, seven of which were down the steepest road in the state. Could he make it? He must. He stopped and anxiously examined his horse. He had plenty of life and energy yet. Waring was again in the saddle and racing down the dangerous path. Almost sitting on his haunches, Star would fairly slide down the hill, and recover his footing at the bottom. At last they came to a level road. A horseman approached and whipped out a six-shooter. 'Hold up there. I want to talk to you. I'm the sheriff and I want to know what you're doing with Joe Coberly's horse.' "Why, I've been working for Coberly, and he lent me the horse to ride over here and catch the train.' ""Hold on there, young man; that air won't do at all. I know old Joe, and I know he wouldn't lend that horse to his own brother, let alone one of his cow-punchers. I guess I'll have to lock you up till the boys come over.' "'Look here, Mr. Sheriff, I'm telling you God's truth. Coberly let me take the horse because it was the only one that would get me over here in time to catch the train. Look at this postal. That is my reason for haste.' "As the officer read the card his face lighted up. "That's all right, youngster. Sorry I stopped you. I don't wonder Joe lent you the horse. I hope you won't miss the train.' "Waring rode forward, the town before him a half mile distant. The train was at the station. The black smoke began to come in heavy puffs from the engine. A quarter of a mile yet to go. The line of cars moved slowly from the station. Then Star showed the spirit that was in him. He bounded forward and swept down on the town like a whirlwind. Thirty feet-twenty feet -ten feet-he was abreast of the platform. Swerving the flying horse close to the track, Waring leaned over and grasped the railing with both hands, lifted himself from the saddle and swung over to the steps of the car. After congratulations of the passengers, Waring dropped into a seat and was soon lost in thought. Suddenly he remembered he had left his money in the bundle attached to Star's saddle. There was nothing to do but throw himself on the mercy of the conductor. He whispered in his ear and showed him the postal, and the conductor's expression softened. 'I reckon I'll have to fix it for you. by paying your fare myself and you can send me the money.' "The car wheels were still turning when Waring strode through the station at Denver. Jumping into a carriage he was driven to the nearest drug store where he consulted the directory. 'Number 900 S. 17th Street,' he cried. Arriving there, he sprang up the steps. The butler ushered him into Mr. Foster's presence. 'Mr. Foster, you are the president of the Denver National Bank which handles the Western interests of the Second National Bank of Boston. I have an account at the Second and want you to cash a check for me. It is after barking hours I know, and even if it were not, I have no immediate means of identification. It is of the greatest importance that I make the Eastern express tonight or I would not come to you in this irregular way.' "It must be an urgent matter that requires such haste. Really, Waring, I must positively decline to do anything for you.' "Then Waring told of the card. The banker said: 'Let me see it. From what was it taken, did you say?' Hearing the answer, a bulky musical score was laid upon the table before him, and turning the pages carefully he compared the music on the card with that of the printed sheet. Then he said in a kindly voice: 'I will assist you, Mr. Waring. It will, of course, be a purely personal accommodation; I cannot resist such an appeal as this. What amount do you require?' "A hundred dollars.' "The banker wrote a check for a hundred and fifty, saying, 'You can cash this at the Brown Palace Hotel. I envy you with all my heart. You have my best wishes. for a pleasant journey. Goodby.' "Waring ran down the steps with a light heart. "Telegraph office,' he shouted. Ten minutes later these words were speeding over the wire: "Postal received. Arrive Boston Friday night. See Luke 1:13.-Jack.' "When the Chicago Limited pulled out of Denver that evening, John Tarbot Waring was standing on the rear platform, humming a fragment from the great oratorio, "The Messiah.' There was a tender look in his eyes as he gazed at the postal card and the words he sang were: "For unto us a child is born, "At the same moment, two thousand miles away in the East a young wife was holding a telegram close to her lips. Turning softly on her pillow she glanced lovingly at the dainty cradle, and whispered as she glanced at her open Bible: "Thou shalt call his name John." G. W. MORRIS and his manly sons, of Devine, Texas, who are: G. C. Morris, T. H. Morris, G. W. Morris, Jr., J. E. Morris, L. C. Morris. There are also two girls in the family, Misses Pearl and Minnie Morris, and two sets of twins ONE TRIP UP THE TRAIL B. D. Lindsey, San Antonio, Texas I was born in Union Parish, La., January 21, 1856, and came to Texas when I was 17 years old, with my uncle, who located near Waco. I assisted him on the farm for awhile, then went south intending to become a cowboy. I had bunked with Ad Lindsey that winter, and he had been "up the trail" and I had caught the fever from him. In the early days of February, 1874, in company with Neally Cone and Bill Foster, I left Waco and traveled south on the Austin road. We had provided ourselves with a good supply of brandy peaches, a concoction sold in those days. That evening late we landed at the Westbrook ranch on Cow Bayou. Mrs. Westbrook kindly consented for us to stay overnight and directed us to the barn. Just about that time Mr. Westbrook appeared on the scene. I shall never forget him. He was a small sized man, wiry, spare build, about 30 years of age. With a firm look in his eye and a steady voice he said. "Boys, I see that you are drinking and I had rather you would ride on." We did. We crossed over the bayou and stayed over night. The next night we stayed with a Swede farmer six miles north of Austin. There were very few houses along the road in those days. We reached Austin the next day, remaining there only a few hours, then pulled on for San Marcos. When we got to the Blanco River our money was getting scarce so we sought employment. My first job was planting corn two days for Billie Owens, who now lives at Sabinal, Texas. My next work was for a Mr. Cochran, who owned a farm on the cattle trail. He paid me 75c. per day. Herds were passing daily, and one rainy day I saddled my horse and drifted with a passing herd. In conversation with one of the boys he asked me if I had ever been up the trail, and when I informed him that I had not, he said I should claim that I had as I would be paid better wages. I kept this information for future use, and when I learned that a herd was being gathered in the neighborhood, to be in charge of Sam Driskill, I made up my mind to go with that herd. I hailed Mr. Driskill as he was passing one day and asked him for a job. The first question he fired at me was, "Have you ever been up the trail?" "Yep" I replied, right off the reel. Two days later he sent for me and put me and Eberly Peters, who now lives at San Marcos, herding about 400 mixed cattle. We were both green hands, but we came in with all the cattle for two days. We held them bunched as though they were in a corral. The third day we moved out to the Perry Day ranch, near where the town of Kyle is now situated. When we stopped at noon my troubles began. I was left in company with wiser ones, and my idea was to not let any get away, so I kept butting them in. John Rutledge, one of the boys, cussed me for being a fool, and proceeded to give me my first lesson in handling cattle. When I went to the chuck wagon Pres Horton, a typical |