Leaving the _manada_ on their
former range, Pasquale had ridden into the ranch and reported. It was
then too late in the day to start against the interloper, as the range
was fully twenty-five miles away, and we were delayed the next morning
in getting up speedy saddle horses from distant and various _remudas_,
and did not get away from the ranch until after dinner. But then we
started, taking the usual pack mules, and provisioned for a week's
outing.
Included in the party was Captain Frank Byler, the regular home crowd,
and three Mexicans. With an extra saddle horse for each, we rode away
merrily to declare war on the _ladino_ stallion. "This is the third time
since I've teen ranching here," said Uncle Lance to Captain Frank, as
we rode along, "that I've had stallions killed. There always have been
bands of wild horses, west here between the Leona and Nueces rivers and
around Espontos Lake. Now that country is settling up, the people walk
down the bands and the stallions escape, and in drifting about find our
range. They're wiry rascals, and our old stallions don't stand any more
show with them than a fat hog would with a _javaline_. That's why I take
as much pride in killing one as I do a rattlesnake.
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