shown that I had never been in one before. The lightning would strike the ground and set the grass on fire, then the rain would put it out. I got off my horse and tied the three together, took off my spurs, six-shooter and pocket knife, laid them down and moved away. After the storm was over the sun came out and it looked as though nothing had ever happened, so I moved on. At night, not knowing where I was, I stopped at a good hole of water, but I had nothing to eat. After lying down I heard the lowing of cattle. I saddled up, putting my bedding in front of me, and started in the direction of the cattle I had heard and, to my good luck, it was Gus' herd. The boys were all very glad to see me, as I had heard from home and they had not. They had been in the same storm that I had just passed through and the lightning killed one steer for them. Very shortly after I reached them their herd stampeded, but they did not lose anything, and Gus said, "The cattle did that to show they were glad to see Brock." I then piloted them back to Julesburg the same route I had traveled in going to them. After all our cattle had been delivered we naturally felt that we could sleep as long as we cared to. So Childress and myself slept until 10 o'clock the next morning. The sun was unusually bright and, we both being without whiskers on the top of our heads, the boys said our heads made very good mirrors. The dinner that Mark Withers gave us at the station when we were ready to come home paid me fully for all the meals I had lost on the trip. The balance of my work with cattle has been on ranches at home. Old age and parting of ways in life "BIG COWBOY BALL" The cowboys of Springer, New Mexico, gave their fourth annual ball in that city. They sent something like eight hundred invitations at home, and abroad, inscribed with appropriate verse, as follows: "Caller, let no echo slumber, Fiddler sweatin' like a steer, Seat your pards, and let 'em blow." DID YOU EVER DO THE SQUARE? Get yo' little sagehens ready, Line up there, you cusses! Steady! S'lute your ladies, all together! Bunch the heifers in the middle; First four forward! Back to places! Till yer hit yer pards agin! Gents to center, ladies 'round 'em, Form a basket, balance all! Whirl yer gals to where you found 'em; Promenade around the hall! Balance to yer pards and trot 'em. Ladies, left hand to your sonnies! -JAMES BARTON ADAMS. EXPERIENCES "TENDERFEET" COULD NOT SURVIVE By G. W. Mills of Lockhart, Texas My father and mother were both born in Somerset, state of Kentucky. I first saw the light of day on June 2, 1857, and in the fall of 1872 my father, with his family, including myself, emigrated to Texas. Our mode of 2 G. W. MILLS transportation was by way of wagons, there being no railroads convenient at that early date. My father came to look after some land somewhere in the broad domain of Texas (he knew not exactly where) that had been left him by an older brother, Henry P. Mills, who died while serving as a soldier in the Texas War for Independence. We settled near Lockhart in 1874, and at the age of about seventeen I went to work on the M. A. Withers ranch, one of the biggest ranches of this section at that time, which was due west of Lockhart about four miles, as the crow flies. I think it would be of interest to the reader to have some idea of the appearance of that ranch as it appeared to me, then a mere lad. It was located on a little flowing stream known as Clear Fork and abundantly fed by many springs. This creek was fringed with timber, pecan, walnut, elm, hackberry and wild plum on either bank, and dipping into its crystal waters were the weeping willows. The creek abounded with an abundance of fish, such as bass, channel cat and the silver perch. The old ranch house stood back about three hundred yards east of the creek, on the summit of a gradual sloping hillside which commanded a view of the beautiful stretch of valley country roundabout and where it was swept by the gentle southern breeze. About one hundred and fifty yards from the house were the corrals, covering about four acres of ground, and these corrals were divided into various pens, in which we "rounded up" from time to time the great herds for marking and branding. As a matter of course these pens were built to endure and were very strong, as cattle in those days were wild, and in this exciting work none but well-built pens would hold them. The uninitiated will probably be interested in knowing just how these corrals, as we termed them, were built, when material was not so plentiful as now. The material was largely postoak rails, which we had cut and hauled by ox teams about five miles from the timbered country of Caldwell County. The posts were of fine cedar timber obtained from old Mountain City in Hays County. These corrals had to be much higher than the ordinary fence, as the infuriated longhorns would, in their desperation to be free, try to go over the top or break them down. Once the material was on the ground, we dug deep, wide holes, about seven feet apart, and in these we placed two of the cedar posts in such juxtaposition as to hold the long rails which we piled one on top of the other until they reached the top of the high posts. That being done, some of the oldtimers bound the ends of the posts together with wire or stout strips of rawhide, but at about the time of which I write we began to bind them with smooth wire. The subdivisions spoken of above were divided into branding pens and horse corrals. We would not be true to the picture we are now attempting to paint in words if we fail to mention the singularly attractive feature of the setting of these particular corrals. They were shaded by large spreading liveoaks, hoary with age, where we hung up our saddles and leggins and various and sundry camp equipage, under which we slept on our blankets and |