High on a bluff shoulder overlooking the course of the river was perched the ranch house, toward which we were bending our steps; and here we were received with the hearty hospitality characteristic of the ranch country everywhere.
The son of the ranchman, a tall, well-built young fellow, told me at once that there were peccaries in the neighborhood, and that he had himself shot one but two or three days before, and volunteered to lend us horses and pilot us to the game on the morrow, with the help of his two dogs.

The last were big black curs with, as we were assured, "considerable hound" in them.

One was at the time staying at the ranch house, the other was four or five miles off with a Mexican goat-herder, and it was arranged that early in the morning we should ride down to the latter place, taking the first dog with us and procuring his companion when we reached the goat-herder's house.
We started after breakfast, riding powerful cow-ponies, well trained to gallop at full speed through the dense chaparral.

The big black hound slouched at our heels.

We rode down the banks of the Nueces, crossing and recrossing the stream.