Pa Came Down To The Breaks Along The Cowhouse Where I Was rousting out some steers that had taken to the brush because of the heel-flies. "Come up to the house, boy. Tap has come home and he is talking of the western lands." So I gathered my rope to a coil and slung it on the pommel of my saddle, and stepping up to the leather, I followed Pa up through the trees and on the open grass. Folks were standing in the breezeway of our Texas house, and others were grouped around in bunches, listening to Tap Henry or talking among themselves. It was not a new thing, there had been argument and discussion going on for weeks. We all knew that something must be done, and westward the land was empty. Tap Henry was a tall man of twenty-seven or -eight and we had been boys together, although he was a good six to seven years older than me. A hard, reckless man with a taste for wild country and wilder living, he was a top hand in any man's outfit, and a good man with a gun. You couldn't miss Tap Henry.
