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 his father's son was a real daisy and knew all there was to know about horses and steers, but he did it all with such a delightful air of confident innocence that no one took offence or attempted to show him that he did not know everything. He was a dear good chap, kind to horses and dogs, and to all men who weighed less than himself. They were numerous, as he scaled two hundred and twenty pounds without his long boots and his mesquite leggings and his "gun," which was equal to any gun ever "pupped." He became a friend of mine, and developed an extraordinary curiosity about other places than the Rio Brazos which led to certain out-of-the-way events in the life of any ordinary cowboy. He asked questions all day long when we were together. When we were apart he apparently spent his time thinking what he should ask me next. The following is a fair example of what happened each time we met.

"Say, Charlie, you've never bin in California, hev you?"

I had been in the Golden State, and said so.

"Do you reckon to like it?"