Chapter XIII (1)

A New Venture.--Hard Times.--The Territory, Etc.

For three years, from 1879 to 1882, it seemed as if the very elements had conspired to render the attempt at settling Western Kansas futile. The continuous drouth, together with the hot winds, made any attempt at farming discouraging. As a consequence a great many settlers sold their holdings for what they could get for them, and returned to their former place of abode. The gathering of buffalo bones, which had been their chief source of subsistence during that trying time, was beginning to fail owing to the great number engaged in the business, and the distance they had to be hauled and the ever receding base of supply. Many abandoned the work entirely, and the few that remained actively engaged in that occupation found themselves daily meeting greater difficulties. The scarcity of the supply became so great that they would often be compelled to go a hundred miles or more to gather a load, haul them to the nearest trail, and then transfer them to some freighter on the way to Dodge City, the only market for them in the country. To make the exchange and have them taken to market usually required a division of the profits, and one can easily imagine what a small share was left for the original collector when the goods were sold. No matter how small the profit, on this the gatherer had to subsist as well as supply his family with necessaries during his absence. There was hardly sufficient remuneration in the work to obtain the plainest of provisions.

To the young people of America who may perhaps be reading this little story of the early settlement of the West, in the comfortable surroundings of their own cozy homes, I will say that they know little of the price paid to make such conditions possible. I have frequently seen, on the top of a wagon loaded with bones, a gunny sack containing the skeleton of a man, that had been picked up by some freighter or some cowman or some settler, and put in the sack to be taken to Dodge City for burial. That gunny sack contained a sermon as well as a skeleton. It told of the certainty of death as well as of the uncertainty of life. It told the reason why father, mother, Mary, Ellen and Julia never received a reply to their last letter, written to John, Jake or Jim, marked on the lower left-hand corner, "In haste, please," to be sure of prompt delivery. Quite likely, when the poor old mother would be grieving over the long disappointment, the girls would encourage her by saying, "Oh, that is one of his pranks. He is just waiting until we are all quite lonesome, and then he will come rushing in upon us to take us by surprise." He has never returned, but the family still keeps alive the glimmer of hope that flickers in the human breast, that they will all meet again, somewhere.

Confronted with such conditions as mentioned above, with no indications of any relaxation of the drouth that was compelling even the big ranchmen to look around for water, we saw a very gloomy outlook for the future.

After weighing the matter carefully, I decided to make a change in my business affairs. I took into my confidence a cow-puncher named Bill Wagner, who is now living in Meade, Kans. Having fully discussed the situation from all points, we determined to embark together on a course that would at least promise us some profit from the undertaking. We made up our minds to go down into the Territory and trade with the cattlemen who were coming North with their herds from Texas, on their way to Montana or Wyoming, either to sell or turn loose to graze on the Northern range. We rounded up a few saddle horses, among which was my old favorite Jimmy, and set out for Dodge City to purchase the supplies necessary for the journey. I also wanted to deposit some money and dispose of some mules that I would not need, on my trip. On my arrival at Dodge City I formed the acquaintance of James Langton, who introduced me to a Mr. R. M. Wright, of the firm of Wright, Beverly & Co., who were engaged in a Wholesale Supply business. I found Mr. Wright one of the most genial men with whom I ever did business. Having previously sold my mules, I deposited my money with the firm I was introduced to. I told Mr. W. that I intended to go down into the Territory on a trading expedition. I explained to him that the cattlemen would be on the trail, and as there were no stores to be found between the Red river on the North line of Texas and where we were then standing, there would be a good opportunity to trade provisions for some cattle that had become sore-footed on the way, with a good profit for me. He agreed with me that it was a golden opportunity, and added as an encouragement, "You will do well, if the Indians do not scalp you in the meantime." I replied that as conditions existed on Crooked Creek, a man would be no worse off dead in the Territory than living where I had been. I saw very little difference.

I loaded my wagon with what goods I thought would be most in demand by the cattlemen. I selected a considerable quantity of tobacco, bacon, baking powder, canned goods of several kinds, a coil of rope, cartridges of different calibre, coffee, sugar, and some other things--all necessary on the trail. I also bought a tent and cooking outfit. The latter consisted of a coffee-pot, skillet, frying-pan, coffee-mill, six knives and forks, six tin plates, six cups and saucers, the latter of tin, in order to provide against the possibility of our having some company on the road. By the time I had my trading done, Wagner was ready and waiting. We hitched up and pulled across the river, where we encamped for the night. Part of the horses we hobbled, and two we kept picketed in order to guard against being left on foot the next morning if anything should stampede our stock during the night. When the stock had been cared for, we proceeded to make arrangements for ourselves, and while Wagner cooked the flapjacks I was looking around for sleeping accommodations, as it was difficult to find a place level enough to suit the purpose. The making of our beds did not cost much effort, but one had to guard against sand-burrs, cactus, tarantulas, rattlesnakes and centipedes.

The next morning found us up early after a good sound sleep, and hustling around to get ready for the first day of our new venture. When we had tended to the wants of the stock and ourselves, we hitched up and started off at a slow pace, as the team was not accustomed to the heavy work, and it would take some time for them to become inured to the hardship of the trail. Out across Five Mile Creek and up the divide along the old Camp Supply route until we reached the summit, we made our toilsome way. We reached the apex about noon time and halted for dinner. After giving the horses a good rest, we proceeded on our way, and as our route now lay down grade we made better time. Evening found us at Mulberry Creek, where Johnny Glenn and Dutch Pete kept a road ranch. This roadside caravansary served as a halting place for the stage coach, and furnished refreshments for passengers when needed. As there was a good camping ground there, we unhitched and turned the horses out to graze and made preparations for our own accommodation. When we had eaten supper, we brought the horses in for the night, and then after chatting and smoking for some time we turned in for a good night's rest. Early morning found us on our way again towards the South. We kept rumbling along until we reached the division point of the stage line, where horses were changed by the driver, P. G. Reynolds. This location, I believe, is not very far from where the present town of Ashland, county seat of Clark county, is situated. Here we stopped and had dinner at what was called the Widow Brown ranch. From this place we proceeded down the Bear Creek trail and reached the Cimmaron River that same evening. The river being up, we could not cross, and we camped on the North bank not far from where an old German named Clem maintained a road ranch. The river as I said was full and this may seem strange, as it had not rained in this section for more than three months. The cause of the rise lay in the fact that there had been considerable rain in Colorado. This added to the snow melting on the mountains made the river rise to its full capacity. Here we had to remain for three days, waiting till the waters would subside enough to permit a crossing. We were not the only ones that met with an obstacle in our progress by the river's behavior, but it proved a boon to us as well as adding to our store of knowledge. On the other bank of the river were cowpunchers with their herds waiting to cross also. It was amusing and instructive to us to watch them in their efforts to induce the leaders of the herds to take to the water. When a puncher succeeded in getting the leaders into the stream, he would ride or swim his pony alongside of them to keep them from milling, or drifting down the river. It was very exciting to watch those herds crossing the swollen stream with the cowboys yelling and whooping among them. It seemed as if pandemonium had taken a holiday. By the time the last of the herds had crossed, the river had subsided somewhat, and we pulled over to the opposite side without any great difficulty. It was with a sigh of relief we reached the solid footing on the other bank.

Then we were in the Territory and bade farewell to civilization until we returned to the North bank of Cimmaron River. We left the Camp Supply trail and went Southward to the old Custer trail, which was being used by the cowmen at that time. We did not stop at noon time, but kept on our way, intending to make a short drive and camp where the grass had not been eaten off by the trail herds, and where there was a supply of water for our stock. About four o'clock in the afternoon we found a satisfactory location and went into camp. We turned the horses loose to graze. They needed it, as they had been living on rather short rations since we had started on our jaunt. For ourselves, we built a fire of cow-chips and made out a supper on bacon and flapjacks. This done, we looked over our outfit and made what repairs were necessary for the next day's drive. Everything being attended to, as security demanded, we turned in for the night, intending to make a permanent location the next day. As this was my first night in the Territory, I must say that I felt very lonesome. It was a fine moonlight night, and the stars seemed to flicker and dance for my special benefit. I could see the handiwork of the Great Creator all over the firmament as far as the eye could reach, and my admiration for the beauty of the planetary system was unbounded. When I arose in the morning and threw the saddle on my old favorite pony, Jimmie, to get an idea of the lay of the land, things seemed to look different. When I had returned to camp after my survey of the neighborhood, I had come to the conclusion from the general appearance of the country and the great contrast with what I had viewed from my bed at the wagon, that some Spirit of Evil had been brooding over things in general, and while in that mood had laid the country round about in waste, and Nature was doing her best to restore it to its primitive beauty. We travelled that day until we discovered what we considered an ideal spot to locate our store. It was not far from the trail, and there was plenty of good grass and water for our stock. We set to work to arrange things for our purpose, and it was not long before we had things in shape to do business. Our tent-store was, fortunately, placed about half a mile from where the cowmen used to halt and bed down their herds for the night. The presence of those men served the purpose of breaking the monotony of our surroundings, for it was a pleasure to hear them singing as they rode around their herds at night to render them quiet and keep them from drifting off during the night. Not only did they help to pass away the time for us, but it gave us an opportunity to do a little business also.

When we had located and arranged things to our satisfaction, we spent some time riding around looking over the situation and conjecturing the prospects. We found very few range cattle in our vicinity, which I afterwards learned was due to the fact that the ranchers kept their cattle away from the trail so that they would not become mixed with those on the drive, or become infected with the Texas or splenic fever. For the purpose of effecting this, they maintained men along the trail to turn back any range cattle that showed a tendency to wander in the direction of the through herds. During our ride we killed a brace of wild turkeys, and this gave us a welcome change from the monotony of rusty bacon.

Things did not look very prosperous as yet, and began to think that I had made my journey to no purpose, and would likely have to haul my load back to Kansas again. While in this frame of mind, and not being very cheerful over it, sitting in the shade of my tent, a man rode up to my emporium of commerce. We passed the usual salutations and had a chat. In the midst of our conversation he informed me that he had met a man who would likely purchase some of my wares. I could hardly realize the gist of his remark, as it was such a surprise, although I was there for the purpose of selling goods. I managed to recover from the shock with considerable alacrity, and invited him into my tent. He looked over my stock of goods, and before he left me he had purchased more than half of it, and gave in payment an order on Wright & Beverly. He said that his herd would be along in the evening, and he would have the grub wagon load up the purchases.

That evening the herd came along, and as the place was the bedding ground for the through herds, they made the necessary preparations for putting in the night. When the cowpunchers had eaten supper, they came over to our tent to purchase supplies of tobacco and cartridges. As there was nothing else to do, and as we had been getting rather lonesome in our retired place, we spent the evening agreeably, spinning yarns, relating experiences of the trail, etc. In the meantime the grub wagon arrived and was loaded with the goods purchased earlier in the day. Before bidding us good night, the boys invited us to take breakfast with them on the following morning. We accepted, and shortly after daybreak we heard the cook's cheerful announcement that "chuckaway" was ready. As the wagon was near our tent we did not have far to go, and before we reached it all hands were up and dressed and ready for the morning repast. We were somewhat surprised to find that the cook had fried salt bacon for the boys. In explanation of this he said that they were tired of fresh meat. We were weary of salt bacon, but good manners forbade our saying so, and we did our share with as much gusto as possible. A little fresh beef would have been much to our liking just then. By the time breakfast was over, the horse wrangler had arrived with the saddle stock. Ropes were stretched, one from the front wheel and one from the rear wheel of the wagon, and the horses driven in between them, where each man roped his mount for the day. The cook and the wrangler then attended to their own wants. After covering the camp-fires with soil to prevent the fire from spreading over the prairie, they were ready to set out on their long jaunt to Montana, or some other feeding ground. We bade the boys good-bye and returned to our store to await new arrivals.

As the business of the preceding day had been more than I expected from the general survey of things when I first arrived, I soon saw that if I had another customer of the same dimensions of the first one, I would have very little with which to do business. I determined to send Bill to Dodge City for another load of provisions. I made out a list of what I wanted, greased the wagon and started him off. Under favorable conditions, he should make the trip in about eight or ten days, but if the roads became bad, it would require a much longer time. Before he left I had him make a good store of biscuits for me, as I was not able to turn out an article of the kind that would coincide with the digestive powers of any human being. I gave him strict orders, among the other things, not to forget to bring something to read, as there was nothing at hand for that purpose except a Patent Medicine pamphlet, and I had read that so often and so thoroughly that I had some of the symptoms of seven different maladies that were therein pronounced fatal. If I had been in the neighborhood of a drug store at the time I should have bought a supply of the cure-all regardless of results. Living as I was at the time, alone, I escaped the consequences of both the cure-all and the diseases mentioned in the pamphlet. When Bill was well on his way, I meandered around into the tent and out again, down to the creek and back again; in fact, I was just like a stray colt, did not know where to go, nor what to do. I soon discovered what my malady was. It was lonesomeness in its direst form. It settled on me like a fog settling over a marsh. It penetrated my very being. Everywhere I went I could feel it. Whatever I saw seemed tinged with it. I tried drinking strong coffee to drive it out, but that was no avail, so I saddled old Jimmie and took a ride over the prairie. On my way back to camp I killed a wild gobbler, thus providing myself with fresh meat. The cleaning and cooking of my prize relieved the monotony a trifle. I don't know whether I cooked him according to the recipe in the latest cook book published, but in any case he tasted fine. My pony seemed to realize how lonely I was, for whenever I went out of my tent he endeavored to come to me, and strained at his rope to approach as near as possible. I went over to him and he put his head on my shoulder and seemed to say, "It's all right, Dennis, Bill will be back in a few days and then you will have company. In the meantime I shall try to keep you from becoming too lonesome." Needless to say, I put in considerable time with old Jimmie, currying him and fixing his water and feed in the best manner possible. I loved old Jimmie, for he was my friend. I knew not at what hour, nor what moment, my life would depend on his fidelity, and I knew that I could rely upon him to the last breath.

One day followed another without any perceptible difference between one and the other. In my surroundings I lost track of the time. I was longing for the return of my partner, and continued to picture the progress of his journey, where he was, what he was doing, etc. I felt like Robinson Crusoe, and in some respects his plight was more endurable than mine. He declared himself the monarch of all he surveyed, and his right there was none to dispute. Not so would he have issued his declaration if he were living in the Territory at the time, as his right would likely be disputed by the first man that came along, and as for there being a monarchy at the time, it was not thinkable, at least under the conditions in which I was living.

That was a time when every man was supposed to remain silent about what he had heard, and have very little to say about what he saw. Horse stealing had become quite an industry at the time, and was carried on by bands of outlaws between Arkansas, Missouri and Colorado. As there was no telephone, telegraph or mail facilities, they were comparatively free from detection, especially as they travelled through the most unfrequented parts of the country. Their route brought them through the section where I was camped. One day I saw five of them coming in my direction, attracted by the sight of my tent. When they arrived where I was sitting, I invited them to dismount and come into my tent. They did so. They inquired if I had any tobacco, and I told them that was one of the commodities I was dealing in at the time. As that was all they wanted, they bought several pounds and then prepared to depart. I invited them to remain to dinner and they accepted the invitation. When they had consented to be my guests, I told them I had everything to make a first-class meal, but was short on biscuits, and could not make them as I did not know how, and I said I would be pleased if one of them would make them. One of them remarked, "Now, Jack, there is a job for you." I pulled out a sack of flour, a can of baking powder, gave one of them the coffee mill to grind some coffee, took a bucket and started for the creek for a pail of fresh water. The rest of them busied themselves building a fire of cowchips, and things began to take on the appearance of home. When Jack had his biscuits ready, I brought out my select assortment of tin-ware, passed around plates, knives, forks and whatever else was necessary, and we all set to work with a gusto. The gobbler, biscuits and other edibles did not last long, as each of us seemed to have a first-class appetite. While eating and joking at the same time, I told them of the reason of my asking them to remain for dinner, namely, that I was out of biscuits and that I was tired of living on crackers, and I knew there would be some one in the crowd who would be able to make them. I saw, besides, that their horses were jaded, and told them they might as well remain for a time to rest their stock. In all my joking and talking with them I took particular care not to ask them whence they came, nor whither they were going, nor what their business was in that part of the country, as that would be the height of impropriety. After we had chatted for a considerable time, they took the saddles off their horses, picketed one or two, and turned the others loose to graze. My loneliness was fast disappearing as the result of companionship of my fellowmen, even if they were a gang of horse thieves, and as a result I began to feel better and things began to wear a different aspect. I recalled a statement made by some one that it was not good for man to be alone, and I found it true, and made a resolution that I would never be left alone again in the future.

That night I saddled up old Jimmie, and taking one of my visitors, went out in search of some wild turkeys. I had previously seen a flock in the neighborhood, and had a fairly good idea of where they were roosting. As soon as the moon had come up we began looking around among the trees that grew along the bank of the creek, and to our great delight discovered a few. We secured two of them and returned to camp. Next morning, Jack, who had been delegated to cook for us during his visit, was up and had the game dressed in the most approved fashion, and had also turned out a new supply of biscuits. When I rolled out of my blanket, I discovered that my company was made up of early and energetic risers, and I was delighted to know that the cook had done so well, and showed my appreciation later. The rest of the group had gone off in search of their stock, and were then returning. Breakfast was ready by that time, and we all set to without much preliminary apology for poor appetites, for we had good ones. The service was rather plain; a tomato can served the purpose of a sugar bowl, a sardine can for a salt cellar, and other utensils were provided in the same manner. During the meal one of the boys asked me which was the best way, through No Man's Land to Colorado. I divined immediately that they were horse thieves, for I had only a suspicion of it before. I gave him some kind of an answer, and I do not know whether it proved satisfactory to them or not. Breakfast being attended to and the dishes washed and put away, they made preparations for departure. They thanked me for my kindness and assured me that they would be glad to meet me at any time or place. When they had gone I began to feel the loss of company again, but I also began to realize the danger I had encountered owing to their brief stay, for if a posse of officers had happened along while they were my guests, it would have been hard for me to explain my compromising position. As it is usually the innocent bystander that gets hurt, I suppose I should have been the one to suffer, as there would have been some very warm work for a while. There was one thing impressed itself on my mind very much during the stay of my visitors, and that was the absence of vulgar or profane language. That went to prove that they had had good training by good parents who would have been proud of their personality, though they could not approve of their occupation.

When they had gone over the hill on their way, I thought I would improve my time by writing a few letters. I improvised a table for the purpose by bringing into service a cracker-box. The remainder of my office fixtures were in keeping with my desk. However, I was not ashamed of my surroundings, and sat down to write with all the dignity of an Indian chief sitting in council. It dawned upon me suddenly that it might be weeks before I would have an opportunity to post them, and as I was doing it to ward off another attack of lonesomeness, I decided that a good walk over the surrounding neighborhood would serve the purpose as well. In my travels I discovered a cloud of dust rising on the horizon, and came to the conclusion that there was another herd coming along the trail, and it would only be a matter of a few hours before they would arrive at the regular halting place. I returned to camp and made out a lunch from the remnants of the breakfast, and then saddled old Jimmie and set out to meet the oncoming herd. I wanted to get acquainted with them as much as circumstances would permit, find out if they had any lame cattle they thought would be unable to make the journey to Dakota, Montana, or wherever they were going, and what would be the possibilities of a trade. If they would not ask too much I felt that I could make a little money by doctoring them myself and disposing of them afterward. When I came up to the cowmen they seemed to look at me with suspicion, as they did not expect to find a white man in that section of the country. When I explained to the foreman the nature of my business in that part of the Territory, he seemed very much pleased to meet me, and to know that I was selling goods that he needed, as he had not had a chew of tobacco since he had left the Red River, nor lard enough to grease a skillet. I looked over the herd and made an estimate of the number of lame cattle they had. I rode back to my camp thinking over the situation, and when they arrived later I figured up what I was willing to pay for the lame and footsore cattle they had in the group. As soon as they arrived, the foreman rode over to my tent to look at the goods I had in stock. He purchased about what I had remaining after the previous sale. While talking on things in general he remarked that he would have to remain where he was for a day or so in order to let the stock rest, as he had driven them rather rapidly owing to the fact that the Comanches were troublesome to him while he was passing through their reservation, and he had to hasten along in order to get away from them. That determination to rest was as pleasing to me as it was to the cowpunchers, and the cattle showed it was agreeable to them, as they looked exhausted, which was inevitable after a long and furious drive. I sauntered over to where the cowboys were gathered around the grub wagon, and soon was on friendly terms with them as far as short acquaintance would permit. I heard the cook complaining about the dog, saying he would have to get rid of him as he was always nosing into everything, and had become a nuisance. I told him that I would gladly take him for the sake of his company, and he was handed over to me. I did not know that I was adding to my misfortunes or afflictions when I received him, though I might have suspected it from the ease with which the cook parted with him.

Next morning found me riding around the herd in company with the foreman, looking over the lame cattle, or drags, as they called them. I examined them very carefully, and made a dicker for about fifteen head. He agreed to have his men help me rope and brand them, to cross out the road brand, and also hobble them and help me doctor their sore feet. We built a fire to heat the branding irons, and soon everything was ready for the operation. I placed my brand upon them, a ladder on the left side and a crop off the left ear. While the irons were hot, I cauterized their sore feet, and applying tar and turpentine, wrapped them up in gunny sacks and turned them away from the herd to graze along the creek. Many hands make light work, and we were through with our task before noon. To complete the transaction, the foreman wrote out a bill of sale for me, giving a general description of the cattle and the road brands, signed it in the presence of witnesses, and turned it over to me to secure me against all claims for the stock I had purchased. This being done, I wrote out a check for him, and the sale was complete. I began to feel as though I were somewhat of a cowman myself when I looked down toward the creek to where my stock was grazing. I soon found out that I had much to learn.

A Bill of Sale was necessary in a cow country, and it was my only protection against the claim of some other cowman who might assert that the stock had broken away from his herd in a storm, and might say that I had caught and branded them. If the case were so, I might not only have the cattle taken away from me, but I would be lucky if they did not treat me as a cattle thief. But with the Bill of Sale safely tucked away in the safety deposit vault, which in this case was a cracker box, I felt easy about the matter.

Our business being completed, we sat around chatting and narrating experiences on the plains. Even this palled on us after a time, and one of the boys, in order to relieve the tedium of the delay, proposed a horse race. That suggestion seemed to please them generally. The proposal was greeted with enthusiasm, but it was a difficult matter to arrange the proper distance, or the amount of the wager. I was asked if I would care to take part in the race, and I replied that I could not say until I had seen who and what I was to compete with. That morning I had noticed on my trip around the herd that their horses seemed pretty well jaded from their long trip from San Antonio to the North side of the Territory, and did not seem equal to a very long race. Just then one of the boys came up with a bunch of horses, and one of them was roped. They began to saddle him and one of the boys asked, "Are you going to run old Pinkeye? If you are, I am willing to bet a dollar on him if Slim Jim rides him." The boys continued to parley about what they would and would not do, and finally they asked me to match my horse against Pinkeye with Slim Jim for rider. I consented to make the match if we could arrange the preliminaries. I said I would ride a half mile or a quarter mile dash, whichever they preferred. They asked me who would ride my horse, and I remarked that I thought I would perform that duty myself. A knowing look and an incipient smile lighted up their countenances when I volunteered my information. One of the wise ones asked me where I came from, and I told him Maidstone Cross, Canada. Right there he set me down for a tenderfoot, and was out to have some sport with me. As far as they were concerned the race was as good as won, and all that remained was the shouting. Of course, we should have to go through the formality of a race, but that was of minor importance as far as the wager was concerned. If ignorance is bliss, they had a right to be supremely happy. They did not know that my pony, Old Jimmie, had not missed a feed of grain during the past six months, and likewise they were not aware of the fact that I had handled horses all my life and had spent the preceding four years on the plains. Yes, Jimmie was the dark horse of the race, as he was in prime condition, and had just enough exercise for the past few weeks to keep him in splendid shape. Of course the race looked bad for me, as I weighed two hundred pounds and Slim about one hundred and thirty. The odds seemed so much in favor of Slim, that I demanded twenty-five yards start for a quarter of a mile race, and I wagered a side of bacon against a three-year-old steer. We finally compromised the matter by my being allowed twenty yards start, and the bet to remain as it was. I saddled up Old Jimmie and we then made the necessary measurements, starting point, etc., in proper form. The signal for starting was to be a shot from the foreman's gun. The crowd would decide the winner, as they were to congregate at the winning post. We drew up to the mark and announced that all was ready. The gun flashed and we were off. When about half the distance was traversed, I looked back and discovered that Pinkeye was not making as good a run as I expected, so I slackened my pace a trifle and crossed the line a winner by about five yards, which would show that Jim and Pinkeye had gained about fifteen yards in the struggle. Then the air was rent with shouts and whoops for the victor. Roars of laughter followed one another at Jim's discomfiture, and he came in for some real joshing. "Oh, shucks! Jim, you can't ride and Pinkeye can't run fast enough to catch a milch cow. Next time you ought to race with a bull train."

After the first round of excitement and merriment had subsided, they proposed another race for the same wager. They wanted to make it an even start, but I would not agree to that, but they finally consented to give me ten yards start. Back we went to try it over again. By this time Old Jimmie began to do some fancy side-stepping and prancing, just to show that he had imbibed enough of the spirit of the race to make him feel good, and I was satisfied that he was in better fettle than at the opening of the first heat. The foreman called, "All ready," fired his gun and away we went again, Slim Jim pouring the rawhide into Pinkeye. This time I did not hold back, especially as I heard Jim urging his pony by words and quirt, but I had no fears about the outcome, as Old Jimmie would not permit anything to pass him as long as he was able to throw a hoof forward. When we reached the line, we were in about the same relative positions as when we started. He had not gained a yard on Jimmie. The usual whooping and yelling took place again. As it was getting late, I thought it best to get my two steers, brand and hobble them and put them with the rest of the little bunch I had bought earlier in the day. The boys good-humoredly branded them and the foreman wrote out another Bill of Sale which I tucked away with the other. As there was nothing else to do after the racing was over, I took a couple of the boys and we went out and brought in a few wild turkeys which the cook dressed and cooked for the evening meal. The rest of the evening we spent in chatting about life on the trail.

Next morning they set out on their long drive to Montana. I rode with them a few miles, bade them farewell, and returned to my duties at the camp. When I reached my tent, I found that the old dog, Nero, had declared himself dictator, and positively refused to let me enter. I could hardly blame him, as there had been so many around since I acquired possession of him that he could not figure out to whom he belonged. I went to my saddle and took down my lariat rope and gave him a liberal application of it, and established order once more on the premises. To rehabilitate myself in his affection I brought him out a good meal of bread and cold turkey. With nothing else at hand to require my attention at the tent, I rode down to where my herd was feeding to see if any of them had wandered off. They were all there and I felt satisfied.

On my arrival at the camp on my return, I found a man sitting on his horse awaiting my coming. He introduced himself as a line-rider of the Y. L. ranch. I invited him to come in and make himself at home. He gave me his name as Jack Jernigan, and said that he had been an employee of the ranch for some time. I asked him to remain for dinner and he accepted the invitation. I apologized for my inability to make bread. He assured me that I need not apologize as he would attend to that part of the matter if I would attend to the business of making a fire and getting the coffee prepared. His visit was a welcome one as it dispelled an idea that was forcing itself on me that I was likely to be alone for some time. His visit was short, but as he lived in the neighborhood, he promised to come frequently to see me, and he lived up to his promise, frequently bringing turkey or venison with him as a proof of his marksmanship and thoughtfulness of me in my lonesome condition. In this way our friendship was cemented. When my visitor left me, I often experienced touches of lonesomeness that not even the presence of Nero could abate. Instead of being companion and comfort to me, he was just the reverse. He spent his days chasing rabbits, and made the nights hideous with the howls he emitted in answer to the call of the denizens of the wild. One night as I felt very tired from a long jaunt I had taken, I decided as there was no business to attend to, that I would have a good night's rest. I spread my blankets and settled down to slumber. I had turned the dog loose to take a run at leisure over the plain. I was just dozing off into slumberland when I heard a noise approaching. I could not distinguish what it was. It sounded like a cross between a fog-horn and a calliope. Before I could get dressed, in fact, before I got my hat on, Nero came tearing over the plain like a miniature cyclone. He rushed up to me and got between my legs for protection. I grabbed my six-shooter and went on a tour of investigation. I had hardly gone a hundred yards when I heard a coyote, and there never crossed the Atlantic a bagpiper who could emit such a variety of sounds as that coyote worked out of his system. He had been the cause of my dog's commotion. I returned to the tent for my winchester, hoping to get a shot at him, but it was of no use, he had gone away. One thing I discovered in my midnight ramble was the fact that a mother skunk had moved into the neighborhood with her whole family. There is one thing that a cowman dreads very much and that is the bite of a skunk. I knew personally two cases where men had died of hydrophobia after being bitten by the malodorous brutes. In my state of mind, sleep was out of the question until I had destroyed or driven away the newcomers. When I reached the neighborhood of the late arrivals, I walked very cautiously, as a skunk is constructed very much on the principal of a "Queen Anne" musket, there was danger at either end, but it was hard to determine which end had the greater executionary power. As there was very little moonlight, I could not get a very good aim at them. When I thought I had located them properly I began to blaze away with my winchester, and kept up the fusilade until the chamber of the gun was empty. Next morning I was delighted to find that I had killed four of my unsavory visitors, and at the same time felt proud of my marksmanship in the dark. However, I had little rest during the night as I was not sure of my shots, and I did not like to take risks with them, so I spent the remainder of the night soliloquizing on things in general and nothing in particular. During my vigil I heard the wheels of a wagon rumbling along the trail and I knew it was Bill returning with more goods. I built a fire and made some coffee for him as I knew he must be tired after his long journey. After arranging matters in a sufficiently satisfactory manner for the rest of the night, we sat and talked over our experiences since we parted. We spent an hour or so in this manner and then turned in for a good solid sleep. Morning came and we put things in shape for business and awaited our next customer. We went down to the creek to take a look at the stock, and it was well we did so as some of them needed such medical attention as we could give them. As Bill had brought some books and papers, I felt much relieved. I discovered that, on consulting the almanac, we had done our horse racing and trading on Sunday. However, as I was in complete ignorance of the day, I hope it will not be held against me.

It may be of interest to the reader to know that the Comanche Indians and Texans had not been very friendly since Texas had gained her independence from Mexico. The Comanches claimed that the Texans had been stealing their horses, and also their cattle, and the Texans put in a counter claim of the same nature, and in addition to the stock the Indians were said to have taken, they kidnapped their children whenever an opportunity presented itself. As a proof that there was some truth in the statement of the Texans, I will say that Quanah Parker, the late chief of the Comanches was the son of a white mother who had been kidnapped when a child from a Texan family. He was a good chief and held in high repute by the whites as well as by the members of his own tribe. The result of the habit of carrying off the white children may be seen in the features of many of the tribesmen today. The unfriendly feeling caused by those savage incursions exists today, and will continue to do so for ages to come. It is true they do a little business with each other, but a close observer can readily see that it would take a very small spark to set the flames of hatred and vengeance aglow once more. The Texans in driving their cattle northwards were compelled to pass through the Comanche country, and the Comanche had advanced far enough in the white man's ways to levy tribute from them. It was not long after a herd had passed the Red River until an Indian, or perhaps several of them, made a visit to the cowmen and demanded "wohaw," or in other words, beef. That meant the delivering over of one or more steers. The Texan understood the situation well enough to make no refusal to demand. If he failed to comply with the demand, that night, the same Indian would likely appear among the herd in the guise of a gray wolf, or a cougar, and stampede the herd. Such a movement, would cost more than the price of a brace of steers, as it would take days to collect the cattle once they scattered, and some of the stock they might never see again. Without much parley they turned over the stock to them and the Indian went on his way rejoicing. The first demand did not always settle the difficulty, as they were likely to appear again in a day or so and demand more. Such a course of proceedings was very expensive and aggravating to the cowmen, and as a consequence they pushed on as rapidly as possible to get away from the dark shadow of the trail, and get over into Chickasaw, or Caddo country to avoid further trouble. By the time they arrived at the Cherokee Strip, where I was located, they had several lame, or sorefooted cattle which they were willing to dispose of at a very reduced price. As I was the only man on the ground who would take them off their hands, I came into possession of several head of cattle. After a few weeks rest and some surgical attention, they would again be in good condition and ready to forward to the market. Usually I sent them to my ranch in Kansas where I kept them until I could dispose of them to good advantage.