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from ten to fifteen miles a day in the average, and everything is plain sailing, in fair weather. As night comes on, the cattle are rounded up in a small compass, and held until they lie down, when two men are left on watch, riding round and round them in opposite direction, singing or whistling all the time, for two hours, that being the length of each watch. This singing is absolutely necessary, as it seems to soothe the fears of the cattle, scares away the wolves or other varmints that may be prowling around, and prevents them from hearing any other accidental sound, or dreaming of their old homes, and if stopped would, in all probability, be the sign for a general stampede. "Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast," if a cow-boy's compulsory crawling out lines of his own composition:

Lay nicely now, cattle, don't heed any rattle;
But quietly rest until morn;
For if you skedaddle, we'll jump in the saddle,
And head you as sure as you're born,

can be considered such.

Some poet may yet make a hit
On the odds and ends of cow-boys' wit.

But on nights when "Old Prob," goes on a spree, leaves the bung out of his water barrel above, prowls around with his flash box, raising a breeze whispering in tones of thunder, and the cow-boy's voice, like the rest of the outfit, is drowned out, steer clear, and prepare for action. If them quadrupeds don't go insane, turn tail to the storm, and strike out for civil and religious liberty, then I don't know what "strike out" means. Ordinarily so clumsy and stupid looking, a thousand beef steers can rise like a flock of quail on the roof of an exploding powder mill, and will scud away like a tumble weed before a high wind, with a noise like a receding earthquake. Then comes fun and frolic for the boys!

Talk of "Sheridan's ride, twenty miles away," That was in the daytime, but this is the cow-boy's ride with Texas five hundred miles away, and them steers steering straight for him; night time, darker than the word means, hog wallows, prairie dog, wolf and badger holes, ravines and precipices ahead, and, if you do your duty three thousand stampeding steers behind. If your horse don't swap ends, and you hang to them till daylight, you can bless your lucky stars. Many have passed in their checks at this game. The remembrance of the few that were foot loose in the Bowery a few years ago, will give an approximate idea of three thousand raving bovines of the warpath. As they tear through the storms at one flash of lightning, they look all tails, and at the next flash all horns. If Napoleon had a herd at Sedan, headed in the right direction, he would have driven old Billy across the Rhine.

The next great trouble is crossing streams, which are invariably high in driving season. When cattle strike swimming water they generally try to turn back, which eventuates in their "milling," that is swimming in a circle, and, if allowed to continue, would result in the drowning of many. There the daring herder must leave his pony, doff his togs, scramble over their backs and horns to scatter them, and, with whoops and yells, splashing, dashing, and didoes in the water, scare them to the opposite bank. This is not always done in a moment, for a steer is no fool of a swimmer; I have seen one hold his own for six hours in the Gulf after having jumped overboard. As some of the streams are very rapid, and a quarter to half a mile wide, considerable drifting is done. Then the naked herder has plenty of amusement in the hot sun, fighting green head flies and mosquitoes, and peeping around for Indians, until the rest of the lay-out is put over -- not an easy job. A temporary boat has to be made of the wagon box, by tacking the canvas cover over the bottom, with which the ammunition and grub is ferried across, and the running gear and ponies swam over afterwards. Indian fights and horse thief troubles are part of the regular rations. Mixing with other herds and cutting them out, again avoiding too much water at times, and hunting for a drop at others, belongs to the regular routines.

Buffalo chips for wood a great portion of the way (poor substitute in the wet weather), and the avoiding of prairie fires later on, varies the monotony. In fact it would fill a book to give a detailed account of a single trip, and it is no wonder that the boys are hilarious when it ends, and, like the old toper, "swear no more for me," only to return and go through the mill again.

How many, though, never finish, but mark the trail with their silent graves! no one can tell. But when Gabriel toots his horn, the "Chisholm trail" will swarm with cow-boys. "Howsomever, we'll all be thar," let's hope, for a happy trip, when we say to this planet, adios!
J. B. OMOHUNDRO (TEXAS JACK).

Among the leading celebrities in the present party will be the renowned BUCK TAYLOR, a man whose great strength, nerve, endurance, and skill is historical in the West; JIM LAWSON, equally distinguished as a lassoist and roper; Bud Ayers, Dick Bean, and others, who will appear in feats of horsemanship, riding bucking mustangs, roping cattle, throwing buffalo, etc., eclipsing in agility and danger the Spanish matadors of old.

(IMAGE)
The Vaquero of the Southwest.

Between the "cow-boy" and the "vaquero" there is only a slight line of demarcation. The one is usually an American inured from boyhood to the excitement and hardships of his life, and the other represents in his blood the stock of the Mexican, or it may be of the half-breed.

In their work, the methods of the two are similar; and, to a certain extent, the same is true of their associations. Your genuine vaquero, however, is generally, when off duty, more of a dandy in the style and get-up of his attire than his careless and impetuous compeer. He is fond of gaudy clothes, and when you see him riding well-mounted into a frontier town, the first thought of an Eastern man is that a circus has broken loose in the neighborhood, and this is one of the performers. The familiar broad-rimmed sombrero covers his head; a rich jacket, embroidered by his sweetheart perhaps, envelopes his shapely shoulders; a sash of blue or red silk is wrapped around his waist, from which protrude a pair of revolvers; and buckskin trousers, slit from the knee to the foot and ornamented with rows of brass or silver buttons, complete his attire, save that enormous spurs, with jingling pendants, are fastened to the boots, and announce in no uncertain sound the presence of the beau-ideal vaquero in full dress.

His saddle is of the pure Mexican type, with high pommel, whereon hangs the inevitable lariat, which in his hands is almost as certain as a rifle shot.

Ordinarily he is a peaceful young fellow, but when the whisky is present in undue proportions, he is a good individual to avoid. Like the cow-boy, he is brave, nimble, careless of his own life, and reckless, when occasion requires, of those of other people. At heart he is not bad. The dependence on himself which his calling demands, the dangers to which he is subjected while on duty, all compel a sturdy self-reliance, and he is not slow in exhibiting the fact that he possesses it in a sufficient degree at least for his own protection. True types of this peculiar class, seen nowhere else than on the plains, will be among the attractions of the show; and the men will illustrate the methods of their lives in connection with the pursuit and catching of animals, together with the superb horsemanship that is characteristic of their training.

from ten to fifteen miles a day in the average, and everything is plain smiling, in fair weather. As night comes on, the cattle are rounded up in a small [___pass?], and held until they lie down, when two men are left on watch, riding round and round them in opposite direction, singing or whistling all the time, for two hours, that being the length of each watch. This singing is absolutely necessary, as it seems to soothe the fears of the cattle, scares away the wolves or other varmints that may be prowling around, and prevents them from hearing any other accidental sound, or dreaming of their old horses, [?] if stopped would, in all probability, be the sign for a general stampede. "Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast," if a cow-boy's