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 coffee, a coffeepot and tin cup, a lariat and hobbles attached to the saddle.

Three miles out of the valley where the stage road forked with the one leading to Fort Minard, Watson and Jack took a north-*easterly course for the Llano District, following an old cattle trail. Almost every bush and plant in Texas has a thorn and, as they threaded their way through clumps of parched buffalo grass and weird cactus plants, Jack appreciated the value of "chaps." The soil was very dry and every step of the horses sent clouds of dust whirling; but the air, stirred by the warm breeze, was delightful, and Jack felt his lungs expand with a vigor heretofore unknown. That annoying cough had quite disappeared, and no one would dream of accusing him of being a prey to ill health. Like a new being, his pulse bounding and mind alert, he galloped over the plain beside Watson with the keenest enjoyment.

They were now sixteen miles from Squaw Creek settlement and following the creek