lote

Once, the last o' May, we borrowed Lote's team and climbed up here, and here was that tree in full bloom.

The finest looking horse in the remuda, by all odds, was old Wa-ha-lote, the Water-dog.

He raised the blind with a single jerk, leaped back, and warped Wa-ha-lote over the rump with a coil of rope.

Bowles was on Wa-ha-lote, and he rode to the end before Henry Lee sent him back with the herd.

But it had been a hard race—even Wa-ha-lote was slowing down, and Dixie Lee was nowhere in sight.