We call him little Billy;" and turning to me said: "Billy, my boy, this is a cousin of yours, Horace Billings, whom you've often heard me speak of." Horace Billings had never been heard of from the day he ran away from home, and his relatives had frequently wondered what had become of him.
His appearance, therefore, in our camp in the guise of a Californian was somewhat of a mystery to me, and I could hardly comprehend it until I had heard his adventurous story and learned the accidental manner in which he and father had made themselves known to each other.
Neither father nor myself would be satisfied until he had given us a full account of his wanderings and adventures, which were very exciting to me.
Late in the afternoon and just before the sun sank to rest, the conversation again turned upon horses and horsemanship.

Father told Billings all about Little Gray, and his great fault of running away.
Billings laughed and said Little Gray could not run away with him.
After supper he went out to look at the horse, which was picketed in the grass.

Surveying the animal carefully, he untied the lariat and slipped a running noose over his nose; then giving a light bound, he was on his back in a second, and away went the horse and his rider, circling round and round on the prairie.

Billings managed him by the rope alone, and convinced him that he was his master.

When half a mile away, the horse started for camp at the top of his speed.