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 far as he could see in every direction away to the mountains, the plateau was covered with cattle; steers, cows, and calves, one mighty mass. He had not imagined there were so many cattle in the entire state of Wyoming.

He looked for at least a minute in perfect silence, then lowered the glass. "Uncle," he said, "this is like what it says in the Bible, 'the cattle upon a thousand hills.

"I have often thought of that," returned his uncle, "it is the fiftieth Psalm and the tenth verse, 'For every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills.

But even as they watched, the sun touched the western hilltops and the cold night winds swept across the mountain top. They hastened down to their ponies and galloped home to the ranch house, for this long low building with its dull gray exterior and its homely outline, did really begin to seem like home to Larry. It was always so warm and cozy inside and the cow-punchers were such a good-natured company. They all tried to make it pleasant for Larry and help him to forget the recent loss of his own home in the East and his mother.

"Byer since I came out here," said Larry to his uncle one day, "I have been wondering why all the cow

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text: The New York Times/1918/11/11/Berlin Troops Join Revolt

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


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 punchers tote a .45. So far as I can see there seems to be no use for it."

"You might think so," returned his uncle, "but it is one of the most useful aids we have on the ranch. We use it in many ways in this country. You never can tell when some danger, which has to be met with force, will sweep down on you, so one always ought to be ready."

About two weeks after this conversation Larry was riding with his uncle on the ranch when he had a very forcible demonstration of what his uncle had told him about the .45.

They had ridden clear across the big plateau to the f to the east when they came upon Big Bill who was out with three or four other cow-punchers inspecting the fences.

"There's a steer over here in the draw," said Bill, "which acts mighty ugly. I can't make out what is the matter with him. He seems so full of cussedness that I don't dare go very near him."

"All right," said Mr. Brodie, "let's go over and take a look at him." So he and Bill galloped away, closely followed by Larry. They soon located the steer which was a large vicious-looking animal with longer horns than most of the Crooked Creek stock.

"Looks as though he had some of the old Long Horn about him," said Bill. "He is full of gunpowder."

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 "Larry," said Uncle Henry, "you and old Dobbin go over there in those piñons. You keep an eye on the steer and be ready to beat it if he comes after you. Bill and I will see if we can rope him and find out what is the matter."

So the head cow-puncher and Bill approached the steer from opposite directions, each with his lariat coiled and ready. As they drew near, the steer lowered his head, pawed the ground, and bellowed almost continuously. First he would face one man, then turn and face the other. When Uncle Henry and Baldy were within about one hundred feet of him, he wheeled about and faced Bill and seemed about to charge. Then the head cow-puncher touched Baldy with the spur and galloped forward. At the same time the lasso rose gracefully in air and the noose fell over the steer's head. Immediately Baldy wheeled and started in the opposite direction. But the wary old steer was not to be caught napping and he wheeled before the rope had tightened and made after Baldy, head down like an avenging fury. Big Bill gave his horse the quirt and went after the steer, trying to get a second rope on him. But they were too fast for him. Although Baldy ran at his best pace, yet the steer gained steadily on him. Hank Brodie, looking over his shoulder, saw him bearing down on his horse like destruction incarnate.

With a sharp pull of his left hand on the reins, he

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 about the exact position of which opinions differ, some sinologues placing it at Ch'üan-chou-fu, others at Chang-chou-fu with its port of Geh-kong, and others again interpreting the word to signify Amoy waters generally. It does not greatly matter which hypothesis be accepted. The important point is that a large outward commerce was carried on from both places, and that each was easily accessible from Lung-chuan, where quantities of céladon were manufactured at the close of the Sung dynasty. Lung-chuan, though now a poor, comparatively resourceless district, was then a place of considerable wealth, with fine roads in its neighbourhood and brisk tradal connections. Marco Polo, speaking of Zaitun, says:—"The river that flows by the port of Zaitun is large and rapid, and a branch of that which passes the city of Quin-sai (Hang-chow). At the place where it separates from the principal channel stands the city of Ting-ui. Of this place there is nothing further to be observed than that cups or bowls and dishes of porcelain ware are there manufactured." Hugh Murray and Colonel Yule supposed that by "Ting-yui" Marco Polo meant Ching-tê-chên. But Dr. Hirth has ingeniously shown that, in all probability, Ting-ui was no other than Lung-chuan, which during the Sung dynasty was called "Chien-chuan," a name that becomes Tindji in the Shanghai dialect. Dr. Hirth seems to attach undue importance to this identification, owing to his apparent belief that practically all the early Chinese céladons were manufactured at Lung-chuan, whereas it has been shown above that the finest types of such ware belonged to the Ju-yao and Kuan-yao. The specimens exported were undoubtedly of the commoner class for the most part. Their solidity made


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 wheeled Baldy to the left while his right hand went to the holster for the .45. As the steer passed the revolver cracked. But, even so, the head-long flight of the deranged steer was not stopped. Again he turned and charged straight at the cow-puncher. Two more shots were fired and the steer fell head-long on the ground, almost between Baldy's knees.

"It was a close call," said Big Bill, riding up, "he mighty near ripped Baldy's flank open that time he went by. Lucky you had the gun along."

"It is never safe to ride a rod on the ranch without it. You see now," he continued to Larry, who had just ridden up, "that a .45 is sometimes indispensable."

"That is so," said Larry. "It is a lesson I never will forget. I had thought it was just nonsense, all you cow-punchers toting guns, but I see now it is necessary for the day's work."

"What made that steer act so like a demon?" inquired Larry as they jogged homeward. "I have never seen one behave like that before."

"Well," returned his uncle, "I should say for a guess without having looked him over that he was locoed, but Bill will examine him before they bury him and make a report to me.

"The loco weed is a serious menace to stock here on the western ranches. Of course, cattle do not make a business of eating it but they do get hold of it occa-

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 sionally. There are two varieties, the Purple and the White, but the Purple is the most dangerous.

"The loco weed is to horses and cattle what opium and hashish are to men. First it intoxicates and enthralls them, but finally it masters them and takes away their reason. Your locoed horse or cow is a very dangerous animal and we shoot them on sight and count the cost later."

"Is a herd of cattle really dangerous?" asked Larry, after another pause. "They seem placid enough."

"Yes and no," returned his uncle. "A herd of cattle is treacherous like the sea. The sea will smooth out sts billows with silver wavelets until it seems to be the most placid and harmless thing in all creation, but let a big wind strike it and soon it will kick up big billows that will smash the largest ship that floats and even beat down cliffs that have been cons in building. And so it is with herds of cattle. When they are feeding they are the most harmless looking creatures in the world. They are never hurried and occasionally stop to look about in a friendly manner. As long as man is on horse-back he is all right among them. I sometimes think they consider him a part of the horse, but let them discover him anywhere on the open plain afoot and it is quite another matter. First they will look at him inquiringly, then walk toward him slowly, soon the walk becomes a trot, and that in turn a mad gallop.

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 until it would seem each is trying to outdo the other and be the first to the victim. If the unfortunate pedestrian cannot reach a friendly tree or some other shelter, he is good as dead and the chances are that when the herd has passed there won't be enough of him left for a respectable funeral. I have seen three men, first and last, who have been killed in this way and I never want to see another. It is a gruesome sight. Always remember, Larry, that you are perfectly safe in the presence of a herd as long as you are on horse-back, but never let them discover you afoot if you value your life."

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ELL, Larry," said his Uncle Henry, the morning after the completion of the spring round-up, "I guess you and I had better get busy and break your colt. I think it is going to be a lively proposition and the sooner we get after him, the better."

"Break my colt!" repeated Larry in surprise. "Why, I haven't any colt. I don't own anything but the clothes I have on and a few in my old trunk."

"That is where you have another guess coming," returned his uncle, patting him affectionately on the arm. "You see I interviewed Mr. Morgan a week or so ago and bought the bay colt, the one you admired so much, from him and I am going to make you a present of him. He ought to make a fine saddle horse and a good cow-pony as well, and possibly a great running horse for he has the blood of some of the best Kentucky stock in his veins."

Larry was so overcome by this news that for several seconds he could not speak. A great lump filled his

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 throat and his eyes were full of tears. It was so unexpected and he had so admired the bay colt.

"How can I ever thank you, Uncle Henry?" he tinally stammered. "You are so good to me."

"Tut, tut, boy," returned his uncle, "what is the use of having an old uncle if he cannot do you a good turn now and then?"

So, a few minutes later, armed with a hackamore, a fifty foot rope, and a lariat, Hank Brodie and his nephew made their way to the corral.

"You climb up on top of the corral fence," said Uncle Henry as he opened the gate cautiously. "It isn't any place for you inside. That colt has never had a rope touch him since he was two months old and I guess there will be fireworks."

So Larry climbed to the top of the corral fence and from that vantage point beheld the first lesson in breaking a wild colt.

The bay gelding although he was half mustang did not show this fact. The wild horses are usually ewenecked and have light manes and tails, but this wild horse had a beautiful crest, and a heavy mane and tail. He was a bright bay with black points and black mane and tail and his weight was just a little under eleven hundred pounds. He had retained more of the characteristics of the Kentucky thoroughbred than of the wild horse. As he pranced about the corral, alert and snort-

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 ing, Larry thought he was the most beautiful piece of horse flesh he had ever seen.

The bay colt had seen the men enter the corral and lasso other horses many times before, but hitherto they had never thrown a lasso at him, and somehow he had the notion he was immune. Hank Brodie waited until he was wedged against the fence between two other horses, then with a quick motion threw the lasso and the rope sailed gracefully through the air and caught the bay colt by both front legs. He gave two frenzied jumps and then threw himself heavily upon his right side. There he lay, struggling, kicking and squealing. Finally when he had quieted down a bit Hank approached him slowly, talking to him all the time. "Whoa, whoa, old boy, lie still. I won't hurt you," he said. Then he came close and put his hand, first on the horse's shoulder, then on his neck, and finally on his head, talking to him all the time. Then he put a hackamore upon the prostrate horse and took off the lariat.

The hackamore is a very strong halter usually made of horse hair. Sometimes a bit is worked into it and it also sometimes has a slip noose, then it is called a warbridle. But this hackamore was just a plain halter. Then the broncho buster fastened the other end of the fifty foot rope to the snubbing post and let the colt pull until he had pulled himself to a standstill.

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 When the last vestige of pulling spirit seemed gone out of him for that day, the cow-puncher approached him with a saddle, but as this foreign object touched his back the bay colt snorted, reared and plunged. It was fifteen minutes before Uncle Henry could tighten even one cinch but patience will have its own reward and patience the horse-trainer must have. So in another fifteen minutes he had tightened the second cinch and replaced the hackamore with a bridle.

"He is going great, Larry," said his uncle, "I never had one behave as well before but I am sure there will be fireworks when I try to mount him."

When the cow-puncher tried to put his foot in the stirrup, the gelding kept pulling way from him but he finally got the horse up against the fence and managed to mount. As the man's weight settled in the saddle upon his back the bay colt bucked straight into the air at least a yard and then came down with his legs as stiff as fence posts. Larry was surprised at this behavior of the colt but he need not have been. For untold ages wild horses have bucked like this to dislodge mountain lions and other enemies which sought to pull them down. There was something in the consciousness of this wild horse that made him buck as his ancestors had always done. The next time he bucked he threw all four feet to the right while still in mid-air and it seemed to Larry that his uncle must be pitched from the sad-

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 them easily portable, and their cheapness offered a further inducement. Ibn Batuta, describing how porcelain—so-called—was sent from China to India, and how it passed from country to country until it reached Morocco, says that in China it commanded about the same price as earthenware in Arabia. Much valuable information about the export trade from China in the thirteenth century is given by Chao Jukua, an author to whose works Dr. Hirth has been the first to call attention. He held the post of inspector of foreign trade and shipping in the maritime province of Fuhkien, about the year 1220, and in that capacity he compiled a work called "Annals of the various Districts (chu-fan-chih), which was happily embodied in the encyclopedia of the Ming Emperor Yung-lo (1403-1425), and thus preserved to later generations. In the days of this author, the city of Ch'üan-chou-fu in Fuhkien was the principal mart of China's foreign commerce. Thence the products of the Kingdom were exported to Borneo, to Cochin-China, to Java, to Sumatra, to Malabar, to Zanzibar, to Persia, to Japan, to Mecca, to Ceylon, to India, and to various other places. The nearest market was Borneo. Junks from Ch'üan-chou-fu proceeded direct to Bruni, on the north-west coast of that island, then a city of more than ten thousand inhabitants, its ruler attended by a numerous suite, and its safety guaranteed by soldiers wearing copper armour, with a fleet of over a hundred vessels. The arrival of a foreign ship was an occasion of much ceremony at Bruni. The king visited the ship, reaching it by a gangway covered with silk brocade, and an interchange of costly civilities took place during about a month before the question of trade


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 dle, but he kept his seat. Again the frantic colt tried the same maneuver but this time he threw his legs to the left. This strategy is called sunfishing, but the cow-puncher kept his seat and grinned pleasantly up at his nephew. Then he bucked and turned half way around as he came down so that when he struck his head was pointing where his tail had been. This was called swapping ends. But even this maneuver did not disturb the skillful broncho buster, but the colt's next move was more serious, for without any warning he reared straight in the air standing upon his hind legs. Even this maneuver had not been unexpected by the cow-puncher and as the frantic horse paused for a moment upon his hind legs the man slipped his left leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground, and not an instant too soon for almost at the same moment the horse toppled backwards and fell upon the ground, smashing the saddle tree as he fell. It was a close call and the cow-puncher had been lucky not to get a broken back or at least a broken leg, but he didn't seem to be disturbed by this catastrophe for he immediately sprang on the prostrate horse's head. The gelding squealed and kicked but all to no purpose, So he lay still.

"Now, Larry," said his uncle, "you go into the ranch house and get that cow-puncher book on the table.

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 There's a chapter in it I have been trying to get a chance to read and this is a good time."

A few minutes later when Larry returned with the book he found his uncle seated comfortably upon the horse's shoulder.

"You see," explained the cow-puncher as he lit a cigarette and prepared to read, "a horse cannot rise as long as you keep his head down and I am going to let him lie a spell and think it over."

So Larry climbed back to his perch on the corral fence while Hank Brodie smoked his cigarette and read his chapter in the book. At the end of half an hour he rose from his seat on the horse's shoulder and allowed him to get to his feet. The horse was trembling in every limb and was so cramped from lying on the ground that he could scarcely stand. The fight seemed all gone out of him for that day. He made no objection when the cow-puncher mounted him and jogged leisurely around the corral for fifteen minutes. Then Hank removed the saddle and bridle and set him free.

"Is he broken?" asked Larry, climbing down from his perch on the corral fence.

"Hardly," returned his uncle, "but this is the first lesson and I guess it was a good one. I don't think he will back-heave again. That is what we call that maneuver when he went over backwards. He had a

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 good chance to think it over and I guess he has discovered it doesn't pay."

"How strange those four cream colored patches on either side of him make him look," said Larry. "It looks almost as though they had been put on with a paint brush."

"I guess his mother thought she would mark him after a paint at first and then changed her mind."

"What is a paint?" inquired Larry.

"A paint is cowboy slang for pinto and pinto is the Mexican name for painted, so there you have it."

"Those patches on his side have suggested just the name for him," cried Larry, excitedly. "I am going to call him Patches."

"It is a good name," returned his uncle, "it describes him to a T. It is always well to have the name for a horse mean something."

So from that very day the bay gelding became Patches and it was a name which afterwards won for his owner many distinctions.

The following morning Larry and his uncle were once more out in the corral giving Patches another lesson. To Larry's surprise they had to go over all the old ground again but even he noticed that the bucking was less pronounced. In two more lessons under the skillful handling of Hank Brodie, Patches had become quite docile and Larry asked if he might ride him.

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40 "Perhaps it's Tony."

"I hope it's one or the other. I couldn't see the Napoli at all after the rain started."

In a few minutes they discerned a motorboat heading inshore. It was Tony Prito's craft, the Napoli.

"Good!" exclaimed Joe. "Chet and Biff should be along, too. They won't start on that trip to-day."

"I should hope not!" exclaimed Iola.

But when Tony's boat drew near the entrance of the boathouse on the way to its own shelter a short distance away, Tony shouted to Frank:

"All safe?"

"Everybody O.K.! How about you?"

"We're all right. Had a tough time getting back, though."

"So did we," Frank shouted. "Did Biff turn back?"

Tony shook his head. "Not a chance. We signaled to him that he'd better come back but he just shook his head, and Chet pointed to the end of the bay. They kept right on going. The last we saw of them they were heading right into the storm."

"Good night!" Frank exclaimed. "They'll be swamped."

"They're taking an awful chance. Oh, well, perhaps they gave in after all. They may have

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"Not just yet, son," replied his uncle. "It is all right for me to mount him but if you so much as tried to put your foot in the stirrup he would immediately buck you into kingdom come if he could.

"It is a very strange thing, but these wild horses can spot a tenderfoot and they are always waiting to give him a spill. But after a couple of weeks you can take a turn at him, even then it will be all you can do to keep from getting spilled."

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 Madeline attended her friends down stairs, and in the hall received their adieu. She wept as they gave it; for their pleasing manners and kind attentions had inspired her with the truest regard.

"Farewell! Madeline (said Olivia, tenderly embracing her); remember your promise of constantly writing; and may heaven grant us all a happy meeting to make amends for this melancholy parting."

"Amen!" said Madeline in a faint voice as she followed her to the coach, where Madame Chatteneuf was already seated, and which now drove off without any farther delay.

Perhaps no sound strikes the heart with greater melancholy than the sound of the carriage which conveys from us the friends we tenderly love, in whose society we have been happy, and whom we know not when we shall behold again. At least Madeline thought so; and her tears were augmented


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 About two weeks later, one evening, word was passed around among the cowboys that the kid was going to tide Patches to a finish. He was going to set him out. So most of the cowboys gathered around the corral to see the fun. They were seated upon nail kegs and boxes, cracking jokes at Larry's expense.

When Patches was at last brought out all bridled and saddled he looked docile enough and Larry did not think he would give him any trouble, but as soon as he was well in the saddle Patches bucked even more violently than he had with his uncle the first day. Straight into the air he bucked at least three feet and when he came down stiff-legged Larry thought that every tooth in his head hit against its fellow and every vertebra in his backbone received a terrible bang. Then without waiting to say as much as by your leave he sprang into the air sunfishing and his feet were thrown so violently to the right that Larry had to clutch the saddle horn to keep his seat.

"Pulling the lever," cried one of the cowboys. "Choking the horn!" exclaimed another. "Chopping biscuit," cried a third.

"Aw, let the kid alone," growled Big Bill, "you don't want to see him killed, do you? He is doing all right."

Patches' next maneuver was to crowhop, after which he pulled off three or more running bucks. And each time his feet struck the ground it seemed to Larry that

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 the breath of life would be jarred out of him but still he clung to the saddle. Then to the surprise of all the cow-punchers, Patches bolted. Straight through the ranch house yard he went and with a great leap cleared a high fence next to the wagon trail and disappeared down the road at a pounding gallop.

"Good Heavens," cried Pony running for the corral, "he'll kill the kid. I am going after him."

"I guess he will be all right," said Hank Brodie. "That boy is a pretty good horseman for his years and he will pull him down after a mile or two and he will come back looking like a different horse."

But Pony's fears could not be allayed and a moment later he galloped out of the yard on the Jack Rabbit and disappeared down the road.

Five minutes later the cow-punchers heard the sounds of returning hoofs. Larry and Patches were the first to come in sight and Pony and the Jack Rabbit were trailing a hundred feet behind.

Patches was still going at a good swinging gallop but not so fast as he had when he disappeared.

Larry guided him skillfully through the gate and by the ranch house.

"Head him into the corral fence," shouted his uncle as he passed. Larry did as he was commanded, and seeing his way blocked, Patches slowed down at the fence. Then Larry turned him about and rode him

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 back to the ranch house. He was still snorting, prancing, and pulling on the bit, but well in hand.

"You done well, kid," cried Long Tom.

"You set him out," called Big Bill.

"We all knowed you could do it," cried Texas Joe, "he's your'n from now on."

This prophecy proved true, for although they had some lively tussles, Larry was always master after that.

"Uncle Henry," said the boy, the morning following his tussle with Patches, "I am going to train Patches in a different way from that you cowboys use. Now I have got the upper hand of him I am going to make him love me and make him do things for me because he wants to."

"That will be all right for you," returned Uncle Henry, "but it will take time. We cow-punchers cannot spend the time to fuss with them in that way."

Just about this time the cow-punchers turned their attention to the home ranch and Larry was given some of the range riding to do. At first he did this on Old Dobbin but after a week or two his uncle said he could take Patches and the boy's cup of joy was full.

It was irksome work for the cow-punchers riding on wheel harrows and sulky plows up and down the endless acres on the home ranch, but it was work that had to be done. They sweated and cussed but still they

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 kept right at work and by the first of May, one hundred acres had been plowed and seeded.

In the meanwhile Larry had been busy training Patches and as he had promised his uncle he had moulded him through love and good-will.

After teaching him to turn to the right and the left in answer to the pressure of his knees on the sides, he taught him to stand when the lines were thrown over his head and left dangling on the ground. He also taught him the five paces of a saddle horse: the walk; the running trot which comes so natural to a mustang and is so easy on both horse and rider; then he developed the canter; and after that the gallop; and finally he taught him the Spanish walk.

The cow-punchers made many jokes at his expense. Big Bill said that he would have the horse's legs so tangled up that he wouldn't know whether he was coming or going. But Larry took their jokes good-naturedly and kept right on with his work.

Then he practised mounting while the horse was in motion, first at a walk, then a trot, and finally at a slow gallop. It took him nearly a week to master the gallop, but at last he got so he could mount when Patches galloped slowly by.

"What is all this here hoss play leading to anyhow?" inquired Big Bill one night. "Jest an ordinary hoss is good enough for me."

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 might be broached. Ultimately the Court regulated the conditions under which commerce should be conducted and determined the prices to be paid. Despite all this luxury, the household use of keramic utensils had not yet become habitual. Joints and leaves of the Palmyra palm served for dishes and cups which were thrown away after the meal was finished. Soon, however, the products of the Chinese kilns began to be appreciated. Chao Jukua, in his list of articles sent to Bruni—as gold and silver coins, brocades of Chien-yang and other silks, deer's horns, glass beads and glass bottles, bangles, rouge, lacquered bowls and plates—mentions "vessels of green keramic ware," and elsewhere says that "white ware" was exchanged for incense, laka wood, yellow wax, and tortoise-shell produced in islands in the vicinity of Bruni. Constant importations of these keramic specimens gradually changed the habits of the people until, as described in Chinese annals of the sixteenth century, they freely employed porcelain utensils, and for wooden coffins in burying their dead substituted Chinese jars "having dragons represented on their outer surface." Marryat, in his History of Pottery and Porcelain, quotes the following from Low's Sarawak:—

Among the Dyaks are found jars held by them in high veneration, the manufacturers of which are forgotten; the smaller ones among the land and sea Dyaks are common. They are called Nagas, from the Naga, or dragon, which is rudely traced upon them. They are glazed on the outside, and the current value of them is 40 dollars; but those which are found among the Kyan tribes, and those of South Borneo, and among the Kadyans and other tribes of the north, are valued so highly as to be altogether beyond the means of ordinary persons, and are the property of the Ma-


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 as she stood listening at the hall door to the heavy rumbling of Madame Chatteneuf's coach wheels. "Heaven grant we may have a happy meeting (cried she, repeating the words of Olivia): and yet, was I to give way to the present feelings of my heart, I should little expect such a meeting; but I will not (continued she, turning from the door to rejoin the Countess), I will not deserve evil by anticipating it."


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 "Oh, I don't know," replied Larry, "you never can tell when some of these accomplishments will come in handy. I want Patches to be the best all-round saddle horse in these parts and a good cow pony as well."

"That is another story," said Hank Brodie, "it takes time to make a cow horse. A cow horse has got to know a lot, he has got to have horse sense. He has got to know a lot besides the cattle game; he must be able to ford rivers and keep out of quicksand, and if need be, to swim; he must keep his feet out of gopher and badger holes; he must know how to cut out cattle and how to head them back when he has got them out. He must be able to stand the strain of a lariat on a thousand pound steer when the steer is running at a gallop and he must also have sense enough to hold a lariat taut when a steer is thrown while the cow-puncher hog-ties him."

"Is there anything more?" inquired Larry in surprise. "That sounds like a liberal education."

"Oh, yes," returned his uncle, "there's all sorts of things and all sorts of difficulties coming up every day and your cow-pony must meet them with horse sense, some of it comes to him naturally but lots of it he has to learn."

After the hay on the home ranch had been cut and stacked there was a little lull in the ranch work and then it was that the cow-punchers, under the super-

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 vision of Larry, marked out a polo ground in the meadows close to the ranch house. Here on warm summer evenings they played many an exciting polo game.

Larry soon discovered, as Long Tom had intimated, that Big Bill's middle name was polo. For, mounted upon his big mustang, Manito, he was indeed a tower of strength and a defense of position. Long Tom himself upon the Panther was also good secondary defense while Larry and Pony played the forward positions. Larry himself had played many important polo games in the East. It was his ability to play polo that had made him a favorite with his riding master. He had several times been referred to in a local newspaper as the boy wonder. So under his guidance the C. C. Polo Team soon had an enviable reputation in the vicinity, defeating several good teams from neighboring ranches.

At first Patches did not take to the game as Larry had hoped. While he would gallop hither and you at the touch of whip or spur, yet he did not seem to understand what it was all about. But one evening when he had been playing about two weeks it seemed to come to him in a flash. He got his eye on the ball and connected up with the idea that this was what they were after. From that time onward at the crack of the mallet he was after the ball like a cat after a mouse

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 and he seemed to take as much interest in the game as any seasoned polo pony.

One evening when the cow-punchers had thought it too hot to play polo and the little company were lying on the grass by the ranch house, Hank Brodie made an observation that started a lively discussion.

"I have been thinking, boys," he said, "that Patches has got the makings of a great running horse and I wouldn't be at all surprised if he could trim the Jack Rabbit in a half mile dash any time." This statement from the head cow-puncher brought Pony to his feet with an excited explanation for if there was one thing in the world that he was proud of, it was the Jack Rabbit's ability to run in short races.

"He can't do it, Mr. Brodie," Pony cried excitedly, "there ain't a hoss in these here parts that can trim the Jack Rabbit in a half mile dash."

"Well," returned Mr. Brodie, "I don't see any way to settle it but to saddle them up."

This suggestion was as a match to gunpowder and Pony started for the corral on a run.

"Bill, you and Long Tom had better go along and make up a company. A race between two horses isn't very exciting."

So Larry and the other two cow-punchers went to the corral and five minutes later all returned, saddled and bridled.

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 "You take them down the road half a mile, Bill," said Hank Brodie, "and start by that big boulder in the bend of the road. You can start them with your gun. Joe and I will stay here at the scratch and watch the finish. We will be the judges."

All the cow-punchers were lined up beside the wagon trail, eager to see the race for hitherto the Jack Rabbit had always been successful in short races.

Almost before they knew it the crack of Bill's .45 rang out on the evening air and the race was on.

"How did they start, Joe?" asked Mr. Brodie after about ten seconds. Joe was watching through the field glass.

"The Rabbit got off like a rocket and he is now leading by four lengths and the rest of them are strung out, Patches bringing up the rear."

Joe reported again at the quarter, "They are coming jest about the same, perhaps the others have pulled up a little on the Jack Rabbit, but Patches is still behind."

At three-eighths the relative positions of the horses had not changed but the Jack Rabbit was now leading by only two lengths.

When they were about a hundred yards away Hank Brodie made a funnel of his hands and shouted to Larry and his voice rang out like the crack of a rifle.

"Give him the quirt, boy, give him the quirt."

Larry let the quirt fall, once, twice, and Patches

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 jumped forward in answer to this urge. At the same time there was born in his consciousness a new idea. It was not all his though, but was a part of his inheritance; an idea which came down through his blood from his Arabian ancestors, and from his great-grandfather who had broken the world's record at Churchill Downs. This was a race he was in; his master wanted him to beat the other horses; so immediately he lengthened his stride and quickened the beat of his hoofs.

In a hundred feet he had passed Bill, in a hundred feet more he had passed Long Tom and in the last hundred feet he shot past the Jack Rabbit like a whirlwind and finished a whole length ahead.

"Great jumping horn spoon!" cried Pony, pulling up fifty feet beyond the scratch. "That hoss didn't beat the Jack Rabbit, did he?"

"That's what he did," replied Hank Brodie. "Beat him by a length."

"There's some mistake about it," protested Pony. "Me and the Jack Rabbit didn't get a good start."

"Yes, you did," returned Hank. "We were watching you through the glass and you led by four lengths up to the quarter."

"Well, he couldn't do it again," said Pony. "Let's try again."

"No, I guess that is enough for to-night," returned Hank Brodie, "but if you tried it again and Larry gave

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 him the quirt at the start, he would beat you by four lengths. Now I am going to make a prophecy about that horse. It is my opinion that before many years he will be one of the greatest running horses in Wyoming."

And the prophecy was a good one.

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ARLY in September the autumn round-up on the Crooked Creek Ranch was set in motion. Once more the parada of the ranch was marshalled on the lower plateau and the cattle were fed, a thousand at a time, into Piñon Valley. Here the spring and summer calves were branded while the beef cattle were cut out and driven to the home ranch. The beef cattle comprised the four year old steers and the barren cows. It was found when the round-up was finished that there were about a thousand beef cattle. This herd was turned into the cultivated lots on the home ranch where the rowen was knee high. They fell upon it with great zest and under these conditions put on flesh rapidly. They ate and ate of the green grass until they could eat no more and then rested only to eat again. So by the middle of November the cattle were in fine condition and ready for market.

Then it was that Hank Brodie made preparations for the drive to Wyanne. Saddles, bridles, and ponies were inspected and ten of the best cow-punchers selected for the trip.

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 layan Rajahs, or of the chiefs of the native tribes. I never had an opportunity of seeing one of these valued relics of antiquity, but am told that, like the Nagas, they are glazed, but larger. They have small handles round them, called ears, and figures of dragons are traced upon their surface; their value is about 2,000 dollars. In the houses of their owners they are a source of great profit; they are kept with pious care, being covered with beautiful cloths. Water is kept in them, which is sold to the tribe, and valued on account of the virtues it is supposed to possess, and which it derives from the jar which has contained it. By what people these relics were made, and by what means they have been thus distributed and the veneration for them so widely spread, cannot be at this time determined. Some of the jars were sent from Banjor Massim to China by the Dutch, who hoped to make a profitable speculation by their credulity; but the artists of that country could not, though famed for their imitative powers, copy these with sufficient exactness to deceive the Dyaks, who immediately discovered they were not those they esteemed, and consequently set no value upon them. From their price, it is presumed that these jars are very rare.

This statement of Low's that the Chinese of later times were not able to reproduce the céladons of the Sung period, will be explained when the subsequent history of the manufacture is considered. As for the taste educated among the people of Borneo by gradual acquaintance with Chinese wares, Mr. Carl Bock's description of Dyak life, in The Head-Hunters of Borneo, conveys a good idea:—

Chairs and tables form no part of the furniture of an ordinary Dyak's house In a corner, near the fireplace, will generally be found stored a collection of crockery ware, for the Dyak is something of a china-maniac, and belongs to the modern æsthetic school, setting great store by the china vessels which he procures in exchange for the various products of the country from the Malay merchants,


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 When such old timers as Big Bill, Long Tom, and Pony saw these preparations going forward they became very mellow and reminiscent. Once again they recalled the days of long drives on the Santa Fe trail and of the handling of large herds of cattle on the Panhandle.

"Gosh almighty," said Big Bill, "this here country is getting too darn sophisticated for me. This here one day stand riding is too easy. It is too much like a woman's party with pink tea and drop the handkerchief. It ain't strenuous enough for your Uncle Bill. Why, in the old days there were Apaches on your trail, and rustlers rustling every thing you had, and the herd stampeding, and the devil to pay. Gosh, them was the days."

So, on a crisp autumn morning in the middle of November the herd of beef cattle were marshalled on the polo grounds. Two cow-punchers went at the head of the procession, not immediately in front of the cattle but on the sides. They were to steer the head of this great dragon as it crawled along the trail to Wyanne. One hundred yards further down the cavalcade were two more cow-punchers, and still another hundred further on another pair, with two others bringing up the rear. A large express wagon filled with camp blankets, a camp stove, and provisions followed behind.

For the first two days the trail led over adjacent

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 ranches and here they had to be careful that other cattle were not drawn into their own herd. Barways also had to be taken down and then put back again. Each day toward sundown a large open field had to be discovered and the cattle turned into it for the night. Here the cow-punchers rode round and round the herd until they had them moving around in a great circle. Little by little this motion lessened until finally the herd was at rest and they were ready for the night. Then the express wagon came up, the tents were pitched, the camp fire was built, and the cow-punchers prepared to eat a hearty evening meal. Whatever they had eaten thus far during the day since breakfast had been taken in the saddle.

It must not be supposed, however, that the herd was left unguarded during the night, for four cow-punchers were on guard, each with a shift of four hours. They rode round and round the herd continually and as they went they sang the cattle songs of the cowboys, those picturesque folk songs which have come down to us from the ranges of by-gone days.

Soon most of the cattle would be lying down, or standing and chewing their cuds, some would mill about for an hour or two but finally the entire herd would settle down for the night's rest. As soon as the herd had quieted down for the night the camp fire was kindled and one of the cow-punchers detailed to get

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supper. Soon the aroma of frying eggs and bacon filled the air and presently the cow-punchers were eating in relays. And it seemed that their appetites were never quite so good as when they ate out in the open.

After supper those not on guard of the herd would gather around the fire and then it was that they grew mellow and would spin many yarns of the old days, of the cattle trails of long ago.

"Did I ever tell you gents about me and Little Al?" inquired Big Bill, the first night as the cow-punchers stretched out around the camp fire.

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Rh headed in toward one of the villages along the shore. They'll probably be back."

"Let's hope so!" exclaimed Iola. "I won't have a minute's rest until I'm sure they're safe."

Tony went on toward his own boathouse, with Jerry Gilroy and Phil Cohen, drenched to the skin, sitting ruefully in the stern. The Hardy boys and the two girls left the boathouse and were fortunate enough to meet a school chum who happened to be driving past in his car, so they drove home in shelter from the rain. Frank and Joe got off at their home after the chum had volunteered to drive the girls home.

"And I'll make it snappy, too," he promised. "I guess you're in a hurry to get into dry clothes."

"I feel like a drowned rat," declared Callie. "And I suppose I look like one too."

After the others drove away, the Hardy boys went into the house and made a complete change of clothes so that, fifteen minutes later, in dry garments, they were feeling at peace with the world. When they went downstairs again to tell their parents of the adventure they had just experienced, they found Mr. Hardy just snapping the catch of his club-bag, while a packed suitcase stood near by.

"Going away now?" they asked, in surprise.

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 "Can't say as you hey, Bill," said Long Tom, winking at Larry and poking Pony Perkins in the ribs. They had all heard this story many times but whenever Bill offered to tell it, with accommodating memories they did not seem to remember.

"Well," said Bill, lighting a fresh cigarette, "It was this here way. I never knew where Little Al came from, he jest popped up one morning in camp. His real name was Alsandra Gonzales but I allus called him Little Al and he called me Uncle Bill. It was strange how we took to each other, seems as though I had knowed him allus when I had only seen him for a day or two.

"He was probably about twelve years old but he wan't bigger'n a pint of cider. He usen to ride on the pommel of my saddle in front of me and after a spell I got lonesome if he wan't a-perching there.

"But this here time I'm telling you about was after we'd knowed each other about a month. We had gone up into New Mexico to drive a part of our herd down onto the Panhandle. It was mighty dry that summer and water was scurse'n than hens' teeth. This night I'm telling you about, it seemed as though the entire Panhandle was as dry as a desert. The cattle hadn't had much of any water for two days and they was as restless as fleas and as uneasy as bees jest before swarming time. Finally on this here night we got them calmed

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 down and ready for the night. We was located in a broad valley but jest below us it narrowed up sudden.

"It had been sort of sultry all day and I didn't like the looks of things. Me and Little Al was on guard with five others. We had six thousand cattle in the bunch. Pretty soon I began to notice lightning way off in the sky to the north but there wan't much thunder. I thought it was gonna go round us when all of a sudden the sky seemed to split wide open and there came a thunder clap like the crack of doom. Well, that was enough for the cattle. They was all on edge anyhow and every blasted one of them leaped to their feet. Some of them began bellowing and then the whole bunch stampeded. Almost before I knowed it, me and Little Al was surrounded on three sides with madly rushing cattle. Al seemed to sense our danger before I did.

Senor,' he said, 'there isn't but one thing you can do, shoot old Mule-ears and then lie down behind him.'

"Al, says I, me and Mule-ears has been jogging along for quite a spell together and I ain't going to desert him now. Then I thought I felt something a-fumbling at my holster and the next thing I knowed my .45 cracked twice jest in front of my left knee. Little Al had reached over and got my gun and plugged old Mule-ears through the heart. He took two or three faltering jumps and then fell. I guess I must have been

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CHAP. X.

found the Countess leaning against the side of the chair, as if quite overcome by the parting with her friends. Madeline hung over her, but was too much affected to speak. In a few minutes she raised her head—"I feel rather faint (said she), and I will go upon the lawn, for I think the evening air will revive me."


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 stunned for the next thing I remembered I was lying up close to something and something else was on top of me. I opened my eyes and looked around. There wan't a steer in sight. I was lying on the ground close up to my hoss and Little Al was lying on top of me. Half of his ribs was broken and he was terribly battered. He had layed above my head and sheltered me. I was so stiff and bruised myself I could hardly get up but Little Al was dead.

"He was the only greaser that I ever saw that I didn't hate worse'n than the devil hates holy water but I really did love Little Al."

It was a dramatic story as Bill told it and as Larry gazed at the sun-burned, wind-tanned cowboy, he marvelled at his stoicism and the hardships he had seen. But at this point in the reminiscences a cow-puncher rode up saying it was time for a new shift. So Larry's three friends, Big Bill, Pony, and Long Tom, saddled their horses and went to keep guard. Above the sounds of the milling herd a few minutes later Larry heard Pony's clear tenor voice singing as he rode up and down his beat and he was singing that old cow-puncher hymn which Larry had heard that first night in the Crooked Creek ranch house:

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 Fainter and fainter the song grew as Pony rode off in the distance. But in another five minutes from the other side of the herd Larry heard the click of a horse's shoes as he interfered and the soft jangling of the chains on the horse's reins. Then the mellow bass voice of Big Bill was lifted up in another cow-puncher ditty:

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 who again have purchased them from the Chinese traders at Singapore or Macassar.

The Dyak representative of the blue-china school, however, goes beyond the European devotee in his veneration of old crockery. Among his greatest treasures are a series of gudji blanga, a sort of glazed jar imported from China, in green, blue, or brown, ornamented with figures of lizards and serpents in relief. These pots are valued at from 100 florins to as much as 3,000 florins (8l. to 240l.) each, according to size, pattern, and above all, old age combined with good condition. According to the native legend, these precious vases are made of the remnants of the same clay from which "Mahatara" (the Almighty) made first the sun, and then the moon. Medicinal virtues are attributed to these urns, and they are regarded as affording complete protection from evil spirits to the house in which they are stored. A very full account of the various legends connected with these gudji blanga is given in Mr. W. H. T. Perelaer's most interesting work, "Ethnographische Beschrijving der Dajaks," pp. 112-120. That author, however, gives them different names, the nearest of approach to that by which I have always heard them called being Balanga.

This China craze among the Dyaks has proved, as in England, an excellent opportunity for the exercise of John Chinaman's skill; and very clever imitations of old vases, with cracks, chips, age-stains, and other indications of antiquity, most exactly reproduced by them, are offered for sale at Samarinda at five florins each; but, unlike many London connoisseurs, your Dyak is never taken in by these spurious gudji blangas, preferring to give hundreds of guilders for a real specimen. Each true plastic relative of the sun and moon has its pedigree, which is passed down from generation to generation.

Borneo, however, offered but a small market, comparatively speaking, for the keramic productions of the Middle Kingdom. Its interest in this context centers in the fact that its story supplies a strong confirmation of the conclusions recorded in previous


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 A few minutes later Larry rolled himself up in his blankets on a bed of pine boughs by the camp fire. It had been a hard day, and notwithstanding a chilly wind and the distant howling of the coyotes he was soon sleeping soundly.

It did not seem to Larry that he had been sleeping five minutes when he was aroused by his uncle shaking him by the shoulder.

"Come on, son," he said, "it is our watch."

So Larry crawled reluctantly out of his warm blankets and he and his uncle and one other cow-puncher went to saddle their horses, and a few minutes later they relieved the other watch.

"You see," explained Uncle Henry, "we ride up and down around the herd, forty or fifty feet away from the cattle, just close enough to watch them and at the same time not to disturb them. You can sing if you want to, that will help to keep up your spirits. About this time of night the cattle are usually pretty quiet but two or three hours later they will get restless and begin to mill about. The two hours before daylight are the most dangerous period of the entire night watch, but everything is going to be all right to-night."

So Larry and Patches began their night vigil going up and down, while Larry sang to the cattle. He did not know many of the cattle songs so his repertoire was soon exhausted but he filled in with such old favorites

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 as Seeing Nellie Home, Just Before. The Battle, and Swanee River. It was very dark as the moon had set and the sky was overcast, but Patches seemed to know what was expected of him and he walked steadily up and down the quiet beat. Every ten minutes Larry would meet his uncle at the end of his beat. Then they would exchange salutations and turn their horses about and go over the beat again.

It seemed to Larry that the hours were endless. Would his watch never cease? But after what seemed to him to be the whole night the first gray shimmer of light appeared in the East. Even before this warning of the coming day some of the cattle had been up and stirring about. Several times he had had to drive these restless ones back into the herd for the orders were to keep them closely bunched until daylight.

Finally the gray streak in the East warmed into the crimson telling of the birth of a new day, then the rosy tints grew brighter and brighter and finally Old Sol peeked up over the rim of the eastern hills and the new day had really come; Larry and Patches were certainly glad to see it.

Soon they were back at the camp fire which was now burning brightly for one of the cow-punchers was getting breakfast. It seemed to Larry that fried sausages and hard-tack dipped in hot coffee tasted better than any beefsteak breakfast he had ever eaten in

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 his whole life. The cowboys ate in relays, so by eight o'clock the cavalcade once more formed and the long day's march began.

By noon the old cattle trail which they had been following emerged into the travelled highway, or wagon trail as they called it, and they were out on the open Prairies, in the land of the purple sage, where the land had been homesteaded and broken up into sections, quarter-sections, and half-sections. Here the wagon trail was sixty-six feet wide with a fence on either side. This helped the cow-punchers for the task of keeping the cattle bunched was now greatly lessened, but it also added to their difficulties for often they encountered horseback riders, buckboards, and lumber wagons and all of these greatly impeded the movement of the herd. But they kept patiently plodding along and by twilight had covered fifteen miles.

They found just the right spot, a quarter-section of sage brush, a lot which no homesteader had cared to preëmpt. So here the herd was brought to rest and once again the camp fire burned brightly. The cow-punchers ate in relays and then went to the night watch.

By noon of the third day of the drive the weather had changed suddenly, the clear crisp air had been succeeded by a warm balmy breeze. It was as sudden as that in the springtime when Chinook breathes over the

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 landscape and in a few hours drives winter back and announces that spring has come.

So now the autumn time was driven back and the temperature of summer prevailed. The landscape was diffused with a soft blue haze which told plainly that a wonderful spell of Indian summer had come.

Larry greeted this change of weather with delight. The mornings had been so frosty and the nights so cold and chilly that it was a relief to turn back to summer conditions. But when he remarked upon this fact to his brother cow-punchers as they jogged along beside the herd he got only a disgruntled answer.

That evening as they ate by the cheerful camp fire it seemed to Larry that a sudden depression had come over the cow-punchers, even such jovial spirits as Big Bill and Pony Perkins seemed subdued. It was inexplicable to Larry, so he finally asked them what was the matter.

"What's got into you boys, Uncle Bill?" he said between two gulps of hot tea. "You all act as dumb as oysters. Anybody would think this was a funeral procession instead of a jolly cattle drive."

"Wal," returned Bill scanning the sky carefully in every direction, "I dunno, perhaps everything's all right. We won't cross any bridges until we come to them, but I don't like this darn hot weather. It ain't

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 seasonable and when it tunes up in this way we're always sure to catch something."

"Why, I think it's just great," returned Larry. "We won't have to have any camp fire to sleep by to-night."

"Wal, perhaps you're right," returned Bill, "I hope so."

A few minutes later Larry's three friends went to take up their night watch while he rolled up in his blankets to sleep.

In what seemed an incredibly short time his uncle was shaking him by the shoulder telling him to get up as it was their watch.

"I don't like the feel of things," remarked Uncle Henry as they jogged around to their position. "Perhaps it's going to be all right but it is terribly sultry and I wish it was twenty degrees cooler."

It was much darker this night then it had been the nights previous so Larry gave Patches his head most of the way. About all he could do was to keep him close up to the herd and this he was able to do by the sound of the milling cattle.

As the hours wore on, it grew darker and darker and still more muggy, and though it was strangely still sound seemed to carry a long way. He could distinctly hear the sound of Old Baldy's hoofs fifty rods away as his uncle rode up and down the line.

It must have been about five o'clock, the danger

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 She accordingly rose, but was so weak, she was obliged to lean upon the arm of Madeline in descending the stairs; and was then so exhausted by this exertion, that she had only power to reach a seat beneath the spreading branches of a chestnut;—a seat to which she had often led Madeline, as to one peculiarly dedicated to love and friendship; it owed its formation to her lord, whom the noble size and situation of the tree had charmed; and this circumstance, together with a complimentary line, devoting it to her, was carved upon its rind: in a beautiful opening of the wood it stood, commanding a fine view of the lake, and all around

"I love the shelter of those venerable boughs (said the Countess); they recall a thousand tender recollections: at such an hour as this, when day was declining, often


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 hour to a sleeping herd, when Larry noticed far off on the western horizon fitful flashes of lightning and then distant thunder. As the last peal died away he heard his uncle's .45 crack twice. This was the signal in the camp, should they happen to hear it, for all of the force to mount and stand ready for whatever might happen.

But the distant lightning became brighter and brighter and the thunder more pronounced and Larry could hear the cattle stirring uneasily. Then the same thing happened that he remembered having heard Big Bill describe the first night as they sat about the camp fire listening to his yarn of Little Al. For without an instant's warning the heavens seemed to crack wide open; for a hundred-thousandth part of a second it was as bright as day. He could see the great herd of cattle, some lying down and some standing. He could see distant trees and bushes, and then as suddenly as it had come this light went out and it was followed by a peal of thunder like the crack of doom.

As by a common impulse this brought the cattle to their feet in great alarm and here and there was heard a frenzied bellow. Then again there was that strange lurid light, a great crack in the heavens, and a peal of thunder that was fairly deafening. That was enough for the now nearly frenzied herd and with one accord the entire thousand cattle bolted, with heads down, tails up, and utter terror in the mind of each.

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 Larry's first impulse when he saw this terrible manifestation of the herd was to turn Patches in the opposite direction and ride as far away from this thundering monster as possible. But this was only for an instant, then the code and spirit of the cowboy asserted itself. He knew that the cow-puncher was a soldier and his post of duty was the night watch; his first duty was to his employer and his second consideration was for his own life and limbs. He remembered also that this herd of cattle was under the special guardianship of his uncle; his uncle was responsible for tens of thousands of dollars; this uncle who had done so much for him. He would not fail him now. So, as the herd, one thousand strong, racing madly they knew not where, rushed off in the darkness, Larry reined Patches in as close to the herd as he dared and galloped by the side of the frenzied cattle.

But as Patches raced through the darkness, picking his own way, a terrible fear seized Larry. Where were they going? What was ahead of them? What would the next jump bring forth? Was the way clear or would they plunge into some gorge or flounder in some morass? But in this dilemma he was entirely helpless and could merely give Patches his head and trust to the fine horse's splendid instinct to carry them safely through this terrible crisis.

Again Larry heard his uncle's revolver crack three

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 times and he knew this was the signal by which he wanted to locate the rest of the cow-punchers, so Larry answered with three quick shots.

But he had barely replaced the revolver in the holster when Patches seemed to pause for a moment in his flight and Larry felt the horse's muscles grow tense beneath him. Then without warning the horn of his saddle shot up and struck Larry a stinging blow in the breast and at the same time the back of Patches' neck hit him in the face. For a moment they seemed to hang in mid-air and then Patches came down to earth with a loud slap of his hind feet, and the strange maneuver was plain to Larry. They had jumped a high fence. How in the world, in total darkness and trayelling at the time at a gallop, had the splendid horse seen this obstacle in time to save both of their lives?

But the cattle were not so fortunate. They did not possess the night eyes and instinct of Patches and they went crashing into the fence like an avalanche. Crash, smash, crash went the poles and Larry could hear the sound of breaking stakes and fence poles for a hundred yards down the line to his left. This sound was interspersed with the bellows of terrified cattle and the groans of those who had been injured. But there was no time to stop and see what it all meant for the herd leveled the fence as a cyclone would have done and swept on through the darkness. A minute or two

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 chapters as to the true nature of early Chinese wares.

Concerning the other countries to which such wares were exported, Dr. Hirth extracts many details from Chao Jukua's work. In Cochin China, as well as in Cambodia, the local products were exchanged against Chinese "porcelain," umbrellas, gauze fans, lacquered wares, samshu, and sugar. In Java, which was within a month's sail of Ch'üan-chou-fu, via the Straits of Lingas, the pepper of the country was purchased with imitation gold and silver, with silks, damasks, drugs, cinnabar, alum, borax, lacquered ware, iron tripods, and "green and white porcelain." At Palembang in Sumatra there was a depôt of Chinese products and manufactures, where "gold, silver, porcelain, silk piece-goods, sugar, iron, samshu, ginger, rhubarb, and camphor" were stored for sale to Arab traders, who carried them to India, Africa, and Western Asia. This depôt seems to have existed from the T'ien-yu period of the Tang dynasty (904-907). At Lambri, in the north-west of Sumatra, "the last station before one enters the Indian Ocean in travelling from Sumatra to Ceylon," another depôt existed. Here, although "porcelain" was imported, it was doubtless intended for re-export chiefly, as the people are said to have eaten their meals from their hands and used household utensils of copper. From Lambri Chinese junks pushed on to Coilam, on the coast of Malabar, though this distant voyage does not seem to have been regularly undertaken. It is, however, distinctly stated that the products of Malabar were exchanged at Palembang against flower-tanks (probably of pottery), silks, "porcelain," camphor, rhubarb, cloves, etc. Chao Jukua, as translated by Dr. Hirth,


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 later Patches stumbled and nearly pitched Larry out of the saddle, only his desperate clinging to the saddle horn saved him. It had been a badger hole that had nearly brought horse and rider to earth, but they just escaped and Patches galloped on. Minutes seemed like hours and with each rod that they covered the horror of this headlong flight through the inky night grew upon Larry.

Presently Patches paused again for a second in his mad gallop and the next thing Larry knew they were sliding down a steep embankment, the horse sliding on his haunches with his fore-legs thrust out in front of him. Larry could hear the sliding of sand and gravel and soon they were at the bottom of a gulch. In less time than it takes to tell they were scrambling up the farther side.

But here again the cattle did not fare as well as horse and rider and Larry heard them as they fell into the bottom of the gulch. One, two, a half dozen, and a dozen, but still the mad flight of the terrified herd swept on.

At this point Larry noticed that Patches was pulling off to the right and away from the herd, so he pulled him sharply to the left and once again galloped alongside. It seemed to him that the pace of the maddened cattle was slackening, or was it his frantic hope that tried to realize this cheering sign?

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42 "Off to Chicago. I just got a fresh clue as to Baldy's whereabouts."

"He's there all right, is he?"

The detective nodded. "I'll just have time to catch this train."

Mrs. Hardy entered the room at that moment.

"I telephoned for a taxi." Her face was troubled. "I do wish you didn't have to make this journey, Fenton."

Mr. Hardy laughed.

"You've never worried about me so much before, Laura. I've gone away on cases as bad as this dozens of times without causing you as much anxiety."

"I know—but somehow I have a feeling that this case is a good deal more dangerous than any of the others."

"I'll be back in a few days, never fear." Mr. Hardy turned to his sons. "Look after your mother while I'm away, boys. Don't let her get worried."

"There's nothing to be worried about, dad. You'll get your man all right."

Mrs. Hardy shook her head. "You will be careful, won't you, Fenton? From what you've told me of this Baldy Turk I imagine he wouldn't stop at anything if he thought you were going to catch him."

"He's a pretty tough character, but I guess

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 He had begun to think that possibly the worst of the flight was over when Patches plunged into a fringe of bushes and once again they began sliding down a steep bank. After forty or fifty feet had been covered Patches gave a great leap and the next instant water splashed up into Larry's face and the horse sank to his middle in a swift-moving current.

Larry's first thought was that they were lost, but Patches was equal to the situation for as soon as the water became deep he began swimming leisurely. Then came another illuminating flash from the heavens and Larry saw to his consternation that they were swimming in a great river. A score of cattle were swimming in the river near him while hundreds of others were huddled on the bank nearby. But a greater part of the herd had been turned by the river and most of the mad procession were sweeping upstream.

Another blinding flash a minute later revealed his uncle upon Old Baldy swimming in the river nearby.

"Thank God you're safe, boy," cried Uncle Henry. "I guess we've had the worst of it. This is the La Platte river and it has turned the stampede. I guess we will be able to stop them now. You make your way ashore as soon as you can but be very careful and don't get into quicksand. Give Patches his head."

So Larry turned Patches about and guided him to the shore. When they were about thirty feet from the

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 bank, to his surprise Patches snorted and began backing water, and Larry headed him downstream. Here he again evinced fear, so Larry tried still another spot. Here Patches found good footing and soon they were on terra firma. Then Larry and the faithful horse climbed back through the bushes where he was soon joined by his uncle. Torrents of rain now began to fall and the lightning ceased, and as the cow-punchers said "they had weathered the storm" although it seemed to Larry that they were in the midst of the very worst of it.

Soon the cowboys kindled small camp fires around the frightened herd, then began co-ordinating and quieting down the cattle. Half an hour later daylight came and then they went to look for the stragglers.

Larry found the place where he and Patches had cleared a six-foot pole fence. Here they found half a dozen cattle; three of them with broken legs, one punctured by a stake, and two dead. At the gulch where he and Patches had passed over in safety a dozen more cattle had succumbed, while in the river they had lost nearly twenty, part of these had been drowned in the swift current and the rest caught in the quicksand which Patches had avoided through his wild horse sagacity.

Altogether they had lost thirty-five head of cattle but some of these were partly salvaged by shooting

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 them and selling them to the local farmers for beef. It took the better part of that day to get the herd once more in travelling condition, but by the middle of the afternoon they were on the way again.

Three days later the little cavalcade trekked into Wyanne and the cattle were safely coralled in the shipping pens at the freight yards. Then Hank Brodie received a receipt for the entire herd with the exception of the thirty-five cattle which had been lost in the stampede. They were a tired though happy lot. They had seen hardship and danger, and they had met both like men, and for this time the long, long trail had come to an end.

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 says:—"The country of Ts'eng-po (Zanzibar) is on an island in the south of Hu-ch'a-la (Guzerate). In the west it is bounded by large hills; its inhabitants are of Arab descent and observe the rites of the Mohammedan religion; shey wear blue cotton cloth and shoes of red leather; their daily food consists of rice or flour cakes and roasted mutton. Their villages are mostly built terrace-shape in the ravines of wooded hills. The climate is warm, and there is no cold season. The products are elephants' teeth, raw gold, ambergris, and yellow sandal-wood. Every year the country of Hu-ch'a-la and the settlements on the sea-coast of Arabia send out ships to barter with this country (China), the articles of exchange being white cloth, porcelain, copper, and red cotton." The "porcelain " here spoken of was brought from Ch'üan-chou-fu to Guzerat by way of Palembang.

Among the countries to which China sold her keramic productions at this early epoch, she had no keener customer than Japan. It has already been noted that a brisk trade in Japanese lumber was carried on at Ch'üan-chou-fu in the days of Chao Jukua (1220). That author speaks of the Lo tree (Japanese Sugi, the well-known cryptomeria Japonica) as "attaining a height of from fourteen to fifteen ch'ang, and measuring fully four Chinese feet in diameter." Planks of this valuable timber were carried by Japanese junks to Ch'üan-chou, and it may be taken for granted that keramic wares formed part of their return cargoes. The Imperial Collection preserved at Nara teaches that, as long ago as the eighth century, Chinese glazed pottery was among the apparatus of Japanese aristocratic life. But of ware capable of being classed with either the Ju-yao, the Kuan-yao,


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ITH the nine hundred sixty odd cattle of the Crooked Creek drive safe in the shipping pens at the freight yards at Wyanne, and with the receipt for the same in his pocket, a great load was lifted from the mind of Hank Brodie. His cow-punchers also shared in this relief and entered into the remainder of their visit in Wyanne with the exuberance of school boys. It had been a hard drive although not a very long one, but the stampede, considering the size of the herd, had been a serious one. Even such old timers as Big Bill, Long Tom, and Pony Perkins admitted that they had had enough for the present.

The cow-punchers spent the following day in resting up after their arduous labors with the drive, and looking about the town. In the afternoon they visited the military post and had a little practice on the soldiers' polo grounds.

For the secondary object of the cow-punchers' visit to Wyanne was the playing of a match polo game with the Gray Horse Troop. This event had been announced to the town and to all the surrounding coun-

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 try for fifty miles in every direction. This had been accomplished by means of some large and striking posters which had been displayed in shop windows and upon fences. These posters depicted the polo grounds with four cow-punchers upon their bronchos riding at a terrific pace down the field; while the Gray Horse Troop was backed up in front of their goal defending the honor of the regiment.

This troop of cavalry, as its name indicated, was composed entirely of gray horses which the Commissary Department had secured after a great deal of pains. This was the show troop of the regiment and it was always seen on state occasions. Not only that but among its men were some of the best polo players in the regiment as well as some fine polo ponies. The polo team of the Gray Horse Troop had been champion of the state for several years, but the fame of the Crooked Creek team had been wafted to them on the wings of the west wind and two weeks before Hank Brodie and his cow-punchers had started out on their drive, they had received a challenge from the Gray Horse Troop to play a match game of polo on their grounds at the military post two days before Thanksgiving. The challenge had been gladly accepted and now the cow-punchers turned all of their feverish energies towards the successful culmination of the contest.

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 For experienced horses and individual players the troopers had every advantage, for while the cow-punchers had only three changes of ponies, the troopers had four. But the cow-punchers were a carefully co-ordinated team. They did not care who got the goal so long as they won. None of them were stars with the possible exception of Larry, but all were terrific workers. They had been trained in a hard school. The cavalry men with all their maneuvers and long marches had never seen such grilling work as the cow-punchers had. Besides, their work among the cattle had helped them for the strenuousness of polo.

Big Bill mounted upon Manito played the defense position, Long Tom on the Panther the secondary defense, while Pony on the Jack Rabbit and Larry on Patches played the forward positions. For their second string of ponies they had Hank Brodie's horse, Baldy, and three pintos. While for their third string they had two bays and two grays. This meant that the horses that started the first chukker had to play three periods and two are considered the usual limit.

On the other hand the troopers had four shifts of horses. They usually started with their grays; the second chukker was played with their bays, the third with their brown ponies and the fourth with their blacks. The second half was played in the same order as the first.

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 The polo field was located on the troopers' training grounds. It was the usual size, three hundred yards long and one hundred and fifty wide. The goal posts were twenty-four feet apart and the center line bisected the field in the middle from right to left.

The morning of the eventful day dawned bright and clear. The spell of Indian summer which had endured for the past three or four days had given way to a brisk north wind. It was typical football weather and a great day for polo.

Wyanne was gay with colors and many visitors were in town for the match. Cow-punchers and cattle men had come from every part of the state while the troopers also had their champions. When the cow-puncher team went onto the field they were amazed at the crowd. Their own supporters were lined up on the left side of the field. There were cow-punchers galore on horseback dressed in the usual regalia. There were buckboards and spring wagons and large parties in lumber wagons. In order not to be outdone by the troopers the cow-punchers had hired a large brass band. On the opposite side of the field the supporters of the Gray Horse Troop were lined up. Nearly the entire regiment was there with their military band while the townspeople and many visitors from surrounding towns also supported the troopers. There were women on horseback with their escorts, in dog-carts, and in buckboards,

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 and also many a smart carriage and carryall. For this polo match was a great event in Wyoming.

As captain of the team, Big Bill gave his men their last instructions.

"Don't forget for a minute, gents," he said, "that we're jest as good as they be. Our first string of hosses can't be beat in these parts and we'll only fight the game one chukker at a time. Now, gents, this will be our policy, get their goats at the start, get hold of the ball and keep it hanging for about four minutes then we will cut loose and show them all what we can do. This will take as little as possible out of our best string of hosses and we got to use our minds. As far as hosses are concerned they have got us whipped before we start but we jest got to use our beans, So go at them, boys, for the honor of the cow-punchers of Wyoming."

Then the military band played the Star Spangled Banner while the cow-puncher's band responded with Hail, Columbia, and Marching Through Georgia. Then the referee called the captains together for the start and the teams lined up for the throw-in. Three players from each team lined up opposite each other about six feet apart each on their own side of the center line, while the defense man on each side played about twenty yards back towards his own goal. Then

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 or the Lung-Chuan-yao of the Sung dynasty, no specimens in Japanese possession can be confidently traced farther back than the fifteenth century, that is, to say, two hundred years subsequent to the time when Chao Jukua wrote. This uncertainty, however, must not be taken as indicating that no such specimens had found their way to Japan. It is a question simply of traditional and historical deficiencies. What is beyond doubt is that so soon as the Regent Yoshimasa's (1490) cultivation of the tea ceremonials turned popular fancy into the direction of dilletanteism, a part of the best outcome of the Chinese factories was diverted to Japan. The luxurious old ruler did not allow political conventionalities to interfere with the gratification of his new hobby. When he wanted a specimen of this or that ware, he despatched a special envoy to the Middle Kingdom, ostensibly to convey Japan's good wishes to its rulers, but really to bring back the coveted piece. Among these importations was a vase in shape and size closely resembling a fuller's mallet (Japanese kinuta). It was of fine clay, whiter and harder than the pâte of previous specimens, and the colour of its perfectly uniform, velvety glaze was greenish blue of wonderful depth and delicacy. To Japanese connoisseurs this piece seemed to stand at the summit of keramic skill. After it had remained for a time in Yoshimasa's collection at Higashi-yama, it was placed among the treasures of the Temple of Tōdaiji, whence, more than a century later, it passed into the possession of Iyeyasu, the great founder of the Tokugawa Dynasty. There is a tradition that this prince, being in need of funds for military purposes, pledged the wonderful vase for a sum of ten thousand


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 the referee tossed the ball along the alley between the teams and the game was on.

Larry and the first trooper locked mallets and the ball rolled on to the second pair. Pony and the second trooper executed the same maneuver. Then Long Tom, whose arms were a tremendous length, reached out and with a skillful twist of his wrist shot the ball back under the horses of the cow-punchers. It only rolled a few yards but that was all that Long Tom wanted. Like a flash the three cow-punchers wheeled and before the troopers knew what their next play would be they had formed in a little closely-packed triangle about the ball.

The troopers rode 'round and 'round this triangle reaching for the ball from every possible position, but the bronchos merely shifted their positions enough to keep them away from the ball. As soon as it rolled out into danger one of the cow-punchers leaned over and tapped it back to the open spot between them.

The crowd, especially the supporters of the troopers, were entirely nonplussed by this maneuver. This was a form of strategy that the cow-punchers had been practising nearly every evening all through the summer. In the technique of polo this was called keeping the ball hanging, but in the phraseology of Big Bill it was just treading on the ball.

Presently the men from the regiment began shout-

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 ing to their comrades. "Get that ball! Poke it out! Play polo! Start the game! What are you doing, treading water?" Meanwhile the supporters of the cow-punchers were filled with glee and shouted their derision across the polo field.

The troopers attacked the little triangle from every side. They tried to spur their ponies through between the cow-punchers' ponies, but this crowding and pushing game was a part of the day's work for the bronchos for during the round-up season they did little else. They were in the habit of crowding a steer that weighed three or four hundred pounds more than they did, so in this football polo they were right in their element.

"I say," growled the captain of the troopers' team, after a couple of minutes of futile efforts to break through and get the ball, "if you don't want to play the ball let us have it. You will ruin the game."

"Oh, hurry up," put in another trooper, "you fellows will want to get home and milk the cows."

"We ain't in no hurry," growled Long Tom, "our cows will wait as long as your hosses."

Whenever the ball was in danger from one side of the triangle some one would tap it across to the other. Once it bounded out into the open and was nearly lost. But by this time the supporters of the

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 troopers had become nearly frantic. "Start to play," they yelled. "Get going."

Even the friends of the cowboys began to look serious. This was not the sort of game they had expected.

Then at a signal from Big Bill which indicated that four minutes of the chukker had already passed, Long Tom reached down and with a quick stroke shot the ball over to Bill who was watching for it and he in turn drove it sharply down the field in an oblique direction while the cow-puncher supporters yelled with delight. Their favorites had broken loose and the fun was on.

At the crack of Bill's mallet Larry was off to the right side of the field following the ball while Pony galloped for the left and Long Tom took up his position in the middle, half way between them, while the defense man for the troopers raced back towards his goal and the rest of the troopers tried to break up the triangular drive of the cow-punchers.

Larry overtook the ball just before it went out of bounds at the right side of the field and cracked it over to Long Tom who relayed it to Pony Perkins at the left side. It must not be imagined that the troopers had been idle all this time, for a gray horse rider was after each of the cowboys trying to upset his play. Pony's next drive sent the ball back to the middle of

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 the field just in time to escape a galloping trooper and Long Tom relayed it to Larry not a second too soon. The ball had now moved up to within fifty yards of the goal post and the troopers' defense man had come out to anticipate a possible shot, but Larry had no intention of trying for a goal. Instead he relayed the ball back to Long Tom who was also about fifty yards from the goal post and in the middle of the field. So the gray horse defense man moved over to meet this new threat and two of his team-mates joined him, but Long Tom had no intention of shooting, for like a flash he shot the ball back to Larry and he in turn drove it between the goal posts only two feet inside the right hand post and the cow-punchers had drawn first blood.

Then the teams changed goals and lined up again for the throw-in. This time the troopers secured the ball and started the drive towards the cow-punchers' goal, but before it was well under way the referee's whistle sounded for the end of the chukker and the two teams trotted off to the stables to change their mounts.

"Thank heaven that's over," said Big Bill.

"Me and the Jack Rabbit ain't wet a hair," said Pony.

"Patches didn't even get limbered up," put in Larry.

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Rh I can handle him," said the detective lightly. "Well, here's my taxi. I'll have to be going. Good-bye." He kissed his wife, shook hands with the boys, then picked up his suitcase and club-bag and departed. From the front doorway they watched him clamber into the waiting taxi. He waved at them as the car got under way, then it went speeding out of sight along the shimmering pavement.

Mrs. Hardy turned away. "I expect he'll think I'm foolish for worrying so much about him this time, but I have a queer sort of feeling that this Baldy Turk is the most dangerous criminal he has ever had to deal with."

"He'll deal with him, mother," declared Frank, with conviction. "Trust dad to know what he's doing. He'll clap the handcuffs on Baldy Turk in no time. There's nothing to worry about."

"Well, I hope you're right," she replied. "Still, I can't help but be anxious—"

With that she let the matter drop, and her fears for Fenton Hardy's safety were not expressed again, although the boys knew that anxiety still weighed heavily upon her mind. By evening, however, she appeared to be in better spirits and the boys did their best to amuse her and make her forget their father's absence and his perilous errand.

Next day the boys went down to the boat-

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 "The Panther didn't even know we were playing," said Long Tom.

"That was my strategy," said Big Bill. "Heaven only knows how much we will have to use these hosses before we get through this here game so I planned to rest them all I could. This next chukker will be different. It will have to be billiards from the start. Bang! Whiz! Zip! We got to do some fancy riding this chukker, gents, we got to protect our one-point lead."

In less time than it takes to tell, the saddles were put on fresh horses and the two teams started back to the grounds. This time Larry was mounted upon Baldy, and the other three cowboys on pintos, while the troopers were mounted on their bays.

Larry secured the ball at the throw-in and tapped it back beneath Baldy's feet. He whirled like a flash and Larry hit the ball again, driving it over to Big Bill who was watching for it. As the cowboys' defense man with his powerful right arm drove the ball far down the field into the troopers' territory Larry and Pony were after it riding like the wind.

But the troopers' rover was too quick for them for he intercepted the ball and drove it back and two of his team-mates followed his lead and soon the three were sweeping down the field in a sort of drag-net formation, each carrying the ball in turn and passing

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 it quickly from one to another in short snappy passes. The cow-punchers checked back rapidly in front of the advance trying to get in and secure the ball but they could not stem the rush. When the ball was within seventy-five yards of the cow-punchers' goal Larry got in ahead of the trooper who was after it and with a skillful left-side stroke drove it out of bounds, Here the teams again lined up for the throw-in. This time the cowboys secured the ball and started down the field in their triangular formation using long passes obliquely across the field. In each pass they gained a few rods until they were within sixty yards of the troopers' goal when they again lost the ball and it started back down the field.

It was just the kind of polo the crowd enjoyed, full of hard riding, brilliant strokes, and great suspense. Back and forth the ball flew. First one goal was threatened and then the tide would turn and the other team would be on the defense, backed up to their goal post. It was hard to tell which had the better of it. All eight players were superb riders and their mounts were good and all of the ponies knew the game.

A little luck on either side, a missing of a stroke, and a lucky shot might have scored, but as it happened the chukker ended with the ball absolutely in the middle of the field where it had started and the two teams trotted off again for fresh mounts.

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 "Wal, gents," said Big Bill, "we got along all right so far, but this here chukker that's coming is going to be a tough one. These here ponies we're going to ride now ain't ever connected up fully with the idee that they are to follow the ball. Of course they are good hosses and will go where we rein them and will mind the whip and the spur, but they ain't got real polo intelligence. We'll simply do the best we can and let it go at that. Don't forget for a minute, gents, that we are jest as good riders as they be. Their business is living in the saddles and ourn is the same. Stick to them, boys, and make them fight for every inch they get."

This chukker the troopers had the advantage from the start for they secured the ball and immediately started for the cow-punchers' goal using their short quick passes and the drag-net offensive. In almost no time they were threatening the cow-punchers' goal. Big Bill with a stroke like the hammer of Thor lifted the ball which was skipping towards his goal high in air over the troopers' heads. To the great amazement of the spectators it fell squarely in the middle of the field. Soon the troopers were hammering away at their goal again and in three minutes and forty-five seconds after the beginning of play they scored while the regiment and their supporters went wild. The

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 band played Stars and Stripes Forever in acknowledgment of Uncle Sam's troopers.

But nothing daunted by this turn of the fortunes of war the cow-punchers rode back to the middle of the field determined to stem the tide of war which had turned against them. They secured the ball on the throw-in but could only hold it for a few seconds as the troopers' ponies were superior to theirs. Soon it was flying towards their goal carried by this irresistible three-man offensive and the short quick passes. Within fifty yards of their own goal the cow-punchers secured the ball and kept it hanging for a couple of minutes and it almost seemed as though they would ward off another score when with a lucky stroke from one of the troopers the ball went through and the score was two to one in favor of the soldiers.

But this was the end of their scoring for this chukker as the referee's whistle sounded and the cowboys were glad to hear it.

"These here grays and bays are going to be the ruination of us," said Big Bill. "We are as good as they be on our best hosses but we ain't got a smellin on these here mounts. I don't jest know what we are going to do, but we are going to keep on fighting."

The fourth chukker was a direct replica of the first. The cowboys secured the ball on the throw-in and immediately formed a small hollow traingletriangle [sic], keep-

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 ing the ball hanging. The troopers milled 'round and 'round the little triangle trying to ride through between the closely bunched horses and poked with their mallets for the ball, but they did not get it. Their supporters yelled at them to poke it out, to play polo, while the supporters of the cow-punchers were jubilant. Once the troopers got the ball, when a horse accidentally hit it and knocked it out, and started a drive down the field, but they soon lost the ball and again the cowboys resorted to their football tactics. In this manner they kept the ball hanging for five minutes of the chukker and then they broke loose. Once again they began their triangular drive down the field, Larry on the right, Long Tom in the center and Pony at the left. The troopers galloped hither and you trying to intercept the ball or to put the cow-punchers out of play, but if one of the men at the side was covered, Long Tom shot the ball back to the other and he immediately started dribbling down the side line. It was impossible for the troopers to cover all three men at once so they could not stop the irresistible drive of these knights of the lariat.

Finally they carried the ball down to the fifty-yard line. Each trooper tried to cover his man and prevent the play. Larry drove the ball across to Long Tom, and Pony rode in closely as though he expected to receive the ball. This drew the troopers over to that

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 side of the goal and Long Tom immediately drove the ball back to Larry and he in turn shot it through between the posts on the unguarded side and the score was tied.

The cowboys' friends yelled with delight. For a few minutes pandemonium reigned but the chukker was nearly over. The referee's whistle sounded before play could be resumed.

"Wal, boys, we've tied them up so far," said Bill, "and we ain't very badly blowed yet but the wurst is yet to come."

There was a fifteen minute intermission between the halves and this gave the cow-punchers a chance to hold a council of war. Bill called them together and they talked the situation over while they were waiting for their new ponies.

"We are all set for the next chukker," said Bill, "our hosses are all right, but what bothers me is the sixth chukker. Our bays and grays nearly ruined us the last time we rode them."

"I've been thinking about that," said Pony, "but I don't see what else we can do. We can't kill our best hosses."

"Why not play our first string for the sixth chukker and put the pintos and Baldy up for the seventh," said Long Tom.

"Baldy won't stand it," put in Hank Brodie who was

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