Occasionally we came
across open space where there was nothing but short brown grass. In most
places, however, the leafless, sprawling mesquites were scattered rather
thinly over the ground, cutting off an extensive view and merely adding
to the melancholy barrenness of the landscape. The road was nothing but
a couple of dusty wheel-tracks; the ground was parched, and the grass
cropped close by the gaunt, starved cattle. As we drove along buzzards
and great hawks occasionally soared overhead. Now and then we passed
lines of wild-looking, long-horned steers, and once we came on the
grazing horses of a cow-outfit, just preparing to start northward over
the trail to the fattening pasture. Occasionally we encountered one or
two cowpunchers: either Texans, habited exactly like their brethren in
the North, with broad-brimmed gray hats, blue shirts, silk neckerchiefs,
and leather leggings; or else Mexicans, more gaudily dressed, and
wearing peculiarly stiff, very broad-brimmed hats with conical tops.
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