The Indians' Last Fight; Or, The Dull Knife Raid

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Yours Truly,
DENNIS COLLINS

The Indians’ Last Fight

OR

THE DULL KNIFE RAID

BY
DENNIS COLLINS

COPYRIGHT RESERVED
BY
DENNIS COLLINS

PRESS OF
THE APPEAL TO REASON
GIRARD, KANSAS

PREFACE

The work of writing a book is one that requires a vast amount of knowledge, natural ability and educational advantages, to produce something that is reliable, as regards information imparted, unimpeachable authority, and, at the same time, a power of expression that will present the matter to the reader in a manner that will convey the proper meaning of the author. I would not have undertaken the present work, were it not that I was encouraged by the friends of former days who felt confident in my ability to portray the scenes to be depicted in a fitting manner. I should probably be able to perform the task before me with greater success if I had some of the advantages of what is called Higher Education, but, I set out on my journey through this new domain, encouraged particularly, by a statement made by a certain ex-President, that he did not believe in all the “Ph’s”, and “Ch’s”, that are in common use in our language; that he believed in a plain, intelligent expression of ideas that conveys the full meaning of the speaker or writer, without any unnecessary verbiage.

My own personal qualifications for undertaking the task before me, might be considered too inadequate to many. True, I have not had the advantage of a University Education, but with a solid foundation of learning laid in the little school of boyhood in Canada, supplemented by a wide course of reading through all the years I have spent in the West, I feel that the difficulties before me are not too great to be overcome, especially as I have the example of so many men before me who have become self-educated by an earnest application of time and energy to the opportunities presented. If I have developed any facility of expression, I must attribute it to the wealth of good books I have had the good fortune to have at my disposal at various times.

Another motive that has impelled me to undertake the task of presenting the “West” to the general reader, is that there has been so much written about it that is not veracious, and that many have a false notion of what the term really means. I shall endeavor to set before the public a true account of many of the recent happenings in the vast country that lies west of the Mississippi, that they may have a better idea of its history and its people. I have read in numerous Magazines and Journals, accounts of the habits and customs of the Western People in general, and of the cow-puncher in particular, with a full description of the Indian at peace and at war, that, from the reality, it would be impossible to recognize any of them. I am quite satisfied that the authors of the so-called narrations did not have an opportunity of studying the subject at close quarters, and, consequently, were not in a position to do the topic justice. As a consequence of this unreliable mode of narration, people who do not know, imagine that the cow-puncher was half-man and half-horse, or, if not so bad as that, pictured him as a ranting, roaring, rollicking, bloodthirsty, oath-emitting, unconstrained son of perdition, whose chief occupation was murder and rapine, and whose avocation was herding cattle. As for the Indian, he was supposed to have no other qualification for attention than murder and pillage, totally depraved, and beyond the scope of all civilizing influences. Such ideas are based on imaginary authority, and are as far from the truth as it is possible for any narrative to be. I shall endeavor to set before the reading public a proper appreciation of both the Indian and the cow-puncher. Both had faults, but, in view of their surroundings and circumstances of life, they both will bear comparison with those who have had all the advantages of the higher education, and the influence of civilization. One thing that will always stand in their favor is that they were “men,” and played the game of life, in “man” fashion. Smallness, or rather, pettiness of character was entirely lacking in their general scheme of life; that remained in the big cities of the East.

Having spent more than thirty years among the cow-men and the Indians of the different tribes, from the Dakota line to the Panhandle of Texas, I feel that I am not presuming when I say that in that time I have acquired considerable knowledge of both classes of men, their habits, and ideals, and I trust that the present narrative may be interesting to all my old comrades of the “Plains” as well as instructive to the friends of my boyhood days in the “Land of the Maple Leaf.” I have the further hope, that if any of the readers of this little work contemplate coming west to grow up with the country, they may find the difficulties of the way overcome, and the rough places made smooth. They will find a generous welcome awaiting them from the whole-souled men of the Great West, and will discover that their lot has fallen on pleasant places.

THE AUTHOR.

INDEX

CHAPTER I.

General Conditions.

Someone has said, and I think very truthfully, too, that one-half of this world doesn’t know how the other half lives, and if he had added that one-half did not care, he would have hit the nail on the head. In order to verify this statement, go to the frontier of any new country, and you will readily see that the progressive, or producing class, is too busy and too much interested in trying to make a little home, and in providing the necessaries of life, for himself and family, to stop and inquire into the cause of such conditions which surround him. He is busy, very busy, with his own affairs. He must dig a well, build a dugout, and plough the sod to roof it. He must make a storm cave, as it is one of the essentials in Oklahoma and in Kansas, as a cyclone is liable to make a visitation, and he himself and all that he has, may very likely be nothing more than a memory. A storm cave is a very valuable asset, as it gives the family a place of safety in storms, and is a very great factor socially, as the neighbors, if there be any close enough, are most likely to drop around should there be a threatening cloud in the sky, for the sake of mutual encouragement and consolation. I have seen twenty-two persons in one cave that was no larger than eight by ten feet, and all seemed to be satisfied; at least I was.

At one time, of the early settlement of Western Kansas, Indian Territory and Western Texas, there were no mail routes established except between the military posts, Fort Dodge, Kansas, Fort Elliot, Texas, Camp Supply, Fort Reno and Fort Sill, I. T. About this time, 1870, Dodge City, Kansas, sprang into existence, and became the Mecca for the cowmen of the Southwest, and like Rome, all roads led to it. If mail was wanted, or trading was necessary, one had to go from fifty to seventy-five miles for the purpose, and in no case less than twenty, as the S. F. R. R. had a land grant of twenty miles on each side of the roadway, and one could not homestead inside of that limit more than eighty acres, and that is why settlers who wanted 160 acres went farther out.

In making those trips two neighbors usually went together, leaving their families in one place until their return. Their outfit for the journey consisted generally of a few blankets, a shot gun, a Winchester, a coffee pot, a frying pan, tow lariat ropes to picket out the horses, and a box of axle grease. The time required for the trip from three to five days and sometimes longer, owing to the distance and condition of the roads. There were no hotels on the way. In fact, there was nothing but the open prairie, and when it came to camping out time they picketed out the horses, gathered some buffalo chips for a fire, made coffee and flapjacks, fried some bacon and then satisfied their appetites with the fare at hand. Supper over, they discussed prospects for the future and then rolled up in their blankets for a good sound sleep with nothing to disturb them but the howling of the coyotes that were around looking for something to eat. At times something would stampede a herd of antelopes and in their mad flight they would create a noise like the roll of distant thunder. One thing that was in the favor of the camper-out was that it seldom rained and any dust that was made on the trail was blown away, leaving the way as clean as a pavement. The wind generally blew from the South for four days at a time, or thereabouts, at a rate of about forty miles an hour, and then returned at the same rate from the North.

On a trip of this kind, one became the messenger and delivery boy for all the neighbors. It was mail for one, paregoric for another, Epsom Salts for a third, and tobacco, coffee, sugar and other commodities which they were in need of at the time the journey was undertaken. The return of the expedition was looked forward to with as much interest and anxiety as is the return of the Cunard steamer at the port of New York. Each day found the children on the hillside watching and waiting for the return of the dear ones, and night was made hideous by the howling of the family watchdog wailing over the absence of his master. The neighbors, too, shared the general feeling and called several times a day to see if any tidings had been received of them, or if there was anything they stood in need of.

The next step in the way of progress was to sink a well. This was a necessity of the first degree, as the early settlers were compelled to haul water from the distant creeks, or rivers, in barrels, and the quality of the supply was not very high class. The presence of a well near at hand would solve the problem and at the same time save a lot of time which would naturally be required to bring it from a distance. The task was the work of two men, as the well had to be sunk from one hundred to one hundred and twenty-five feet before water could be found that would meet the needs of the situation. One man could not do the work alone, so a neighbor lent his assistance. By means of a derrick and a cheap mule purchased for the purpose they raised the water when the well was dug. The animal was left at the well and each man that went to draw water was to see to it that his muleship did not suffer from want of attention.

The above were only a few of the difficulties that the pioneer encountered in his endeavor to get a start in life. Those who came to the country in ’79 or the early 80’s found difficulties in abundance. As it rained very little during those years, their means were soon exhausted, and a great many were forced through necessity to abandon their claims and return East in search of employment. All would have been compelled to go were it not for the carcasses left by the buffalo hunters who had taken nothing but the hide and the hump. Buffalo bones were worth about $14 per ton, and the pioneers that remained gathered them up and hauled them to market at Dodge City. It took from eight to ten days to gather and market a load of bones. This source of revenue, while not very remunerative, served as an opportunity for them to keep body and soul together. By the time the bones began to disappear entirely, they had succeeded in getting some land in a state of cultivation and raised a fair crop of millet, sorghum and Kaffir corn, crops adapted to the dry climate. Besides these things, a few chickens and a cow or two relieved the situation a great deal. Most of the old-timers who had the courage to stay, or rather lacked the means of getting away, are today in good circumstances, and the land that was then almost a desert, is now as productive as any in the United States.

CHAPTER II.

Santa Fe Trail; How It Was Obtained; Freighting, Etc.

The man who enlists in the army under the influence of patriotic speeches delivered by some great orator, accompanied by a brass band, has no conception of the nerve, energy and enterprise that was required of the first man who popped his bull-whip over the backs of his oxen at little old Westport on the banks of the Missouri River, and shouted to his men, “Come on, boys, we are bound for Santa Fe.” There were no mile posts before him to direct him on his way, and no scouts in advance to warn him of impending dangers. There was nothing before but the open prairie, trackless as the ocean, but onward he pressed across the unmarked plains, over hills and canyons, across creeks and rivers, until he reached his destination. His whole route lay through dangers from hostile tribes who, if not on the warpath one day, were liable to be on the next. Everybody was supposed to sleep with one eye open, otherwise he would be likely to wake up in an unknown land, while his poor habitation of clay would be left minus part of its thatch. Such were the conditions confronting the heroes who opened up the trail and made it possible for the immigrants to take Horace Greeley’s advice to “Go West and grow up with the country.” It is true that there was a great profit in the freighting business in the early days, but the difficulties and dangers were proportionally great. The Indian was not the only risk—there was the prairie fire, the Texas fever, and numerous other dangers confronting one at every step. When the Texas fever seized the cattle, as the ox teams were called, the game was up. I knew one man who drove into Dodge City with over a hundred head of fine work oxen, and in less than six weeks he did not have enough stock left to pull the empty wagons out of town, such was the fatal results of the Texas fever.

The prairie fire could be handled in most cases if it caught in the short prairie or buffalo grass. All that was necessary was to start a back fire, drive onto the burned space and wait until the head fire had passed. But if it caught one in the river, or creek bottoms, where the grass grew from four to six feet high, the only hope lay in flight with the chances very much against one.

Such were the principal difficulties to be encountered on the trail. There were others of a less serious nature, but, nevertheless, very irksome and sometimes dangerous, such as bogging down in the quicksand while crossing a river, or creek. If the sand was not thoroughly packed by driving the cattle back and forth over it before driving into it with a wagon, one was liable to lose a wagon or two, and possibly the entire outfit.

Freighting soon became quite an important industry. New trails were laid off from the little towns that sprang up along the Santa Fe trail to the different ranches in the Territory and Texas. The price paid for freighting was at one time two to three dollars per hundred pounds, to the Panhandle ranches. I have seen a train of wagons half a mile long going to the Panhandle. It was about this time that the great American promoter, or capitalist, came out of the jungles with a railroad scheme, went before Congress and begged assistance for the infant industry. The idea was to build the Santa Fe R. R. westward from Kansas City, and they could not afford to do it without a land grant. It is needless to say that they received it. It consisted of each alternate section for twenty miles on each side of the track. The same railroad at about the same period gave birth to another railroad (they came near being twins.) That is the branch that runs southward through Kansas and the Indian Territory, through the richest oil field in America. It is needless to say that they got this grant through Congress also. I may here remark that I have watched our legislators for a number of years and have never seen them make any special effort to protect the farmer’s infant industry, though the farmer outnumbers the promoter and the capitalist five hundred to one. The same can be said of the mechanic’s infant industry.

Moreover, it is to be noted that in a time of national distress, it is the farmer and the mechanic who take their places in the ranks of the army to fight the battle of the country. I have seen Congress take a hand in the protection of the cattlemen in the Cherokee Strip, but at the same time there was a certain Senator from Kansas who had interests there and who wished that tract of land to remain a sort of “No Man’s Land” for the sole benefit of himself and the Cattle Syndicate in which he was very much interested. This condition endured for fourteen years. During this time Payne and Couch organized a colony of settlers or “Nesters” as they were called, and set a movement on foot to take up some of that land, and establish their homes. Although it was unclaimed land, as soon as the settlers had their little homes built and things in shape to take up the burden of their lives, the soldiers through the influence of the Cattle Syndicate swooped down upon them, arrested the settlers, tore down their houses, and drove the offending parties back across the Kansas line. Through all these discouraging conditions the settlers maintained the fight and finally won out against the powerful Syndicate, but at what a cost! Payne was arrested and taken to Fort Smith, handcuffed like a criminal, and was held there for a long time but was not given a trial, as there were no legal grounds for his arrest. Poor Payne did not live to enjoy the fruits of his labors for the early settlers, but he made it possible for them to make homes for themselves and enjoy them in peace, unmolested by the powerful Syndicate and those who were in league with them. Were it not for the fight put up by Payne and Couch, the land now occupied by homes of thousands of happy and contented farmers would now be the grazing ground of cattle owned by the Syndicate. Verily the wheels of Justice move slowly when the interests of the poor man are at stake.

CHAPTER III.

The Freight Outfit on the Trail.—The Difficulties and Hardships Endured.—Different Kinds of Outfits, Etc.

The freighter’s team was composed of from four to six yokes of oxen, sometimes more, driven by one man called a “bullwhacker.” The train consisted of a “lead” wagon and one or two “trail” wagons. The “lead” wagon, being the heaviest and largest, usually carried a load of about five tons. The “trailers” were loaded considerably lighter, carrying about two or three tons each. In ascending steep hills, or crossing streams, the “trail” wagons were usually “dropped” if the conditions of the road demanded it. If the river crossing was quicksandy the cattle were taken out and driven back and forth across the stream until the quicksand was packed sufficiently to be considered safe. This decision was left to the judgment of the foreman, or the “boss” of the train. Then the wagons were taken across one by one until the whole outfit was landed safely on the opposite side.

The old-time freighter invariably crossed the streams in the afternoon or evenings, for two reasons. First, the teams, whether oxen or mules, would pull much better in the evening than when hitched up fresh in the morning as they usually had sore shoulders, and in the morning were very reluctant to go against the yoke or collar in a very heavy pull. Secondly, it might rain during the night and the rivers or streams would become so swollen that passing would be impossible, and they would be compelled to remain in camp until the streams returned to their usual shallow condition.

The foreman always kept one or two saddle horses, a pair of forty-five six-shooters, a Winchester, and a slicker, as it was one of his duties to ride a few miles in advance of the train to pick out the crossings and to avoid all difficulties of the journey, and to keep the teamsters posted on the best route to follow. Very frequently the foreman kept the commissary department of the train supplied with fresh meat, as deer, antelope and other large game were plentiful, and the prairie was literally covered with buffalo. It was no difficult matter to kill such game, as they were unacquainted with the sound of a gun, or the sight of man, which condition changed as they soon learned that the proximity of a man spelled danger and consequently they became very wild. When a buffalo or deer was killed, it was skinned and the hide salted and taken along for use, or to sell. The hide of the antelope was considered worthless. The meat that was not intended for immediate use was cut into strips, dipped in salt water and hung on a line or the wagon bows to dry and was then preserved for future use. Flies never bothered meat treated in this manner. Such meat was said to be “jerked,” and would remain in good condition for use for over a year.

The outfits usually made a journey of about twelve miles a day, as it was impossible to carry enough feed along for the stock and have at the same time room enough for the freight. Consequently, it was necessary to graze the stock, which required a considerable time and caused much delay. It was necessary also to have the cattle graze during the daytime owing to the fact that the Indians had a penchant for stampeding a herd at night and running it off to parts unknown for their own use. As a result of this condition, what traveling was done was accomplished in one shift, as it would require too much time and trouble to hitch up twice in the same day. At times, when the grazing was exceptionally good, the freighter remained in such a place for some time, as some of the stock would be footsore and besides the wagons needed greasing, the harness and the rest of the outfit had to be examined and repairs made where needed, sore shoulders had to be given medical treatment, and, in fine, everything had to be done to keep the expedition in proper shape. The teamsters particularly spent considerable of their spare time in looking after their own accoutrements, as it was a matter of pride with a teamster to have his implements in proper condition. The whip to the teamster was the same as the rifle to the soldier. It had to be looked after with care. New tips, called “poppers,” or “crackers,” had to be provided. The lash, usually about twelve feet in length, required considerable skill in the handling of it. A green hand was as likely to wrap it around his own neck as to hit the object intended to receive the blow. The whip in the hands of an expert was a different weapon, and he could perform wonders with it. I have seen drivers wrap the tip of their whip around the neck of a prairie chicken or a grouse and jerk it into the wagon without leaving their seats. If it were necessary some of them could tear a patch of hide off the side of a refractory mule with the deftness of a surgeon.

In going into camp there was one rule that the old-timers always lived up to rigidly, and that was to form a corral by driving one part of the wagons to the right and the other part to the left, making the two lead wagons meet and forming a circle with the trail wagons six or eight feet apart. The space thus left open served the purpose of a gate, and they usually made their beds inside the corral. The stock was usually held inside the corral for the night, or if permitted to graze were driven in to be hitched. If any of them proved unruly, they were usually roped and drawn up to the wagon while being yoked and harnessed. In case of an attack by the Indians the corral offered a good protection for the men as well as the stock.

The third trail wagon attached to some of the teams was never as heavy nor loaded as heavily as the others, but was used as a sort of trap-wagon or “catch-all” for all the extras that were brought along to supply the place of any of the parts that were broken or suffered damage. Each man looked after his traps and particularly his own bed, consisting of a blanket. When not in use it was rolled up and carried in the trap wagon.

With each large outfit there was a night herder, or a horse wrangler. It was his duty to go out with the stock during the night and bring them into the corral in the morning. In case the Indians were on the warpath or were reported near at hand, he had to stand guard over the outfit, as the stock in such a case would be left in the corral until daylight. This system was maintained by all outfits, whether they drove oxen or mules.

The cowman’s outfit was entirely different. He never used more than two wagons, one the lead wagon, and the other the trail, to carry his supplies and cooking utensils. He always used mules or horses in preference to oxen, as oxen were too slow for the needs of his business. The trail wagon was used principally for carrying bedding. In the rear of it there was a cupboard, or grub box, built about three feet in height and fastened to the wagon by means of bolts. The door of the cupboard, instead of swinging as in ordinary articles of the kind, swung downwards and was used as a dining table. The interior of the cupboard was so arranged that the dishes could be safely stored away together with some canned goods, if it were possible to obtain the latter, as they were seldom seen in the early days along the trail. Outside of the necessary articles required for the journey, nothing else was carried, so that the cowman and his party had little opportunity to enjoy any luxuries. As supply points were few and far between, the price of goods, especially bacon, baking powder, salt, tobacco and other essentials was very high. The lead wagon was used for general supplies, and it required an abundance of the same to carry the outfit from one replenishing point to another. I am speaking here of what is called “through herds,” that is, herds on the way to market.

While provisions were scarce and difficult to obtain, it is a remarkable fact that the ranchers never tried to improve the situation in any appreciable degree. They never planted a garden. No vegetables ever appeared at mess excepting, once in a while, potatoes and onions. Nevertheless, all kinds of garden produce might have been had at a very small outlay, and with very little labor, but the average, and you might say, all the cowboys had an aversion for anything that had the appearance of farming, which they considered degrading. I have been at a number of ranches that maintained from twenty-five to thirty thousand head of cattle and did not see a pound of butter or a drop of milk on the table. Eggs, chickens and fresh pork were unknown to them. In fact, they produced nothing but cattle and considered everything else unimportant.

When the railroad was extended to Dodge City, that place became the shipping point for the beef-cattle of the whole Southwest. When that assembling point was established to supply the Eastern market, it relieved the tedium and difficulties of an overland journey to Kansas City. As a consequence of this, the cattle industry in Indian Territory received an impetus, and many cattlemen moved into that district from Colorado and Texas, and established themselves along the North and South Canadian rivers and their tributaries. Quite a number of them became very wealthy in a few years owing to the rise in the price of beef and the low cost of production. While some of them grew wealthy through taking advantage of the natural resources, others lost all they possessed owing to the severe winters, lack of protection for their stock and an insufficient supply of food for their herds. The result of their misfortune was that they slipped back among the vast army of the luckless ones and were seldom heard of, while those who had the foresight to provide against all the contingencies of the uncertain climate by putting up hay in the summer time and protecting their ranches from the destructive prairie fires, prospered handsomely.

CHAPTER IV.

No Man’s Land.—First Settlers.—Branding Mavericks, Etc.

About the year 1878, as the last buffalo was about to disappear, the hunters were compelled to seek some new field of labor, or devote their attention to some other occupation. It was about this time that the first house was erected in what is now called Beaver City, the county seat of Beaver county, Oklahoma. At that time the county was unsurveyed, and a man’s possessions were limited to what land he could use, or furnish cattle to graze upon, as there was plenty for everybody, and no need of disputing ownership.

I shall briefly mention a few of the earliest settlers.

Two ex-hunters, Jim Lane and Nels Cary, brought their families and built a sod house. With an eye to business, they put up hay and built corrals for the accommodation of freighters and cattlemen. Seeing their way open to further development, they put in a stock of groceries and provisions of all kinds, and were soon doing a flourishing business by providing for the wants of man and beast.

The Healy Brothers came from Galveston with their herds of cattle, and located their ranch on the North bank of Beaver Creek, where their efforts were crowned with success.

The Kramer Brothers, Lou and Frank, with a brother-in-law, Mr. Hooker, established a ranch west of Beaver City and also another one on Clear Creek, where they devoted their time and attention to the improvement of their stock by raising thoroughbred cattle.

The Cader Brothers, formerly engaged in the hunting business, chose for themselves a ranch on Paladuro Creek and met with great success, if rumor is to be believed.

Colonel Hardesty, more familiarly known as Old Jack, established two ranches, one in Beaver county and another on the Cimmaron river, which were known as the “Hardesty” and “Smith” ranches, and at one time claimed to have forty thousand head of cattle.

Another successful ranchman of those early days was John George, who is still residing in the district where he met with such success. After the opening of Oklahoma Territory for settlement, he was chosen to represent his district in the Oklahoma legislature, and was one of the very few members thereof who gave complete satisfaction to his constituents. He was a staunch Democrat, an honest and upright man, just the kind that was sorely needed in the Territorial Legislature at that time, and of which there was a lamentable scarcity.

Fred Tainter, of Boston, Massachusetts, established a ranch on Cottonwood Creek, and bred a fine grade of stock. He remained in those parts for years.

There were many others who succeeded in attaining success in the business of raising cattle, but I mention only a few of the most successful ones.

I here mention another branch of the ranching business that met with great difficulties in its day and which, to the cowman, was most unwelcome. The Tarbox Brothers, Rufe and Wall, moved in with a drove of sheep from Colorado and settled on the Cimmaron river. A sheepman is always received with scant courtesy in a cattle country. There has always been ill feeling between the sheepman and the cattleman, and in the trouble that generally ensued on their meeting, the sheepman was the one to move to other quarters. In fact, even if the cattlemen were left out of consideration, the sheepmen would be compelled to move by force of circumstances, as sheep are very destructive feeders, and soon ruin the range for themselves as well as for the cattle. In a very short time after their arrival, every vestige of grass will disappear from the range, and the prairie will be converted into a desert. The reason lies in the fact that the sheep crop the grass into the ground and cut up the soil with their hoofs so that the high wind which invariably blows drives the sand before it, cutting off the new grass that may spring up. This, together with the long dry periods, soon kills out the roots, and the prairie is left a waste. Moreover, cattle will not eat off the range that has been grazed over by sheep, so of the two industries it was a case of the survival of the fittest.

The struggle between the cattlemen and the sheepmen was little, if any, short of war. This condition existed for many years in Texas, Indian Territory, Western Kansas, Wyoming, Montana, the Dakotas, and in all of the states adapted to the raising of stock. The usual arguments advanced by both sides of the question, in order to determine who was to hold any particular section, generally sounded like the exhausts of a few racing automobiles. One of the sufferers of misfortune due to the habitual state of hostility between the two industries was the firm of Tarbox brothers, who gave up the business of raising sheep, moved to Dodge City, Kansas, where Rufe was afterwards elected Mayor.

As the most desirable location for the establishment of a ranch was along the creeks and rivers, through the necessity of having plenty of water for the stock, and as the rivers and creeks were few and far between, all the choice sections were soon taken up.

As none of the ranchers cared to venture into the semi-arid plains that lay between the far distant sources of their water supply, and being equally unwilling to depend upon the deep wells that would be required if they would branch out into the open flat lands around them, they left that part of the prairie for the small farmer, or the “nester,” as they called them.

Each cattleman had his own private brand which was duly registered and was known to every other cattleman in the entire West. They were, also, very careful to employ the said brand on all cattle, mules and horses, and any young stock that had been weaned and was not running with the mother was classified as a maverick and belonged to the first man who put his brand upon them.

There were many men who became very wealthy in the cattle country, whose sole assets in the beginning were, a branding iron, a rope, a pony and a saddle. They branded mavericks, and the natural increase of their original find belonged to them also. In this way, in a very short time, they accumulated quite a herd. Then, by establishing their headquarters somewhere, they became full-fledged ranchers without the outlay of any capital whatever. This was successful as long as they were not caught, but woe to the man whose brand was upon a calf that was running with a cow that carried another brand. The meanest way such men had of carrying on their nefarious trade was to kill the mother cow after the calf was old enough to live on grass, brand the calf and run it off to another part of the range.

CHAPTER V.

The Round-Up.—Difficulties.—Some Incidents, Etc.

Every Spring and Fall occurred the general round-up, which consisted of all the cattlemen in the country, who assembled all the cattle found on the ranges in which they were interested. They rounded them up, or bunched them at a common center in different districts, each ranch being represented at each place. All the increase was branded and marked by the owner, the ownership being decided by the brand borne by the mother cow. The beef-cattle were cut out and shipped. Here occurred at times a combination of forces. Ranchers two or more in number lumped their herds together, and drove them to market, each one bearing his proportion of the expense, and receiving his proceeds in accordance with the number of cattle in his part of the drove.

Between round-ups it was surprising how the cattle would drift. Even though the cowboys took all precautions, when the round-up came there was always a great mix-up in the brands, some of the stock having wandered as far as two hundred miles from its own ranch. These, when found, were separated and thrown back on their own range. During the summer while the cattle were grazing, the rancher usually put up hay for the season when the grass would be covered with snow. As soon as the Fall round-up was completed, sheds were erected and windbreaks made to protect the stock from the inclemency of the “Northers” as the storms were at that time called.

A few buffalo that had escaped the hunters still remained on the range, and frequently furnished diversion for the cowboy during the dull season. It was his sport and, at the same time, a test of his skill, to rope a buffalo calf and bring it to the ranch to be mothered by an old cow that already was devoting her time and energy to raising a young one of her own. Then was displayed the motherly instinct for the protection of one’s own. As soon as the young buffalo was introduced to his foster-mother there ensued a vigorous protest against the additional burden imposed upon her by the scheming of others. Strenuosity was displayed at all angles, particularly fore and aft, in her efforts to rid herself of the new-found charge. She kicked and hooked and kicked again till kicking was a failure. The more she objected, the more the self-adopted buffalo persisted in devoting his time and attention to her. Once he had a taste of that cow’s milk he hung to her with all the persistency and tenacity of an Oklahoma office-seeker, and she finally submitted with more or less bad grace to the inevitable, and consented to act as mother to the mascot of the ranch.

CHAPTER VI.

Beaver County.—Peculiar Conditions in Vogue.—Good Men and Bad.—The Vigilantes.—Personal Experiences.

About the year 1876, if I remember rightly, the U. S. Government made an appropriation to have Beaver county surveyed. The contract was let and the county divided up into sections or townships, each six miles square, and zinc monuments were erected at the corners of each, but as the appropriation was insufficient to meet the costs of the survey, the work was abandoned for a considerable time, and it was not till some years later that the completion of the undertaking took place.

It soon became known that there was no law in that section of the country; nor had the U. S. Government any control over, nor authority to arrest criminals, nor even to prosecute them there. Consequently it soon became the dumping grounds for fugitives from justice and criminals of all kinds. Saloon men who had been paying license for the sale of intoxicating liquors, ceased contributing to the general fund, but continued to deal out their wares with impunity. One man built a still and manufactured his own whiskey and did a flourishing business, although he had to freight his corn from Kansas to produce his wares. To give honor where honor is due, I must confess that he produced a very good quality.

There was considerable immigration into this county in ’79 and ’80, as most of the desirable land in Kansas had been pre-empted. Hundreds of good men and women came in and selected homes, and those who could not find locations along the water courses went out into the flat prairie lands, erected houses, fenced their fields to protect them against the range cattle, broke up as much land as they could conveniently handle, and made what improvements their means would permit. As soon as the neighbors became acquainted with one another, they organized Sunday Schools, held meetings at some convenient place weekly, divided the districts into school sections and built schools. Each school house served the purpose of a meeting house for Sunday services as well as for any other business that required a meeting of the people. In a short time the county began to develop the earmarks of civilization.

Following in the footsteps of those law-abiding citizens came a class of criminals who migrated from their native heaths expecting immunity from the punishment due to the crimes they had committed, and which caused their departure to this haven of refuge. Nor did they abstain from their criminal pursuits while in this “refugium peccatorum,” or asylum of the wicked. As soon as they had become familiar with the topography of the county, and, as they were too lazy to work, they soon took up their old practice of lying in wait for the unsuspecting and carrying off his goods when possible. They usually drifted from one ranch to another pretending to look for work, and imposed upon the hospitality of the rancher, who provided for their wants free of charge as long as they cared to remain. I may here remark that the hospitality of the Western people has never been surpassed, and I may say, never equalled. A cowman considered himself insulted if one should leave or pass his ranch at meal time without partaking of his hospitality. Not only this, but as nothing was ever locked up, it was considered the proper etiquette if no one were at home, to enter and help oneself to his supplies and to make oneself perfectly at home. No one was ever asked whence he came or whither he was going. If he volunteered the information without being asked, it was received, and if not given the result was the same, namely, no questions asked. In this way it was a very easy matter for the criminal to gain an intimate knowledge of conditions, which they used to their own advantage later on to the detriment of people generally. They did not confine their depredations to Beaver county only, nor to No-Man’s Land, but thoroughly organized themselves into bands and extended their nefarious business to Western Kansas, Indian Territory, and West Texas. Those who actually stole stock from the farms and ranches, usually took them a few miles and passed them on to their companions in crime, so that no familiar face was absent from the scene of the theft, and thus they avoided suspicion. When a settler’s stock was stolen, he very seldom had the slightest idea of the direction to be taken to recover them, and in most cases was financially unable to make an extended search in any direction. Many a time the loss of a few head of cattle meant all that he had, wiping out his whole accumulation of years of hard work and privation and just at a time when he began to see better times ahead as he was getting something to work with. This condition of affairs could not be permitted to continue, and while the means employed by the settlers to terminate this organized pilfering, and at the same time make some return to the culprit for the wrongs suffered at his hands, may seem hard to the people who were never subjected to conditions such as prevailed in that country, they were as a matter of fact nothing more nor less than cold-blooded Justice. Those who are ignorant of the conditions must remember that the loss of a milch cow meant the principal part of his family’s support, and his wife and children were thus put in a state of actual want thereby, and as there were no means of obtaining legal redress for such losses, they had the law of self-preservation to guide them and from it there was no appeal.

At this point the idea forced itself upon the settlers that they must organize, as it was a physical impossibility to combat a well-regulated band of outlaws single-handed; so, after calling a meeting of the best citizens and discussing the matter carefully, it was decided to organize a Vigilance Committee and see what effect the hanging of a few of the “rustlers” would have upon the remainder of them, and at the same time how it would affect the welfare of the settlers. The moral effect of the organization of the Committee resulted in checking to a certain degree the depredations of the criminals, but it did not wipe it out entirely. A great many of the more timid ones abandoned their evil ways, but the more daring were willing to take a chance and abide by the consequences, which several of them experienced. The Vigilantes occupied the positions of Sheriff, Judge, Jury and Executioner, and when a culprit was caught red-handed his case was summarily disposed of in about thirty minutes, except for the funeral and burial services, which were left usually for anybody that cared to participate in them.

I had a ranch in Texas during those troublous times, and was one time wintering a herd of cattle near Fowler City, Kansas. Consequently I had to make a number of trips through that unsettled district, sometimes on horseback and at others in a buckboard, and it seemed almost invariably my good or bad fortune, as you wish to call it, to enter some place or other at a time when a tragedy was being enacted.

I was once crossing in a buckboard in the direction of Englewood, Kansas, with a consignment of eggs that were beginning to suffer breakage owing to the roughness of the journey, and I began to look for a place to dispose of them to some settler. I soon reached a place that bore the sign, “Groceries,” and there sold my eggs, bought some tobacco and a few other necessaries. While talking to the store-keeper, I noticed a group of men at another sod building, and I inquired of him what they were doing. “Oh, nothing much. They have just been hanging a man over there.” I asked him what the unfortunate had done. “Well,” said he, “he has been stealing horses.” I went out to water my horses just as a part of the group were passing. Recognizing two of them I inquired of them what the fellow had done and where they had arrested him. They replied he had been stealing horses both in the neighborhood and in Clark county, Kansas. The sheriff had followed his trail and caught him South of where we were then, and was taking him back to Kansas. He was bringing him through that section and they took him away from the sheriff and hanged him. I asked him if he did not think the punishment rather severe. He replied that he did not think so, and besides there was no use of letting the sheriff take all the trouble of bringing him back to Kansas where the judges would turn him loose in ninety days and then he would be back at his criminality again. Mike Shrugrue was the name of the sheriff who had the prisoner in charge, and a braver man was not to be found in the State of Kansas, but he could not stand off the Vigilantes. To attempt anything of the kind was to invite disaster. It would be only throwing away another life needlessly, as the one was doomed under any circumstances.

The difference between the Vigilantes and a mob must be thoroughly understood to be appreciated. The one stood for law and order, was organized from necessity, as there was not any law than theirs, and was approved of by the residents of the country in which they operated in the interests of justice; the other, the mob, is a hot-headed, angry, or rather frenzied crowd that usually defeats the claims of justice by taking the law into its own hands in most cases where the law would handle the case in a more satisfactory manner, if allowed to take its course. This mode of procedure is always condemned by the better class of citizens, while the actions of the Vigilantes, who were, with few exceptions, of the better class, were performed usually through stern necessity, rather than from anger. The trial given was usually very short. In most cases the guilt was very clear, as the criminal was nearly always taken manifest, as he was usually taken in the act of committing a crime. If the prisoner had a plausible story to tell, it was investigated before any further proceedings took place. If he happened to be one of the notorious class of criminals, which was commonly the case, the culprit was given short shrift. Neither mode of procedure is to be recommended as the safest course to attain the ends of justice.

The greatest difficulty to be met with in the interest of justice, was in handling the cases of “rustlers,” as there were always some of the same ilk on hand to prove a complete alibi. Fifty men could be assembled on a day’s notice to prove that the accused was a hundred miles away from the scene of the crime when it was committed. As a consequence of this, most of the accused were released, or, if caught red-handed in their rascality, were admitted to bail, which was furnished by their companions in crime, and then they forfeited the bail and took leave to parts unknown.

My next experience occurred not long afterwards while making a trip from Timms City, Texas, across the country to the Fred Taintor ranch. On this occasion my family accompanied me in the then up-to-date means of travel, namely, a lumber wagon. The trail was in good condition and we were making good time. One day, about dinner time, I was keeping a lookout for a good camping place for the purpose of supplying the needs of both the family and the cattle. It was impossible to build a fire, as the wind was blowing a gale, and the prairie was very dry and a fire would likely spread and lay waste the whole county. Seeing the impossibility of camping, though I had found a suitable place, I determined to push on to some ranch where our wants would be supplied. I knew where a man by the name of Kingston, from Illinois, had put up a small frame building and had laid in a stock of groceries. I finally reached the object of my search and when approaching the store I had to pass another building occupied by a family. As I was passing a woman stepped out and asked me if I was going to the store. I replied that I was, and told her what my business was there. She informed me that it was of no use as Mr. Kingston had been murdered the evening before. She showed me where they were burying him at that moment. She also informed me that one of the bullets fired at Mr. Kingston had passed under the cow she happened to be milking at the time. It is needless to say that I did not tarry long in that neighborhood, but went on until I finally reached the Taintor ranch, where the latch string always hung on the outside of the door. The reception we had and the supper provided soon made us forget that we had had no dinner. After a good night’s rest we proceeded on our way to sunny Kansas.

In the meantime I had learned the circumstances leading up to the Kingston tragedy. It appeared that Mr. K—had received through the mail a draft for several hundred dollars and the Postmaster had mentioned the fact to a neighbor. The conversation had been overheard by two cut-throats who waited until they thought it had been cashed and then hatched up a plan to murder him for his money. It seemed from the appearance of things inside the house that they had intended to hang him so as to give it the appearance of suicide and then get away with the cash. The room was not ceiled and a rope was found hanging over a joist with a noose in one end. While making their preparations it seemed that he had broken away from them and had reached the prairie in front of the store, where they shot him.

Someone has said that the way of the transgressor is hard, and in this instance it proved undoubtedly correct, for the Vigilants set out after those men, ran them down in the brakes of a creek and sent sixteen bullets through one of them; the other escaped and made his way to Dodge City, Kan., where he proceeded to fill up on whiskey and made other arrangements to take in the town. The City Marshall’s opinion was that the town was too small for two men to run at the same time, especially as one was a stranger who had not been duly elected for the position. As a result, a gun argument was introduced to settle the question and the bad man was killed in the first round. His funeral occurred next day with all the ceremonies befitting a man of his calling and he was interred on “Boot-hill” without flowers on his casket, or tears shed over his demise. It turned out afterwards that Mr. Kingston had not cashed the draft, so all the money that the rogues obtained by murder and robbery was what was in the cash drawer at the time.

The Vigilants, for the time being, performed valuable services for the settlers and were largely instrumental in driving out of that country a lot of thugs, thieves, and cut-throats, who were preying upon the people. But, strange to say, time proved that some of themselves were not entirely above suspicion, as the following incident will show. One day as I was riding along the divide between Kiowa Creek and the Beaver, I met a man whom I recognized to be Jake Smith. I use the name Smith for convenience, as that was not his name, and I do not care to use his rightful cognomen as he left that country shortly afterwards, went over to Kansas, married a nice girl, went into business and became a leader socially and a pillar in the Church, is generally respected and is living an upright life. Knowing him well, I hailed him.

“Well, Jake,” I said, “your horse looks pretty well jaded, you must have had a long ride.”

Said he, “Oh, that’s nothing. I must ride to Alpine tonight as there is to be a meeting of the Vigilants at eight o’clock and I want to be there.”

“Do you belong to the Vigilants?” I asked.

“Why, yes,” he replied. “I was one of the first to join them and have been working with them ever since.”

“Well, Jake,” said I, “you’re a jewel, a regular diamond. You know that you have been stealing cattle and branding ‘mavericks’ ever since you landed in this country, and all the old-timers know it, and now you are running your horse to death to catch a rustler. That is a great joke!”

“I see plainly that you do not understand,” said he. “The situation is this: I had to join them for self-protection and also to look after the interests of my friends. Talk of running my horse to death! I have just been returning a favor. I have just been up to the head of Clear Creek to tell Slim Jim to skip, because if they catch him he will stretch hemp for stealing Old Dusenberry’s mules, and besides, Slim ain’t no bad fellow when he has a good paying job.”

I have never had the pleasure of meeting Jake since, but if I ever visit Kansas I shall be certain to call and see him to find out how he managed to keep from stealing his own goods and hiding them out in the canyons, through force of habit after having resolved to leave other men’s chattels alone.

It seemed to be the custom whenever a small settlement was formed, for some one to put up a grocery store, locate a postoffice and call it by some high-sounding title and establish the nucleus of a city. For instance, there was Boyd City, Beaver City, Benton City, Alpine City, Neutral City, and Gate City, mostly located on the divides, or flat prairie lands on the established trails. “Sod Town,” whose name was not so high-sounding as descriptive, soon sprang into existence as the Monte Carlo, or sporting center of the whole country. It was there at round-up time, each spring and fall, that the boys were accustomed to meet and run their horses, discuss matters of common interest, and, in general, to have a good time. As nearly every ranch had a fast horse or two, also a prize roper, whenever the convention took place, things were bound to be lively and at times quite a little money changed hands on the result of a horse race, or other contest of skill.

Among the famous horses of that day that I recall, were “Old Pumpkin,” a general favorite, “Stick-in-the-Mud,” “Greasy Heels,” “Wobble Shanks,” and “Sore Toes” with a dozen or so of others to select from, and each and every one had its backers and admirers.

Frank Biggers, Jim Mahoney, Sour-dough-Charlie, Heel-Fly Bill, Snake Eater, and Bull Joe were generally the leading spirits at the race course, and as Frank Biggers was a lover of fair play, he was usually chosen to act as judge; besides, he had a manner of enforcing his decisions which commanded respect and the compliance of the wildest and wooliest of the assembly.

For the benefit of the readers who are unaccustomed to the ways and phrases of the Western people, I shall here state that the nicknames of a great many of them were acquired from their calling, or from some incident or occurence on the range. If one were to drop into the Panhandle country and inquire for Mr. Chas. Deitrich, Mr. Joseph Parish, or some others who were mostly known by nickname, I doubt very much if the inquirer would find his man, but if he were to ask for Sour-dough Charlie, or Bull Joe, any one could tell them at once where to find them or what their business was. Some of the names allotted to individuals may seem rude to the elite of the East and give the impression of vulgarity and rudeness, but on acquaintance one would find them good, kind, and obliging men as ever saddled a broncho or branded a maverick. The congregation at Sod Town was composed of men who knew one another and any money won or lost was taken as a matter of course, and there was no grief over spilt milk. Theirs was a vigorous life and healthy outdoor sport appealed to them. When their sport was over, they were off to the ranch again in good spirits.

Among the early settlers of Sod Town were two young men, named Ellis and Fiske, who opened a Grocery and Supply store. They kept a large stock of provisions, as well as, boots, shoes, slickers, and other articles adapted to the trade of the cattlemen. In a short time they built up a good trade and were liked by all. One night, two bad men, or would-be road agents, called at the store and rapped for admission. This was not at all out of the ordinary as the cattleman’s business kept him at all hours. It was nothing unusual for him to rout out the store-keeper at any hour of the night and have his wants supplied. On the night in question, when Ellis heard the rapping, he donned his trousers and fortunately had his six-shooters in his waistband. As soon as he opened the door of his store he was commanded to put up his hands. He proceeded to do so, but in the act of raising his hand he drew his gun and shot one of the bad men, wounding him badly. Both turned to flee. Ellis pulled down on them in their flight, and by the aid of light from a prairie fire that was burning at the time, fired at the fleeing bad men and killed outright the man he had wounded at the door. The other villian made his escape into the darkness. Of course, Ellis was arrested and taken before the U. S. Court for that district and was honorably discharged. He should not have been arrested for a case of that kind, but there were milage fees to be considered, and the marshall seldom if ever overlooked an opportunity of the kind for increasing his wealth. I have never heard of any other bad men calling on Ellis and Fiske in search of assistance in a financial way, especially in the manner mentioned above.

Sour-dough Charlie had a little ranch of his own on Wolf Creek where he kept a few horses. He raised a few colts each year, and to fill in his odd time he tanned deer skin, made gloves for the cow punchers, and at times used to cook for a round-up as he was an artist in that line of work as well as being a very entertaining fellow. His chief work of art was the construction of sour dough bread and he had the reputation of being a master in the work. One afternoon a cow-puncher pulled up to the wagon and called for his chuck-a-way, and said he wanted it at once as he had to return to the herd and stand guard while his partner came for his supply. The cook told him he would have to wait for awhile as he did not have things in shape to get an extra meal. Without further parley and without any warning the puncher picked up a crock full of sour dough and struck the cook over the head with it. The contents spilled over his head and ran down into his eyes and mingled with his whiskers. Right then and there was originated and conferred upon him the title of “Old Sour-dough Charlie,” a name that will remain with him as long as he lives.

Nicknames and titles, in this county, amount to about the same thing although conferred in different ways according to conditions. The man who succeeded in accumulating a herd of cattle amounting to one or two hundred was given the name of Captain. If he acquired five or six hundred, he was addressed as Major, and a man who through good management and perseverance numbered his stock by thousands became the “Old Colonel.” There was one very noticeable change in the habits, manners, customs and character of the men who had acquired the title of Captain, Major, or Colonel, and that was shown in their dress. The styles of their garments differed, they dispensed with the snake-skin band, they changed their underwear, frequently had their whiskers trimmed and hair cut, and occasionally became a power in local politics. The question was never asked when and how these men became possessed of such large herds in such short time, but to the old-timer it was plain that the Old Colonel was a great business man, or was an expert with the lariat and an artist with the branding iron.

How different is the conferring of titles in foreign lands, especially in Great Britain, where titles have to be ratified by supreme authority and approved of by local potentates, and even there we find some titles resting on tottering foundations and others hang by a very slender thread which is liable to part at any time and leave the possessor in a pitiable mass of social wreckage. The ceremonies on such occasions are calculated to dazzle the eye and deceive the judgement of the spectator. The sleight-of-hand performer and the street fakir practice the same system and the man with the three-shell game and the three card monte man are all on the same level, but Royalty claims age and dignity wherever you find it. When Capt. Drake returned to England after his expedition of murder, plunder, and piracy, and his arrival was announced to the Good Queen Bess who was on the throne at the time, she at once called for a royal banquet to be held on board his vessel. After rounding up all her Royal roustabouts, flunkeys, and followers, she proceeded direct to the ship where she was going to preside in state until she had knighted the Capt., whose hands were still red with the blood of his murdered victims. When the time for the ceremony was at hand, at a motion of her magic wand the Captain dropped to his knees at her feet to receive the power and authority to take and keep any property on the seas that he felt like confiscating; which meant any that he might be able to lay his hands on. The ceremony consisted of laying the sword of authority across his bald pate and telling him that henceforth he was at liberty to do as he pleased and that he should remain her loyal subject. She then commanded him to arise and he did so, but was so dazzled with the great honor conferred upon him that I do not suppose he could tell whether he was a duck or a drake.

A prince can make a belted Knight,
A Marquis, duke, and a’ that,
But an honest man’s aboon his might,
Good faith he muna fa’ that.

The price of titles, like other commodities, depends greatly upon the locality where they are granted. In England, the title cost Sir W. Raleigh his head; in Texas, a title cost Sour-dough Charley but a few loaves of bread. Imagine the difference.

CHAPTER VII.

Wild Horses; Traits; Difficulties of Catching Them; Preparations for the Same; Personal Experiences.

My experience has taught me that there has not been another animal on the plains as inquisitive and suspicious as the wild horse, or mustang, as it is called. The early horse hunter took advantage of this characteristic inquisitiveness to approach sufficiently close to effect his capture. This was done by placing a wagon sheet, or a bed quilt on a stake and then hiding in the bushes or grass in the vicinity. The hunter was compelled to remain perfectly quiet in his lair as the slightest sound at times would stampede the horses and render his quest futile. The mustangs, on discovering the strange object in their neighborhood would commence to run round and round in circles, reducing the radius of the circle each time until finally they were within a distance of about two hundred yards of the object of their curiosity. Then they would stand perfectly still and that was the time there was need of caution on the part of the hunter, as the breaking of a twig, the sound of a voice, or any slight noise that would be likely to reach their ears, would start them off in wild affright to return no more as long as there were any indications of disturbance in the neighborhood. If the hunter remained quietly in hiding and gave no sign of his presence in any manner, their curiosity would bring them back again to make a further exploration of the strange phenomenon. In this manner the old horse-hunter used to entice them close enough to “crease” one of them, as it was called. This “creasing” consisted in taking a very careful and deliberate aim with a rifle and shooting the horse in front of the withers, through the top of the neck close to the spinal cord. This stunned or shocked him so that he would fall in his tracks, paralyzed for the time being, giving the hunter time, if he moved swiftly, to run from his hiding place with his hobble-rope and hog-tie him before he recovered. It frequently happened that the hunter arrived there too late as the horse often recovered from his shock and was up and away before his arrival; or, the shot being badly aimed, reached a vital spot and the horse would be dead before he could get the hobbles on him. If everything worked out satisfactorily, and the mustang was secured, he would place a “Hackamaw” on his head in such a way that it could not be shaken loose in the struggle that was bound to follow. I shall here explain that a Hackamaw is a sort of halter, or headstall, made of the end of a lariat rope and put on in such a manner that it holds the head of the mustang firmly without the danger of choking the animal. When the animal was secured, the hunter gave his partner a signal to bring up the saddle horses that were held at a distance and out of sight so as not to scare the herd before capture. The fun commenced in earnest when the hobbles were removed and the captured mustang was permitted to rise. The first thing on the program was to try to escape back to the herd. That failing, he would go on the war-path and it took a skillful horseman and active ponies to bring him under subjection. It usually required, at least, two, each with his lariat attached so as to prevent the mustang’s reaching the other. Several hours of hard fighting then ensued, but in the end when the mustang was conquered he made the toughest and wiriest of cow-ponies.

It very frequently happened that two of these bands of wild horses met and then trouble began. Every herd was headed by a stallion that exercised supreme authority over the whole band at all times, and never allowed any intruder to trespass on his rights and privileges. As a result, when two herds encountered each other, war was at once proclaimed by the two stallions for the complete control and management of both herds. Never did knights of old covered with armor, go forth to battle with more dignity and determination to protect their lady loves, or to maintain the honor of their own good names, than was displayed by those mustang stallions. With ears turned back and their noses to the ground, they dashed forth to the deadly conflict. The meeting of the two champions was of the fiercest nature. At times they fought standing on their hind feet with their teeth sunk in each others neck, and at others they waged their mortal combat standing on their fore feet using their hind feet as weapons of offence. Sometimes these battles terminated fatally to one or both of the contestants, but more frequently ended when one of the struggling brutes became so exhausted that he was unable to continue the fight, and acknowledged defeat by retreating to the protection of some canyon or sand hill with his little band of mares and colts, provided the other stallion did not have sufficient energy left to run them into his own harem leaving his defeated adversary to a lonesome existence on the bleak prairie.

I had an old friend at one time who followed up the pursuit of catching wild horses for a living, and for patience and perseverence he never had an equal among his contemporaries. He met disaster and disappointment with unflinching energy and returned to the conflict with unabated courage. Though the renumeration was small, there was a fascination about the work that he could not resist. Before entering upon an expedition of this kind, he fitted up a camping outfit consisting of a few blankets, a tarpaulin, slicker, coffee pot, skillet, knife, fork, hobble ropes, a supply of lariat ropes, a winchester, six-shooters, and some bacon, the latter being taken along for grease to be used in cooking, as fresh meat was to be had at all times. The prairies were alive with antelope, turkey, deer, and occasionally a stray buffalo was discovered. Such buffalo, deer, and wolves as were taken, were skinned and the hide salted for sale on the market. He used no wagons in his business, but took two mares with him, one to be used as a saddle pony and the other for the purpose of serving as a pack animal. His favorite pony was called Topsy, and was the mascot of the expedition. He had raised her and trained her from colthood and she was trained to such a degree of perfection that she would obey the sound of his voice, whistle, or signal given by the waving of his hat, and never did a railway engineer, or brakeman respond with greater promptness than did Old Topsy when she received the signal from her master. At the word of command she would lie down or rise, and owing to this peculiarity of her training she was frequently used as a wind shield during a cold storm from the north, her master making his bed beside her for protection.

Preparations for these trips were usually made in the early autumn, during the month of September, as the heat of the summer was somewhat lessened by that time, and he generally managed to set out when the moon was new so as to travel by night if necessary. He was so thoroughly acquainted with the country that he knew every creek, and canyon, every spring and waterhole where the mustangs were accustomed to get water. He was not compelled to scour the country for his quarry as every wild horse within a range of five miles seemed to know by instinct the arrival of his pack animals and ponies. Such uncertainty of knowledge did not satisfy them, but to satisfy their curiosity they came along on the run to make an investigation into the character of the intruders who had so uncerimoniously intruded into their domain. By the time the huntsman had unpacked, had his camp-fire built, and was preparing his meal, they would be encircling his camp, running, romping, and playing. The stallion usually took the lead in these diversions with the mares and young colts by their side trying to keep up to his advance. Finally they would come to a standstill and remain perfectly quiet until some noise would startle them and off they would go pell-mell only to return and repeat their investigation into what was the new element that was disturbing the peaceful possession of their range. This hunter’s method was different from what was usually followed by others. It was not his intention to excite or disturb the wild horses in any way; on the contrary his object was to get them accustomed to his presence, get them acquainted with the domestic mares, and render them peaceful and quiet. In a few days his object would be accomplished, and then he proceeded to set the herd in motion to drive them back to the settlements where they could be corraled and handled. He never permitted them to get a moment’s rest, day or night, once he had them in motion, and as little chance to graze as possible. In the mean time he saw to it that his own mares had every advantage possible. In a few days, such a system could not but have its effect on the mustangs and they would as a consequence become more docile. Gradually he got closer to them without the danger of stampeding them, until within the course of ten days or two weeks they showed unmistakable signs of weariness and weakness which allowed him to get in closer touch with them. In fact, so much was he in their presence that they came to look upon him as one of the herd. Then took place the working out of his design. He headed Old Topsy for home over the hills, through the canyons and creeks, never stopping for anything, gradually moving along, slowly and quietly nursing them into captivity. Such was the care that he exercised that he made no more than five or ten miles a day on his straight course. At times, before the herd became too wearied, the flight of a bird or the barking of a coyote would stampede them and thus he would lose five or ten miles that he had gained with so much difficulty. On he went after them, doing over again all that had been done before. In case there were no unforeseen difficulties, or accidents, he would finally drive them into the neighborhood of some good strong corral where, with the permission of the proprietor, he would run them in until such time as he would be able to hobble the leaders, which usually required a week or more.

A mustang is so sensitive and observing that I sometimes thought he could count the buttons on one’s clothes. In fact, I know, that should one change his clothing while breaking one of them, he would have all the work to do over again until the mustang became accustomed to the change. He received everything with suspicion and even a fence-post would call for an investigation. The corral was a new world entirely for him and it took days of patience and perseverence to induce him to enter it. Old Topsy would go in and out and make herself at home, but not so with her associates, at least for quite a long time. Finally they would venture in little by little, the hunter permitting them to pass in and out several times before putting up the bars on them. As soon as the mustangs found themselves unable to get out they became badly frightened and excited, especially during the absence of the hunter. His return seemed to pacify them very much. He had to manage them with great judgement until he managed to hobble the leaders, which, as I said before, took days to accomplish.

It is true that he could have roped and hobbled them in a short time once he had them in the corral, but this was not the way with my friend. He said often times that once he had gained their confidence, he could not betray it. After the mustangs had been corraled for some time and had grown accustomed to the presence of men, then the interesting work took place. They had to be broken to the saddle and bridle and ridden by somebody, and I wish to state that it was a work that required an expert, all green-horns and tenderfeet barred. Around all ranches was to be found a man whose sole occupation was to do this work. He offered to accomplish the task of reforming the wild mustang at from two to five dollars a head, and he usually had the work assigned him. By the time they were broken they were usually sold at a fair price for that class of stock while the hunter made preparations for returning to the plains for another lot of mustangs, a work which he seemed to enjoy.

These mustangs did not command a very high price as most of them were too small for cow-work, and too light for single drivers. Sometimes one could pick up a team of these ponies and find them the toughest and wiriest animals that were ever hitched to a buckboard. They could travel from sunrise to sunset at ten miles an hour and never turn a hair. But viewed from all angles the business was not a financial success and the men engaged in it never cleared up any great amount of money, as I proved to my own satisfaction later on.

Before what is now called Meade County was established, there was nothing there but the open prairie. A fence was an unknown thing except where some settler had built one around a stack of hay to protect it from the range cattle that were roaming the plains in great numbers in those days. It was necessary for him to do this as a small stack of feed would be a tempting morsel, in cold weather, to the thousands of cattle wandering loose and in search of fodder. In case they did succeed in reaching the tempting supply, it lasted about as long as a water melon at a negro picnic. It had been reported on what I considered reliable authority that there was a black stallion running on the flat between Crooked and Sandy Creeks, about nine miles southeast of the present county seat of Meade county, Kansas. The cowboys had often tried to capture him, but in every instance failed. He was described to me as standing about fifteen hands high, which was exceptionally large for a mustang, with long flowing mane and tail, and he could trot faster than any cow-pony could run. After weighing the matter carefully for some time I decided to go out and capture him. From the description given, he was just what I wanted for a saddle horse. I determined to have him provided I could enlist the services of G. W. Brown, an old Indian scout, and former companion of the buffalo range. He was, moreover, an expert with the lariat rope and was considered one of the best trailers in the country. The other man I wanted, and whom I finally succeeded in getting, was C. M. Rice, formerly of Jasper, Ind., a veteran of the Civil war, an old and experienced plainsman who knew every creek and trail in the country. After discussing the matter carefully in all its different aspects, we decided to capture him regardless of trouble and expense attached to the undertaking, even though it took all summer. We had to take a camp wagon, grain and provisions enough to last several weeks, as we would not be able to return for more if we happened to run short. We took our favorite saddle ponies and started early so as to get in operation as soon as possible. It was our intention to locate him early in the morning and have the whole day for the first run. We were fortunate in finding him shortly after daybreak, but his looks were rather disappointing as he did not seem as large as he had been pictured to me by the cowboys. However, we were there to capture him and determined to do so. One thing favored us and that is one of the peculiarities of the mustang, he will not leave his range unless driven from it. He will take his departure very reluctantly and will return at the earliest opportunity.

Our first night was one of rest, with nothing to disturb us but the howling of the coyotes and the bawling of the cattle. Morning found us up early and ready for the chase. We knew it would be useless to try to catch him on a straight run as he would have, at least, half a mile start on us. We decided to run him in a circle, keep inside of his course, and keep him on the run until he became jaded and exhausted and then let him get a chance to drink his fill of water as he would surely be very thirsty after a long gallop. The consequence of this strategy would be that the mustang would become stiffened and it would be easy to run him down and rope him. After making the first large circle, C. M. Rice, seeing his horse lathered with perspiration that trickled down from the flanks of his horse, his favorite Old Tom, decided to return to camp and prepare something to eat for himself and us on our return. If we did not return by night-fall he was to keep the camp-fire burning to act as a beacon for our guidance. In order to save our horses, Brown and I decided that one of us should keep on the chase whilst the other rested his horse. This gave each of us chance to refresh our mount with water and grass until it came his turn to take up the pursuit. In the meantime the mustang was not allowed to have a respite from his exertions, but was kept on the move until about three or four o’clock in the afternoon. Nature asserted herself in his case and frequently, after that time, he would stop to look around and see if his pursuers were likely to give him a chance to rest and refresh himself. It was plainly evident that the pace was telling on him, but he found that his pursuers gave him no opportunity to rest his weary legs. Closely and more closely they came in spite of all he could do to ward off their unremitting pursuit. The moments he took to stop and look around offered us an opportunity to draw closer. Then we both took up the chase at the same time. We divided our forces, one going on one side of him and the other on the opposite. By this time we were within twenty rods of him. By this strategy we headed him for Gypsom Creek in the hope that when he reached it he would stop and drink his fill. That would give us an opportunity of roping him. Everything worked out as we had planned. When the thirsty brute reached the water he drank abundantly of the refreshing fluid. It seemed as though he would never stop. When finally he had his fill we ran him off to the mouth of a canyon where, if once we could get him to enter, there would be no opportunity of his escape as there was no outlet at the other end. I say none, or rather should have said there was one but it was practically out of the question for him to make it. It was about a mile away and the road was filled with boulders and sand heaps and was up hill all the way, and we knew that in his present condition his wind would be gone before he could again reach the open prairie. Now came the opportunity to rope him if he was to be captured at all, as there was nothing left for him to do but choose between the rough boulders and ledges of the other end of the canyon, or strive to evade us by seeking safety in the way he entered. Brown went around and awaited his arrival, while I followed as best I could until I saw him disappear at the head of the canyon. Then I retraced my way and rode around on the divide so as to be in on the final chase. When I came in sight of Brown, I saw that he had him roped securely, but on reaching him I discovered that he had captured him in a prairie-dog town and in the struggle that followed the roping he had jumped into one of the holes and broke his leg between the knee and the fetlock, and the bones were protruding through the flesh. Under those conditions, as he would be of no value to me, and also, as it would be inhuman to turn him loose to suffer and starve, or become the food of mountain lions, or coyotes, I thought it best to end his misery without further delay. This being done, we tightened up our saddle cinches and returned to camp very weary and much wiser than when we set forth in the morning. Thus ended my first, last, and only chase after a wild mustang stallion on the plains of Kansas. As per agreement, Rice had kept the camp fire burning and had, moreover, prepared a supper of hot beans, biscuits, antelope steak, and coffee, which was a feast fit for a king and one which I think no guest of Delmonico ever appreciated more.

The next morning we arose and went to look after our ponies. What a pitiful sight we beheld when we came upon them in the secluded place where we had tethered them! They were gaunt, covered and caked with perspiration and dust of the preceding day’s chase.

We gave them a good rub-down and plenty of food and water, which refreshed them very much. After a good breakfast, we took a farewell look at the camp and returned to the ranch. The black stallion with his flowing mane and tail became a matter of past history of the plains. In conclusion I shall say that my two companions of the chase of thirty-two years ago are still both hale and hearty business men in the Queen City of the Canadian, El Reno, Okla.

CHAPTER VIII.

Further Reflections on Western Life; Also on the East; Why I Came West; Some Men I Have Met; Cowboy Acquaintances, etc.

When commencing to write this semi-historical work, it was my intention to confine myself to the early settlement of “No-Man’s-Land,” but find that I must include the Panhandle to Texas and the South-western part of Kansas, as the soil, climate, and social conditions were almost identical. The industries of all three localities were very much the same, excepting that the Panhandle was much better adapted to cattle raising than to agriculture. In fact, farming was looked upon by cattlemen as too menial an occupation for them to engage in, and, consequently, they knew little about it and cared less. Their indifference to agriculture was such that they would prefer literally to starve to death than endeavor to gain subsistence from the soil. The difference between the old-time cow-puncher and the Chyenne Indian as agriculturists was very little. The former might do a little at farming if he knew how, and the latter might know how if he would only do a little at it. It seemed to be the height of the average cow-puncher’s ambition to ride on a fifty-dollar saddle, wear a ten-dollar Stetson hat, a pair of silver mounted spurs, a pair of ten-dollar high-heeled boots, leather leggings, a slicker and a forty-five calibre white handled six-shooter. This made a complete outfit to suit his vanity. Riding broncos, roping wild cattle, running races, and branding mavericks were his principal business and amusement. Attending the spring and fall round-ups, and driving beef stock to market rounded out his season’s work.

It is true that there are some exceptions to the general rule. As an example, about twenty-eight years ago I became acquainted with a green cow-puncher, fresh from some Texas town, a tall, fair-haired lad, who was rather reticent, but very punctual in his work. He was the first out in the morning, last in at night and was ready for anything that was to be done in the meantime. His manner lacked the boisterousness of the swaggering swearing, blow-hard that was very frequently encountered in the days work. It was apparent to all that he was a man of reliability and integrity. He was employed by R. M. Wright and Martin Culver to superintend the “W-L” ranch. He was successful in his management and at the same time displayed an honesty that was something new to some of the settlers in his neighborhood. He never permitted a man to rope an animal until he was certain of the brand, and knew to whom the property belonged. Such a man was certain to rise in the world and today one would find it difficult to recognize in Mr. R. A. Harper, president of the First National Bank, Meade, Kansas, the stripling greenhorn of thirty years ago. Another of the old-time successful cow-punchers, who fought the battle of life alone and single-handed as cowmen, farmer, merchant, sometimes overtaken by adversity but never discouraged, who plodded on until he reached the top of the financial ladder beyond the reach of want, is Mr. C. M. Rice, of El Reno, Okla.

The majority of the early settlers who stayed throughout the first hard times, managed to do fairly well, accepting the changed conditions as law and order moved in, while a few developed foolish notions about the curtailment of their freedom, as they called it, and resented the encroachment and manifested their disposition by holding up trains, or other depredations. Such a course of conduct invariably proved a failure and brought disaster upon the defenders of such a cause. The state prisons are still harboring some of those misguided men, protecting them from themselves as well as defending society at large from their peculiar notions. It may seem strange to the reader, but the greater part of the so-called bad men of this country came from the East where they first conceived a false impression of the wildness of the West. The origin of their idea arose from the reading of a poor class of literature. Such reading created in their young minds the idea of being “bad men of the West” and they were not long in putting the idea into practice. Just to mention a few of the most notorious, I shall set down the names of Billy the Kid, from New York, Dutch Henry from Michigan, Sam Bass from Indiana. I might mention dozens of others whose careers of iniquity did not last as long as those mentioned above. As for the real Western-bred bad men, they were very few in number and were usually driven to it by being credited with the crimes of others.

One of the principal causes of the development of the outlaw was, as I said above, the publication of fiction and falsehood in such papers as the New York Weeklys and dime novels. These were scattered broadcast over the country in cheap editions and the result was the creation of false impressions of the West, and at the same time inflamed the imagination and corrupted the minds of many of the then rising generation.

Well do I remember my introduction to the name of Buffalo Bill. It was in the columns of the New York Weekly, in 1874, when in a lumber camp in Northern Michigan, that I read of his alleged engagement with the chief of the tribe of the Sioux Indians. It ran as follows, as near as I can remember it: “They met on the plains and each measured his chances to overcome his adversary, etc.” It would take no great philosopher to tell that the Indian with no weapon but the bow and a bunch of arrows, stood but a very meager chance with Bill armed with two six-shooters and a winchester. “At the first crack of Bill’s trusty rifle the wily savage toppled over and fell to the ground. Then, as if by magic, about fifty braves galloped out of a canyon and set out to capture the heap-big pale face who had slain their chief. That purpose was more easily planned than accomplished, for at the psychological moment Bill was re-inforced by his favorite scouts, Little Buckshot and Hotfoot John. After a brief engagement in which they killed about fifteen warriors, they retreated to headquarters for more re-inforcements.” This is but a sample of the lies that filtered through the columns of the Eastern papers regarding the Indian outbreaks of the West, and the worst part of it was that such trash was believed by thousands, myself among the number.

Whenever I read of the hair-breadth escapes of “Dare-devil Dick,” “Shuffle-foot Sam,” “Moccasin Mike,” and “Goodeye, the Scout,” I felt that I would like to take a hand in some of those adventures, having had a rather fair training in Canada by attending the county fairs, and having had the advantage of a course of training in collar-and-elbow wrestling under Prof. John Lennon. Besides these advantages I was rather proficient in the hop-sted-and-leap, high jumping, high kicking, foot racing, but not in shin kicking.

Shin kicking was introduced into Canada by Cornishmen. As I have never seen it practiced in this country I shall endeavor to describe it for the advantage of the reader. Like all games of competition it had its champions. On occasions of merriment it was customary to indulge in this sport, though I do not think that everyone will agree with me that it was a sport. When the crowd had assembled and some preliminary feats of skill were performed, then a man with a voice on him like the Bashan bull would announce in stentorian tones that the champion shin-kicker was requested to appear. A ring was immediately formed by the bystanders locking arms. Into this ring so formed the champion threw his hat as a challenge to all and each. After fifteen minutes delay if no one appeared to take up the challenge, the champion retained his title by default, and to add to the occasion a prize of some kind was added as a reward for his willingness to entertain them by his skill. If an opponent stepped into the enclosure, judges were chosen and preparations made for a battle royal. First, the shoes of the contestants were examined by the judges to see that there were no spikes, nor toe-plates, and to see that the shoes were the common clog type. Then their trousers and drawers were rolled back above the knees leaving the leg bare from the knee cap to the shoe top. Things were then ready for the performance. They caught each other by the shoulders and at the dropping of a hat, or other signal, the Battle was on. Kicking as high as the knee was called a foul and judgement rendered accordingly. It required great skill and agility to take part in a contest of the kind. From what I can hear, the game has fallen into oblivion as times have changed the notions of games of the kind. For myself I did not indulge in it very freely as I felt that my legs lacked sufficient side action to permit me to become sufficiently expert at it, to issue a challenge to the champion.

Returning to the thread of my story, I must say that after reading several numbers of the New York Weekly, I came to the conclusion that Buffalo Bill was getting short handed, and that unless he received some help rather soon the Indians would drive him out of the country and the advantages already gained by his prowess would be lost to succeeding generations. With such ideas running through my head, I bought a railway ticket and started West to look over the field and see for my own satisfaction how things were getting along. I stopped off at Leavenworth and made the acquaintance of several military men stationed at the fort. They seemed to know nothing of the Indian troubles as published in the Eastern papers. Thinking, perhaps, that they might not be well informed on the matter, I left that place and set out for Topeka. I was certain that the officers there would know something definite about affairs of the kind. I made inquiries and soon found that they, like all politicians, were too busy fixing political fences to pay any attention to such matters. The nearer I approached the seat of war, the less I heard about it. I continued my journey and finally reached Dodge City, Kansas, and secured lodging in the Western Hotel, managed by a genial host, Dr. Gallard.

As I arrived there after dark I did not venture out until I had a good night’s rest and a hearty breakfast. Next morning I took up my position on the porch to take in a view of the surroundings, and I confess they looked strange and weird to me. I had been told that Dodge City was the ante-chamber of the Infernal Regions; that the temperature began to rise at Great Bend and did not return to normal until one crossed the Colorado line; that the population was made up of cut-throats and thieves; that vice and crime walked brazenly in the streets, while virtue and innocence were unknown in that region of iniquity. Funerals were reported to me to be held every morning, to bury those killed during the preceding night. The cemetery where the unfortunates were to find their last resting place was called “Boot Hill,” because those who were buried there were laid to rest with their boots on. The above impression is only a sample of what I had gleaned from the Eastern journals. From where I took my stand I could see thirty or forty cow-ponies tied to the hitch racks. Each pony wore a good saddle with a Winchester in a scabbard hanging at the side. After viewing the situation for some time, and not hearing any shooting, nor seeing any funerals, as everything appeared peaceful and quiet, I decided to take in the sights, although I confess I had a rather creepy feeling when I ventured out. I felt somewhat encouraged, as I remembered I was wearing a Stetson hat, and a pair of high-heeled boots, which, from the reports I had received, were considered the passport to the best society in those days. I crossed the railroad tracks which ran up Main street, and took my course along the sidewalk, encountering in my way men with their pant-legs in their boots, wearing wide-leafed sombreros with snakeskin bands around them, with wide cartridge belts around their waists supporting six-shooters large enough to kill a buffalo. Everyone I met seemed to be peaceable. The only representative of the weaker sex I encountered was a lady dressed in fine style with her face painted and powdered, her hair done up a la mode, and decked out in a mother-hubbard large enough to cover a corn shock.

To my great surprise I spent the first day in Dodge City without any evidence of shootings or funerals, and in my meanderings about the place formed the acquaintance of men who afterwards proved themselves to be as high-principled as could be found in the whole country.

The horses that I had seen hitched to the racks, were all ridden across the river to the different herds to stand guard over the cattle and prevent stampedes. Some of the herds were waiting to be shipped, while others were rounded-up to drive them to the branding pens, after which they would be turned back to the range. In this way the natural increase of the herd was maintained for the owner.

Next morning I set out with a better opinion of the town and of its inhabitants. I found the same ponies tied to the same racks, and the streets full of wagons, some loading for the different ranches, others at the shop for repairs. I found the river banks on both sides lined with campers, a mixed lot of immigrants, looking for land, freighters resting their stock, horse traders, Mexicans, and a multitude of others with their old-time prairie schooners. Everybody was busy, some greasing their wagons, others mending harness, repairing ox yokes, or oiling and refitting six-shooters and Winchesters. The stock had all been turned loose in the care of herders who remained with them to keep them from straying off, and who would bring them in when they were required. The old familiar camp kettle and coffee pot were kept simmering over a slow fire so as to have everything hot at meal time. When the noon hour arrived, the tail gate of the wagon, which was the door of the grub-box, was let down to form a table. Each man found for himself a plate, knife, fork, and tin cup to help himself when the meal was ready. As soon as dinner was over, they scattered again through the town, some to the saloon, others to the dance-halls, others to their trading, or to make arrangements for their next load of freight. After spending some time in observing all that was to be seen, I returned again to the town. As I was walking up the street I overheard a conversation between two cow-punchers whom I afterwards found to be known as “Broncho Jack” and “Slim Jim.” They were arguing about Slim’s ability to ride a broncho called “Gabe,” that Jack had brought to camp that morning. This argument led to the general result—not a fight, as I supposed it would, but to a bet. The conversation ran about as follows:

S. J.—Say, Jack, I see you bringing in Old Gabe this morning. What are you dragging that old skate around for? Why don’t you shoot him, or don’t you want to waste a cartridge? Going to sell or trade him?

B. J.—Oh, I just brought him in, as I thought some tenderfoot might want to take his lady-love out for a ride, and Gabe would afford some fun.

S. J.—You don’t suppose any tenderfoot, nor anybody else wants to be seen riding that old crow-bait around with a young lady? He can’t travel fast enough to work up a sweat.

B. J.—Can’t he? He has enough life and vinegar in him to throw any puncher on the “81” ranch, and don’t you forget it!

S. J.—Oh, pshaw! Jack, you talk like an old parrot my mother used to have down in San Antonio. He would repeat anything he heard and when he could not hear anything, he talked to himself.

B. J.—Money is what talks in Dodge City, and I’ll bet you five dollars you can’t ride that broncho two blocks without getting thrown.

S. J.—I’ll take that bet if you’ll make it three blocks. I don’t care about short rides. Why, I can ride all over the old goat and make cigarettes while doing it.

B. J.—Say, Slim; that old horse will throw you so high that the sparrows will build nests in your leggins before you come down.

S. J.—That will be all right! Where have you got that old mouse-colored critter, and where do you want the money put up?

B. J.—He’s around here in Cox’s corral, and we can put the money up in Kelly’s hands.

S. J.—All right! Let’s go and put the money up and get down to business.

I went along to see the fun, and especially to see how it would terminate. We entered a saloon finely furnished, with a mirror behind the bar that cost more than the average 160-acre farm in that country. We approached a big, two-fisted, well-dressed man who stood before the bar. Jack addressed him as Mr. Kelly, the man decided upon to hold the stakes. He explained his mission and asked him to hold the money pending the test of horsemanship. Mr. Kelly replied, “I’ll hould anything yese give me, but I would loike to know what will be done with the money in case the young man is kilt.” “Oh,” says Jack, “just treat the crowd and let the balance go to the house.” “All right,” said Kelly. Slim agreed to the proposal.

B. J.—Well, Slim, you had better take a cold drink before you start, or make arrangements to have some one throw you a bottle of water, as the old pony will throw you so high that you may die of thirst before you come down.

S. J.—Never mind! I’ll take that drink after the job is done. Let’s go and get busy.

By this time quite a crowd had collected and set out to see the fun. I joined them for the same purpose. It was but a short distance to Cox’s corral. When we arrived there, Slim said to Jack, “Go in and rope your old dry land turtle. Bring him out here and I’ll see what I can do for him.”

Jack went in and pitched his rope on a sleepy-looking, pot-bellied, dun-colored pony that would weigh in the neighborhood of eight hundred pounds, and led him into the street. Slim procured his saddle, bridle, and blanket, and proceeded to saddle him. He first put on the bridle and then put a gunny-sack over it. The purpose of this was to blindfold him till the saddling was complete. When the saddling began, Old Gabe stood perfectly quiet, except to take a few short steps, apparently to make sure that all of his four feet and legs were there. As soon as he was saddled, Slim said to Jack, “When I crawl his hump, you take off the gunny-sack and I will take a little ride.” As soon as the sack was removed, Old Gabe put his nose to the ground and went to bucking and bawling like an old cow. He bucked about six or eight rods, but found he could not throw Slim in that manner. Then he stood straight up on his hind feet and fell over backwards. As soon as he struck the ground, Slim was standing beside him. When he regained his feet Slim was on his back, and then the bucking and bawling began in earnest. He did the figure eight several times, jumped up and turned half-way ’round and repeated the same, going in the opposite direction, alternately. When he found that this was not successful he headed for an alley close by, bucking and bawling all the time. He worked like a cyclone among a lot of oil barrels and dry goods boxes, wheel-barrows, and obstacles of all kinds that littered the alley. He drove his way through that strange assortment of difficulties until he reached the open street. Then Slim, by means of the application of spurs and quirt got him into a gallop. Then I knew that the battle was over and Old Gabe had met his master. Slim rode back to the crowd and dismounted, and he and Jack went over to Kelly’s to collect the wager. Then the bantering was continued, as follows:

B. J.—Well, Slim, how does it go?

S. J.—Oh, not bad. I guess I’ll take that cold drink you spoke of. I feel a little thirsty.

B. J.—Yes, and I reckon you feel a little bit sore, too.

S. J.—Oh, shucks! he was a little bit fussy, but he is nothing like those outlaw horses on the 81 ranch.

CHAPTER IX.

Getting Acquainted With the West—The Character of the Cow-boy—A Cow-boy’s Love Affair, Etc.

Next day I began to breathe easier as I had not witnessed any shooting scrapes, nor funerals, so I felt rather safe in walking the streets, although I was rather suspicious of anybody I met wearing a six-shooter. Nevertheless, I kept on the move, endeavoring to find where I could locate a good homestead, as that country was nearly all open and unsettled. In my wanderings I happened into Cox’s feed yard where Broncho Jack kept his horses. I entered the camp house and found Jack and Slim Jim sitting on a bench and there was every evidence to show that they had been indulging too freely in “Kelly’s Sovereign Remedy for a Sour Disposition.” They seemed very confidential in their conversation, and I could not help overhearing it. It ran about as follows:

S. J.—Jack, do you know that old nester that settled on the flats out on Crooked Creek?

B. J.—No, I don’t know him, but I heard there was a fellow out there going into farming and raising fine stock.

S. J.—Well, he’s there all right, and has two of the prettiest daughters I ever saw.

B. J.—What has that to do with you?

S. J.—It has this to do with me. I am done ranching. I am going to drop off this old broncho and will step right in between the old man’s plow handles and there I’ll stay until removed by death, or the County Sheriff.

B. J.—Have you had any introduction to those young ladies, or what is the matter with you? Have you taken leave of your senses and gone wild?

S. J.—I never had an introduction to them, but I met them at the post-office and they had a nosebag full of letters and a wheel-barrow full of papers and books. Oh, I tell you they are educated, or what would they want with all that printed stuff. I am going farming, that is what I am going to do.

B. J.—Now I know you are daffy. Talk about farming, don’t you know it has not rained out there in the last eighteen months. I met a traveling evangelist the other day who told me that he almost had to forego the pleasure of immersing a class of six cow-punchers for want of sufficient water to perform the ceremony. He was afraid that if it did not soon rain he would lose them sure as he would not be able to get them again if they went back to the ranches before they received his ministrations.

S. J.—Oh, that is all right about the rain! The old man does not need rain. He has a wind-mill and a trough to water his stock, and I can tell you that his stock is first class. I saw some of them and the milch cows had bags on them the size of washtubs and the teats hung down like baseball bats. He is well fitted in every way. He has a top buggy with a high back and a low seat all for himself. He wears a white shirt just as some folks do in Texas when they are running for office. I met his boy on the train a day or so ago and he shows good raising. He had shoes and stockings on, and he is no more than fifteen years old. He also had on a collar and tie and did not swear once while I was talking to him. I asked him where his pa had got the big stock and he said that they came from Ohio, and that they were Poland China or something like that.

B. J.—Let me tell you, Slim, if that old man is from Chicago and is a Republican, he has no use for a cow-puncher or a Democrat, no more than a pig has for side pockets. He would not want you to picket your horse on the trail in front of his place, nor to holler in his rain barrel, much less going to call on one of his daughters. Why, they scare the children back there and compel them to be good by telling them that the nasty, old, long-haired cow-puncher will take them away to the ranch where there is nothing but wild cattle, cow-punchers, tarantulas and centipedes, and a lot of other reptiles.

CHEYENNE INDIAN GIRL.

S. J.—Well, I have to leave you Jack, and the next time I see you I shall be on my honeymoon trip. I am now on my way to the farm to see the lady that I expect to soon be Mrs. Slim Jim.

B. J.—Good-bye, Jim. Good luck to you!

About two weeks afterwards, Broncho Jack and I were seated on the bank of Crooked Creek discussing the situation, whether the opportunities for making money were better in hunting or picking bones, catching mustangs, or blacksmithing. I came to the conclusion that the last was the most conducive to wealth just then, and later on opened up a shop there. During our conversation Slim Jim rode up. Throwing the reins over his pony’s head, he dismounted and shook hands. Slowly he rolled a cigarette and began to unbosom himself to Jack.

“Say, Jack,” said Slim, “you remember what you told me in the camphouse in Dodge City the day I left you. You recollect saying what a consarned fool I was about that young lady, and what you thought of the old man? Say, I hope to die and go to heaven if every word of what you told me was not true. I have ridden for two days to tell you what kind of a durn fool I am. You are a fortune teller, a prophet, a prognosticator. I had not ridden out to Five Mile Creek until he got to soliloquizing with myself. You know all cow-punchers do that out on the prairie! Well, I got to fixing up how to act, what to do and say when I got out there where the young lady lives. I had read a society book that some fellow from back East had left at the ranch once. There was some of it torn out, but there was a lot of it left and I learned a whole lot out of it, and I was going to govern myself accordingly. It said that a young man in company after taking his seat, should sit erect and throw his head back, keep his knees close together, and that chewing tobacco or smoking cigarettes was not good form. Under no circumstances should the young man wear spurs, carry a gun, especially in the company of the young lady with whom he is anyways intimate. I guess that book was written for the Texas trade, as there was a proviso that gun-wearing would be permissible if there were other gentlemen present. If there was anything about the disposal of the hands, it must have been torn out or I forgot it. It was most likely torn out, as that crowd of boys at the ranch would tear the leaves out of their mother’s Bible to make a cigarette. I can ride a horse or throw a rope, but what to do with my hands when I entered the house was beyond me. I knew how to hold my head, chest, and knees, but I could not for the life of me figure out what to do with those hands. I felt as if each hand was as big as a ham and the nearer I approached the house, the larger they seemed to grow. I felt pretty much like a Hottentot. He is usually pictured with a very depleted wardrobe. He has no books of instruction on the art of going into society, and I am of the opinion he had just as much trouble with his hands as I had. I guess he just folded his hands across his manly chest and backed in. By the time I arrived at the Mulberry Ranch I had decided to do all I knew and trust to luck for the rest. When I had staked out my pony, I went in and slicked up some. I washed, combed my hair, brushed my clothes, and then took about three fingers of old Tom Duggan’s best bourbon, not as a stimulant, but to put some color in my cheeks. As soon as the bourbon began to show some of its efficacy, I put on a couple of rings I had bought in Dodge and headed for the old man’s ranch, letting my hands take care of themselves. In my generosity of feeling I pictured myself being invited to supper and perhaps even being requested to spend the night at the old man’s. With an eye to putting an appearance on things I was going to try to trade some long-horned stock for some of his short-horns. I was in terror lest the young lady I was yet to choose, would smell my breath, and if the old man and his family were prohibitionists, I knew it would be all up with my chances. However, I was encouraged in the knowledge of the fact that this was to be my first call and I was not likely to get within breath-smelling distance of the lady of my choice. Regardless of consequences, I turned in and rode up to the hitching post, dismounted, took off my spurs and my gun, and then set out for the house. It seemed miles from that hitching-post to the front door. I finally covered the distance and rapped gently on the panel as I did not want them to think I was one of those rough, roaring, cow-punchers—the kind you mentioned. I listened attentively for one of those gentle footfalls, or the sound of an angelic voice bidding me to enter. I imagined once I heard the rustle of a silk dress but I am satisfied now that I was mistaken as I believe the sound was caused by the girls husking roasting ears for supper. You know that husking green corn makes a kind of squeaking noise. I did not have long to wait as I heard the sound of footsteps—the kind a bull moose makes when in trouble. The door was thrown open savagely and I was confronted by an old man who weighed about two hundred and fifty pounds. He had a face like a full moon with side whiskers to match and a moustache that resembled a second-hand shoe brush. He wore a white shirt with a home-made collar that reached to his ears. I tell you he was a fierce looking object. He stared me straight in the eye and said, “What can I do for you?” Now, Jack, you know that I am a fairly good talker, but right there my voice failed me. I could not utter a word if my life depended upon it. To make matters worse, he kept those two big eyes on me just like a dog setting a quail. My throat became all tied up in a knot, but after a pause I pulled myself together and asked him if he was bothered by any range cattle breaking through his fences. I thought I would get him into conversation in that way, and said that the range foreman had asked me to make the inquiry. He turned and slammed the door in my face. My love that a few moments before threatened to burn a hole in my shirt, was turned to hate. I detest that old man, and what makes my hatred more intense is the fact that when I was riding away I saw the girls laughing and making fun of me. I have come to the conclusion that I had better stick to the ranching as I never did care much for farming anyway. As for society and things like that, I abominate them.”

CHAPTER X.

What One Sheep Rancher Did—Entertaining a Hobo—A Practical Joke.

About the year 1877, an extensive sheep ranch was established in the Panhandle by a Mr. Southerland. He came from California and bought up the range in the neighborhood of the Adobe Walls, for the purpose of transferring his flocks from that far off State, where the grazing was getting very scarce, to the northern part of Texas, where there abounded better opportunities for pasturage. He was not the only one to cast a longing eye upon that territory, for many cattlemen from the same State as Mr. S—, also visited the Panhandle district looking for grazing grounds. As Mr. S. was the first to acquire rights there, the story in this chapter will deal with his men and his flocks.

When he returned to California after securing the title to the property, he sent his step-son, Bill Anderson, in charge of the drive from his native State to the new range. Besides the thousands of sheep that were in his care he brought along a few hundred head of horses and burros with enough Mexican help to make the drive successful. Of course, there was quite an outfit of mules and wagons to transport the equipage of an expedition of this kind. There was no opportunity of going to the corner grocery for supplies, nor was there any chance of securing them along the way, as the journey led over hills, mountains and canyons, amongst wild tribes of Indians, from California to Texas. It was a tremendous undertaking, but Bill was equal to the occasion.

He was a man of iron nerve, a good shot with either six-shooter or winchester and his skill and daring in roping wild animals excited the admiration of even the hardiest of his followers. It was a common thing for him to ride into a herd of buffalo, rope and hog-tie one, and then turn him loose again, just, as he used to say, to show the boys how it was done. Along with his great physical courage and fortitude, there existed another quality often found in men of rugged health and spirits. Bill was a practical joker, and in the pursuit of his endeavors to provoke a laugh he spared neither age, sex, nor previous condition of servitude. It seems to me that I can hear his merry laughter ringing in my ears though many years have passed since I had the pleasure of being in his company. His was a sunny disposition and the dark side of a cloud never appealed to him. He saw the brightness ahead long before it was visible to others. Such was the leader of the expedition that set out from California, and many a merry yarn or joke lessened the burden of the long drive.

At the outset of the journey, the Mexican herders were started off with a supply of bacon and coffee, besides having burros laden with bedding and other utensils. He divided the whole flock into smaller sections, each with a herder in charge. They moved along in close proximity to one another for the sake of company as they would likely be out on the road for weeks, and would return to camp only when in want of provisions. If fresh meat were wanted, all they had to do was to kill a lamb, or procure some of the wild game that infested the way, such as antelope, wild turkeys, prairie chickens, quail and other game. Their horses did not require much attention as there was plenty of grass and water was easily located.

Thus they kept on their way during the long weeks, day succeeding day with the same monotonous routine. Finally they reached their range in safety, glad that the long and tedious journey was completed. Here they made their first improvements in the way of a settled habitation. They constructed a dugout and covered it over with poles and willows. On these they piled a layer of soil to turn the rain. The furnishing of the dugout was of the simplest kind. A split log to sit on, a table made in the same way with sapplings for legs, was all they had in the way of household furniture. Their bedchamber consisted of the open prairie with the blue sky above them for a canopy. This done, they were at home for friends and neighbors.

Among the members of the outfit that followed Anderson from California, was a faithful and trusted employee named James Farrell. He had been with them for years and was one of the family. He was a shrewd man and one hard to deceive. One thing he felt proud of was that Bill Anderson never succeeded in working off a practical joke at his expense. He boasted of the fact that Bill had often tried, but always failed and he felt confident that he would never succeed. And thereby hangs the following tale:

One day as Bill was sitting in front of the dugout doing nothing in particular and having lots of time to do it in, he spied a man in the distance coming toward him on foot. This was something very unusual in those days, as a man on foot in the prairie is very much like a man in the middle of the Atlantic, he feels as though he is twenty miles from nowhere and does not know how to get there. Bill came to the conclusion that the man afoot was some cow-puncher that had been thrown from his horse. He soon discovered his mistake, for the stranger proved to be a veritable hobo. He gave no information regarding himself, and it was impossible to find out anything about him, whence he came, or what profession he followed to gain a livelihood. He manifested an interest in only one thing and that was when meal time came. Then he was a whirlwind of energy. He had been invited to take a supper with the outfit, and Bill even went so far as to divide his blanket with him, favors which the hobo appreciated so much that he continued to stay for meals and share the proprietor’s blanket. Time passed on, as time usually does, and the sign of taking his departure. In fact he seemed so much at home that it seemed impossible to drive him away. Weeks went by, but still the hobo was not accused of showing any inclination to work except when the table was to be cleared of provisions. However, all good things come to an end, and Bill felt that he had done all that the laws of Western hospitality required and felt impelled to do something to rid himself of his unwelcome guest. He thought the matter over carefully. If he offered the hobo a job, the latter turned the subject of conversation into politics or something else. It was useless to hint to the star boarder that the climate of other localities might be better for his health. He seemed proof against hints, invitations, or even mildly expressed wishes that he would take his departure. Nothing but personal violence would rid them of his company, and they were loath to do that. Bill began to worry over the matter. He went around with a thoughtful look as though he had something serious on his mind. Finally he determined to lay the matter before Jim to see if he could not suggest some way to be rid of a guest, who was not only a burden but a nuisance. After some reflection, it was decided that Jim was to act crazy, and some time or other when all were assembled at the table, at a given sign, he was to give a jump, knock over the table, stick his dirk into one of the rafters of the dugout, and grab his gun and begin to shoot up the place. Of course, he was not to kill anybody, but the purpose was to stampede the hobo and set him on his way over the hills to other localities where he might have an opportunity of showing his staying qualities.

The next day it happened that Bill and the hobo were down at the corral to brand some colts. It dawned upon the proprietor that right here was a brilliant opportunity for a practical joke and at the same time put an end to Jim’s assertions that he could not be tricked by any practical jokesmith on either side of the Rockies. It made Bill smile. He took a look around to see if Jim was in the neighborhood and found him sitting at the door of the dugout braiding a lariat. With an air of simplicity, and trustfulness he told the hobo that he had something to tell him; that he was thinking of telling it to him some time ago, and that was as good an opportunity as would present itself to him to do so. “You know,” said he, in a guileless manner, “Jim has been with me for a number of years and I have found him one of the best fellows that I have ever known. He is trusty, and is a good judge of stock. I can rely on him at all times and he takes as much interest in the work and the ranch as I do myself. However, he has been a cause of much worry to me. I do not like to tell my troubles to others but I find I must tell it to someone. I have taken quite a shine to you and I feel that the confidence I place in you will not be abused. Well, to bring the matter to a focus, I must tell you that Jim is subject to spells, and when in that condition is likely to be quite dangerous. The cause of his condition is this. A few years ago, out in California he was thrown from his horse and in falling his head struck a stone. He was quite delirious for a long time. He grew out of his condition after a year or so, but at certain periods he has a return of his old illness and is likely to turn things topsy-turvy before we can get him quited. We have tried everything in the medical line, but it was no use. We found out by accident, one day, that the only thing that would restore him to his senses was a jar on the head. He had one of his spells and made an attack on one of the hands with a knife. The man in desperation let fly at Jim with his fist and knocked him senseless for about ten minutes. When he recovered from the blow, he was as rational as any of us. I know it is painful for us to have to lay violent hands on the poor fellow, but it must be done, and besides, Jim is very thankful for our doing it, as he has a very tender heart and would not for anything in the world be the cause of injury to anyone. The reason I am telling you this is that I may have to be away some time or other and as you are pretty well acquainted with the run of things around the ranch, you will know what to do if the poor fellow has one of those sudden attacks. You may not feel like doing it, but he will thank you for it when he has recovered, and besides, Jim thinks a lot of you. When I was leaving California I promised my poor old mother that I would look after Jim and see that no harm came, to him on account of his weakness.”

When Bill returned to the dug-out, it would not take a mind-reader long to figure out that there was something going to happen. He kept his face straight, but he could not conceal the merry twinkle of his eye. He kept the cause of his merriment to himself, but frequently he would take a look out of the corner of his eye at Jim and if Jim was not looking, a smile would spread over his countenance. The thought of working a practical joke on Jim was too much for him at times and he would have to go outside to conceal his feelings.

Things went along thus for a few days, but the tension became too great for him to control himself any longer. One day, at dinner he gave the pre-arranged signal to Jim. With a yell Jim jumped up upset the table and spilled the contents all over the floor of the dug-out, grabbed his dirk and stuck it into the rafter of the dug-out, then pulled his six-shooter and let blaze. He ploughed up the earthern floor with some of the bullets, others he sent flying through the roof. All the while he was yelling like a Comanche Indian on the warpath. By the time he had emptied his gun, the place was filled with smoke. At the first shot Bill and the others filed through the door, or rather threw themselves through it, but the hobo mindful of the instructions given him some time before, worked his way around through the smoke until he came within arm’s length of Jim. He summoned up all his strength and let fly one of his fists. It was a mighty blow, delivered with care. It landed on the side of Jim’s head and sent him reeling and senseless into a pile of gunny-sacks lying in the corner. With an eye to the necessity of further ministrations if necessary, he stood looking at the poor fellow lying there. In a minute or more, Jim opened his eyes and reached for his gun. It was empty of course, and he reached for his cartridge box also. Bill looked in through the door when he heard no noise. He saw what Jim was doing and also noted by the flare in his eyes that there was going to be moments of activity there as soon as he succeeded in getting the chambers of his 45 filled. He took one look at the hobo, and uttered the word “run.” Without waiting any further instructions, the hobo fairly flew through the door and bounded away like a cat pursued by a bull dog. Jim dashed for the door with his weapon ready for vengeance. He saw the fleeing figure bounding over the prairie and let fly at him with the six-shooter. Happily for all concerned, he was too excited to take aim, and consequently all of his shots went wild. Every shot seemed to increase the speed of the swiftly running hobo. He was over the hill and far away in about the shortest time he ever made. Jim looked around the end of the dug-out and found Bill and his companions rolling on the ground and holding their sides with laughter. He realized immediately that there was something strange about the whole affair. It seemed more than he could stand. “Bill Anderson,” said he, “I believe you are at the bottom of all this. If I were certain of it I would send you back to California on a pair of wooden legs, but out of respect for your good old mother whose feeling I would not like to hurt on account of a ‘bloody spalpeen’ like you, I want to warn you never to do the like of it again.” Jim never afterwards made the boast that he could not be tricked by any one on either side of the Rockies.

Bill sold out the ranch sometime afterwards for $125,000, and the last I saw of him he was setting out for Old Mexico.

If Jim ever had any more crazy spells, I never heard of it.

CHAPTER XI.

The Man From Missouri; An Attempt at Dry Farming, etc.

While out hunting one day, about 18 miles south of Dodge City, I chanced to meet a stranger who inquired the way to the nearest horse corral. In the twinkling of an eye I took an inventory of his outfit, and I must say that it was good. He had a fine team of young mules, a three seated spring wagon covered over, harness all covered over with brass mountings. His wife and children who were with him were well-dressed and he himself showed traces of being well bred and was rather a good talker. His conversation showed refinement, though at times he sandwiched in a mild cuss-word to emphasize his statements. From his bearing I could see that he was rather high-strung. Before giving the required information I ventured to ask if he was going to take up land for the purpose of farming. He said that that was his intention. I looked the family over and felt sorry for them, knowing what they would have to endure on a claim. I had not the same regrets for proprietor of the outfit as I felt that a little experience and exposure was what was needed to round out his character. The more I explained the general conditions of the neighborhood of his destination, the more he seemed determined to go. I explained to him that others from the different states of the East had tried to raise crops and made a failure of the venture, and returned to their several homes disgusted with the West. “Oh, pshaw!” said he, “I have heard that same tale of woe more than a dozen times during the last three days, and the land-agents in Dodge City told me that yarn was fabricated expressly by the cow-men to discourage the farmers from settling on the range and cutting off their supply of pasture.” “Moreover,” said he, “I have a little provision made for the future and can stand it as long as any of them.”

During my interview with that gentleman, I learned that his name was Waugh, that he was a native of Pennsylvania, and had been living in Missouri on a rented farm during the preceding two years. He had become dissatisfied with the state and had come farther West to improve his fortunes. I ask him if he did not think it better to return to Missouri where his children would have the advantage of schools, and he and his wife would be able to enjoy some society rather than establish a home on a raw prairie. He replied, “I see, stranger, that you have never lived in Missouri. I tell you those folk back there don’t know the war is over yet, and besides one’s standing in society depends upon how many hounds one keeps and, also, on the length of one’s whiskers. Why, don’t you know that there was only one razor in the neighborhood where I lived and that was owned by the school teacher. He was some up on social niceties. Once in awhile he used to go to St. Joe to have his hair cut and the back of his neck shaved and this caused some of the patrons of the school to threaten to take their children away from him if he did not stop such unwarranted proceedings. I am sure they would have done so if they had known that he used to go down to the creek every Saturday night to take a bath. No Siree, I do not want any more of Missouri in mine. The first year I worked there I did fairly well. I made about half a crop. The next year was a complete failure. I raised nothing, absolutely nothing, and when I saw the hens bringing leaves from the timber to build nests, I told Hannah to put out the fire and call the dog and we would start for Kansas.”

The next time I met Mr. Waugh was one afternoon about three months later. I noted that his mules had fallen away in flesh, and on inquiring about his general condition, he stated that things were in poor condition. He said the grass had been poor and that it was impossible to procure corn for the cattle. In fact he had not plowed nor put in any crops. He informed me that it had not rained since he had taken up his claim and to plow was out of the question. The only line of work open for him was to gather buffalo bones. He said that things had come to such a pass that he had to exchange some of his belongings for others not as good. His spring wagon had to go for an old lumber-wagon as he could not use the spring affair in the work of gathering the bones. In this trade he received a cow to boot.

When next I met him he had traded off his mules and brass-mounted harness for a one-eyed mule and a pony, receiving boot on that occasion also in the shape of a sewing machine and a shot gun, with a set of chain harness thrown in for good measure. He said he preferred the chain harness as the dry weather did not affect the corn-husk collars and if it rained he could throw it on the ground and it would suffer no injury from the moisture. Shortly after this he came to my blacksmith shop to have the wheels of his wagon set. Before that he used to soak them in the bed of the creek, but as the water in the creek bottom failed, he had to bring them to me to set them.

The last time I had the opportunity of meeting Mr. Waugh, he was camped at the creek with his family. He was busy at the camp-fire cooking his meal at the time. After the usual greetings, I ventured to ask him how he liked farming. He seemed very despondent. “Don’t talk to me about farming in this desolate country,” said he. “It has not rained enough between here and the head of the creek since I have been here to wet a postage stamp. Moreover, there are skunks enough up there to drive the Standard Oil Co. out of business, and coyotes without number. They gave us no rest. They would steal a chicken out of the pot while it was boiling on the fire.” “Why,” he continued, “You know old man Spriggins up there? Well, only last week his chickens got so all-fired hungry that they went out on the trail and tried to hold up a bull-train to get some corn. I would not have believed myself if I had not seen it. I tell you those chickens were getting desperate and you would have believed it if you had seen that Shanghai rooster strutting back and forth in front of those oxen and crowing. When the old man saw it himself he went down to John Conrads and traded his old fiddle and a cultivator for some Kaffir corn.”

“Well,” said I, “you filed on a claim, didn’t you?”

“Not that any one knows of,” said he. “I caught on to that game in time to save my fourteen dollars. It is nothing but a gambling game anyway, and I believe that the same law applies to poker and other games of chance, ought to reach Uncle Sam for trying to unload a lot of worthless land on a lot of poor suckers that can’t help themselves. Why, he don’t take any chance at all. He simply puts up one hundred and sixty acres of parched vacancy against your fourteen dollars that you can’t remain on it for five years without starving, to comply with the contract he makes with you. I tell you he has a dead sure thing here in Kansas. He has made some good winnings. Some of those claims he has won back five or six times each and he still holds the land waiting for another sucker to come along.”

Well, then, I said, you are not inclined to engage in agriculture, nor to remain in this part of the country, are you?

“Not if I know myself,” he replied, “and I think it about time I was becoming wise. You told me the whole unvarnished truth about this country the first time I met you and if I had taken your advice I would not be in this disagreeable fix.”

Here he took a side glance at his one-eyed mule, which seemed to raise his temperature to about 160 in the shade. He then raised his voice to correspond with the temperature, and striking his hands together said; “any gosh-durned country that gets so dad-burned dry that it will take an antelope—and he is the fastest animal there is—twenty four hours solid traveling to find a drink of water, is a little too dry for me. I am going back to Pennsylvania. That state will be good enough for me for all the time to come.”

He hitched up his one-eyed mule and made ready to go. I bade him good-bye. He nodded, clucked to his mule and rode away.

CHAPTER XII.

Colonization Indian Scares; Organizing in Self Defense, etc.

In the autumn of the year of 1878, a gentleman by the name of John Joplin was sent out from Zanesville, Ohio, to select a suitable place in Western Kansas for the purpose of locating a colony. The intention was to start a co-operative business in farming. After surveying the country at large, he came to the conclusion that the Crooked Creek valley, Meade County, where I was living at the time, was the most desirable for the purpose. He returned home and gave a glowing report of what he had done, and his efforts and report received the approval of the future colonists. They made their arrangements and moved westward in the following spring. When they had reached their destination, they learned that Chief Dull Knife, a leader of a band of northern Chyenne Indians, had left the reservation at Ft. Reno where he and his followers were held as prisoners of war. Followed by a numerous retinue of tribesmen he started for the Black Hills and had passed through the Crooked Creek Valley, killing the settlers. They continued on their way, killing, burning, and destroying everything and everybody in sight until they were re-captured at Ft. Robinson, Nebraska. From there they were brought back and placed on the reservation once more.

The particulars of the Dull Knife Raid will be given in another chapter.

Needless to say, these reports caused considerable excitement in the valley. Every few days rumors were circulated that the Indians were returning, or would return as soon as the grass had begun to sprout again. Hardly had one rumor died until another was put into circulation. Excitement reached such a degree that all deemed it necessary to organize for protection. A meeting was called which all the settlers were invited, or requested, to attend. The Colonists assembled at the dug-out of a Mr. M. B. Wilson, one of the leading spirits of the movement, to devise ways and means for protection in case the Indians should return. After a general discussion of the prevailing conditions, it was unanimously agreed that we should appeal to the Governor of Kansas for fire arms, as there were few of us that had any, many had none, and some had no money to purchase them, and some that did have them, had very little knowledge of their use. Our secretary was instructed to write to the governor, explain the conditions of affairs, and request him to send us the necessary guns and ammunition with which to protect ourselves against the Indians in case they should make another descent on the valley, which they would likely do as they were threatening to leave the reservation and go on the warpath a second time. After a good deal of correspondence and red tape we succeeded in getting the governor’s attention, and he kindly informed us, after several week’s delay, that if we wanted any assistance from the state, we should join the militia. He informed us that when we were duly sworn in, he would send the necessary arms for protection of our homes and families. To the disinterested reader this action on the part of the governor may seem magnanimous, but to the settler whose family was living in a dug-out with nothing to protect them but a fire shovel or a hatchet in case of an Indian raid, it looked very much like a case of criminal neglect. Another meeting was called, and it was well attended. There were many women present who seemed anxious to organize a company for the protection of their homes. After some discussion it was decided to organize and join the militia. Among those present was a veteran of the Civil war. He was elected Captain on his war record—one of the home-made kind, as none of his comrades of the war recollected any time or place where he performed any deed of valor—as he would most likely know the best thing to do at the proper time. To hear the Captain tell of his numerous exploits, the number of men took prisoners of war, how he had on several occasions leaped over the breastworks of some beleagured fort in the midst of a shower of grape and canister, and tore down the Confederate flag, one would think that he, Capt. Milligan, bore a charmed life. It seemed strange to me that such a thoughtful man as Abe Lincoln did not send somebody down south to assist the Captain as he seemed to be doing all the heavy fighting himself. Such was our captain, the last and the greatest of the Milligans up to that time, and it would require a remarkable scion to eclipse his record, if one hundredth part of what he said was true.

Returning to the thread of my story, and I hope you will pardon the digression but it would be impossible to pass over the merits of our worthy Captain without bringing to the notice of the world at large his claims to the honor conferred upon him, we elected G. W. Brown First Lieutenant, Mr. Gantz, Second Lieutenant, and C. M. Rice, Sergeant. The above officers were veterans, or had been scouts, and the remainder required to complete the contingent had no military experience whatever. We instructed the secretary to notify the governor that we had organized and were ready to be sworn into the State Militia. We did not actually want to join the militia, but would rather join the Women’s Relief Corps, or the Suffragette Movement, or the Populist party, anything to get the guns and ammunition. (The swearing part of the program did not play a very important part as there had been enough swearing done along the Creek already over the Governor’s indolence and failure to send the relief requested, yes, enough to have sworn in seven regiments with some to spare.)

As the assemblage was about to disperse, some one called for a speech. Others called on Capt. Milligan to harangue the multitude. This was kept up until the Captain, with all the dignity of a well trained parliamentarian, condescended to make a few remarks to show his appreciation of the favor conferred upon him, etc. He selected a small knoll from which to deliver himself of the sentiments that filled his manly breast. He assumed the pose of an orator of the old school and delivered a discourse in something like the following words:

“Fellow Citizens, Ladies and Gentlemen: We are now on the eve of a terrible conflict to decide whether the white man with tens of thousands of years of civilization, culture and refinement behind him, or the wily undomesticated, uncivilized, uncouth, uncultured, unrefined, undressed savage will rule the plains. Whether the untutored savage will continue to water the virgin soil of the rolling prairie with the blood of the best of our citizens, or whether the white man shall give to the unlimited area of the plains the advantage of a training developed by centuries of progress in the arts of peace and agriculture. (Cheers, and hurrah for Milligan). I am here to state my views and express my sentiments on the question that each and every one of us is debating in the depths of the individual heart.” It was quite evident that the Captain was laboring under difficulties, as he delivered the above in a very hesitating manner. What he lacked in fluency of speech, he made up by violence and frequency of gestures. He swung his arms and stamped his feet to emphasize the degree of his perturbation while contemplating in advance the horrors to which they were to be subjected. He became so wrapped up in his subject and was so earnest in his endeavors to move his hearers, that he did not realize that he was standing on a hill inhabited by a colony of red ants; nor was he aware that a regiment of them had set out to explore the depths of his unmentionables and were at that very moment making rapid progress through the recesses of his underwear. Suddenly he became aware of something peculiar about his feelings and to cover the difficulty under which he was laboring, and at the same time to prove to his hearers that his reputation was above reproach and his patriotism beyond question, he accentuated his remarks by more violent gestures than before, striking himself on the thighs and even reaching beyond the limits to which gestures were supposed to extend, realizing that farther speech with decorum was out of the question he was compelled by force of circumstances to desist from further efforts. He made an assault on his personal enemies as best he might under the circumstances in such a public place. He squeezed and pinched, slapped and crushed, but the greater the efforts he made, the more they seemed to be impelled to greater efforts of offense. He rolled up his trouser legs, as far as public decency would permit, but exposure only drove the enemy to seek more advantageous hiding places. He could not ask his friends to help him because it seemed such a personal affair, and besides, they were at that moment helpless in their efforts to stifle their laughter. In his desperation he started for the creek, which, fortunately for him, was close at hand. A clump of hackberry and plum bushes screened him from the multitude, and in the friendly cover offered him by nature herself, he began to put the enemy to rout. However, mindful of the position to which he had been elected, and the duty incumbent on him of stirring them up to the proper degree of patriotism, he sent word that he would return shortly to continue his harangue. More than half an hour elapsed before he returned, and to guard against more interruptions, we pulled an old wagon to the fore and fixed it up in proper shape for him to continue his remarks.

Upon his arrival he was assisted by Sergeant Rice and Lieutenant Brown to mount the newly made rostrum. After apologizing for his abrupt departure, he continued his address as follows; “Ladies and Gentlemen: I am ready for the worst if it must come. A brave man dies but once, whilst the coward dies every time danger approaches. There is no use of being timid nor chicken-hearted in the present cause. I do not encourage cruelty, but we must stand firmly together to defend our rights and protect our families and firesides. (Cheers). For my part I want to emphatically say that no invader can leave his moccasin track on my threshold, nor disturb the peace of my household until he has crossed over all that is mortal of Capt. Milligan. Do you think that I would sit silently and submissively by and see him shoot down the old family watch-dog, work him up into bouillion, and eat his repast in the shadow of my “sorghum stack.” I say, No! a thousand times, No! I would prefer to meet their leader in single combat on the open prairie and when I had driven him from the field of battle, follow him to his tepee, destroy his totempole, tear his wampum belt from his body and carry it away as a trophy of the expedition.” (Tumultuous applause.)

As it was getting rather late, and many had long distances to travel before reaching home, the Capt. closed his harangue, thanking them for their attention and assuring them that their interests were his interests, and that he was willing to go to extreme lengths to defend their rights, and homes.

In a few days we received word that the Governor had instructed Adjutant General Noble to proceed to Dodge City and thence to Crooked Creek where he was to receive the oath of allegiance of the colonists, and deliver the guns and ammunition, and give us such instructions as he deemed necessary for us in our line of duty. On the following Thursday he arrived and went through the formality of enlisting us and delivering to us the weapons of war. Henceforth we were full-fledged members of the Kansas State Militia. After turning over to us the arms and ammunition, he delivered a short talk in which he instructed us in our duties to the State and to one another.

When the arms were distributed, it was found that there was a surplus left, which came in handy to shoot antelope with afterwards. These guns, in the meantime, were left in charge of Lieut. Brown. The Adjutant-General then bade us good-bye and departed for home.

We immediately set to work to provide for our defense. After some deliberation, we concluded to provide a fortification in which to place the women and children and all those who might happen to be in the neighborhood in the time of danger. As funds were lacking, and rock, or timber was not to be had, we decided to build it of sod. The following Saturday was the day set aside to vote on the proper location of our future fortification. On the appointed day, all assembled. They expressed their willingness and eagerness to do anything to further the project. One thing each one was determined on was to have it built as near his claim as possible. It did not take long to arrive at a conclusion regarding the position in which the fort was to be built. As it was impossible to satisfy everybody, we abandoned the project entirely, and it was further decided that each one was to take his share of the guns and ammunition and take care of himself. Another subject that gave us much concern was the matter of drilling. The adjutant had told us to become familiar with the use of the arms, to meet at least once a week and drill to render ourselves fit for duty. When the time arrived for our first lesson in the “manual of arms,” it was found that there was not a man present who knew anything about it. The old scouts who were present, knew all about how to ride a horse, and to lie down in a buffalo wallow and take a shot at an Indian if one came in sight, and they were, besides, first class hands at discovering watering places and the like, but in the matter of drill they were entirely unsophisticated. Even Capt. Milligan, if he ever knew anything about the matter, declared he had forgotten it entirely. He felt sure, however, that it would be impossible to perform the proper manoeuvers with those short-barreled guns, and that if the Governor would send some with long barrels that he would be right at home in the matter. As no one seemed capable of conducting the class, we settled the difficulty in the same manner as we did that of the fort, by abandoning it also. It was unanimously agreed that in case of trouble, each should go to the aid of his neighbor if assistance were needed. This was very satisfactory for me especially, as I was fortunate in the possession of splendid neighbors, Sergeant Rice living on one side of me, and First Lieut. Brown on the other. Both were possessed of abundant fighting material at all times, and knew how to use it in an emergency.

Things seemed to drag along in the usual way, everybody settling down to his own affairs and everything would have gone along tranquilly enough were it not for the numerous cowboys passing through the settlement, spreading reports as they went, that the Indians were mixing war medicine and would shortly make a descent upon the palefaces. It was a source of great delight to them to stampede the settlers by disquieting reports, and then have a good laugh about it. Their efforts at fun kept the settlers in a state of ferment.

It happened that Capt. Milligan’s claim was located on the south side of the settlement and nearest to the Indian Territory. As he was rather nervous and always on the alert, he kept inquiring continuously of the cowboys, of the possibility of an Indian raid, and, of course, they filled his anxious ear with war news. Nearly every other day I noticed the Captain calling on either Sergeant Rice or Lieutenant Brown, and as he had to make a ride of ten miles or so to make the visit, I concluded that there was some significance to these numerous calls. However, as they were my superior officers, I did not feel at liberty to make any inquiries about the Captain’s frequent visits. I did not have to curb my curiosity very long before acquiring the desired information. In a few days I saw the Captain riding up in my direction on his old bald-faced horse and could see at a glance that his arrival was something of importance as he was riding straight up in his saddle with as much dignity as it was possible for one horse to carry. Upon his near approach I felt that I must do something to acknowledge the presence of my captain. Not being versed in military etiquette, I doffed my Stetson hat. As I was leaning against the fence, with a spade in one hand and my hat in the other, I realized that my appearance lacked something of the military precision required in a subordinate, and I apologized for my lack of training in the case. He dismounted from his horse and condescended to shake hands with me and said that the salute was only a matter of form anyway; that he understood my position exactly; that he was a recruit once himself; that on such occasions as this he could overlook little technicalities of the kind, but on the field of glory he would have to be more exacting with his men. I then invited the Captain to take a seat on a cottonwood log near at hand so that we could discuss matters pertaining to the Company more at leisure I congratulated him on the choice of officers which he had made.

“Yes,” said he, “they are all good men and true, but if I had it to do over again, I would try to have you act as First Lieutenant of the Company. Brown is a good man and a good scout and has seen some service with the Indians, but he lacks aggressiveness. I want men who are aggressive and who will go into battle as if they are going to breakfast. By the way,” he continued, “I dropped over to see you and to leave orders for you to go down into the Indian Territory and size up the situation. Find out if the Indians are in an ugly mood, and if they are likely to make a raid in the near future. Then report to me on your return and I will take some steps in the direction that will be best for all concerned. The cowboys have been circulating some reports concerning an intended raid, but I do not know whether any credence is to be placed in them or not. Consequently I decided to come over to see you and send you down to look the field over, and then I would feel more satisfied, and know just what action to take in the matter.”

I asked the Captain how he expected me to go down there, and who would bear the expense of my journey.

“Oh,” said he, “you can take your own horse, and I suppose the State will be responsible for any bills you make whilst under my orders.” I then asked him what I should do for food for myself as well as for my horse. A broad smile lit up his countenance and he replied, “Don’t you know that the cowmen will be more than pleased to have a soldier stop at their ranches for the feeling of security his presence will engender? Your board and horse-feed will not have to be considered at all. You can go to the R-S ranch, the Doc Day ranch, the Y. L. ranch or the Driscoll ranch, and they will receive you with open arms. I can assure you that no charges will be even mentioned.”

During this short interview I discovered a nigger in the Captain’s wood-pile. The fact was that the cowboys had him half scared to death by telling him all kinds of Indian war stories. The particular reason he had in calling on me, was to have me go down to the Territory, and if I was not scalped while on my mission, and if I found that the Indians were really going on the warpath, I should report to him without delay so that he might be able to withdraw his precious(?) person from the zone of danger and escape to Fort Dodge. I told the Captain that he was somewhat mistaken in the estimate a cowman places on a soldier as a means of defense where the Indians were concerned. I assured him that I had learned their personal views on the subject, and they had arrived at the conclusion that the soldier was a detriment and an encumbrance to them in case of trouble with the Indians, and, moreover, they felt quite capable of taking care of themselves in times of danger from such sources. I went on to tell him that if he were anxious to have an investigation of conditions made, he might come over to my place in a day or so and we would go down together and make the inquiries proper to the occasion, and that I would feel safer with him than if I were alone. I immediately saw that the Captain was getting an attack of what the hunters call “buck-ague.” “Thunder and turf,” he exclaimed, “I cannot go. I am subject to orders from the Governor, and I should be in a queer fix if I were called to duty in some other part of the State while I was down in the Territory. However, I can order Corporal Copeland to go with you.” I told him that the Corporal had no horse, and it would not be right to send him on foot. I also informed him that he would have to look around and make some other arrangements, as my horse was too old, and his knee was sprung from roping cattle, so that an Indian war horse could catch him without any trouble. Conditions being such, I told him I did not think I would go. “What!” he shouted, “you do not mean to disobey orders!” His eyes bulged out until they looked like old English watches, and his chest measurement seemed to increase perceptibly. He jumped up from his seat on the log and started for his horse, saying on his way, “If you persist in disobeying orders, I shall be forced to disarm you and court-martial you for insubordination.” “Well,” said I, “you will raise the deuce court-martialing me, when there is only five or six members of the Company who can read or write and they are all on my side.” I heard nothing more from the Captain for several days. Finally I received a letter from him telling me that he had written to the Governor regarding my disobedience. I replied to his message, saying that if the Governor was as tardy in taking action on my case as he was in sending arms and ammunition, I should die of old age before the matter would be adjusted. I also informed him that I had received word that the Indians would be in our neighborhood in a few days, and that he should see to it that means were taken for our defense. Next day I received another note from him in which he told me that he had changed his attitude toward me, and that I should call on Sergeant Rice and Lieutenant Brown and tell them to report to him for duty at once, and I was to accompany them. The message I received by special delivery. I made a visit up the creek to see my friends, Rice and Brown, and reported the change that had taken place in the Captain’s attitude, and also showed them his request and instructions, asking at the same time their opinions on the matter. Brown replied, “O pshaw, that does not amount to anything. Those cowboys over on Sand Creek have the old Captain about frightened to death, and I think we had better remain where we are. There’s not an Indian in the country, and I do not think there will be.” We acted on Brown’s suggestion and remained where we were.

At this time the cowmen were holding their Spring round-up on Sand Creek, to cut out and take back to their ranches the cattle that had drifted off during the winter, besides branding the calves before turning them loose again on the range. There were about one hundred cow-punchers at the round up, all well mounted and well armed. Each man had from three to five horses in his mount, all in good shape because they had been grain fed for the occasion. Their arms consisted of Winchesters and six-shooters. There had been so many rumors circulated about the possibility of an Indian raid that all went prepared for any emergency. One day while they were all lying around awaiting the arrival of the round-up herds from the Southeast, a happy thought occurred to them to put to the test the bravery of Captain Milligan, of which they had heard much, thinking at the same time to have some sport at his expense. They formed a company of about thirty, dressed up like Indians, or near enough to the real thing to be mistaken for them at a distance. The leader was fitted with a red saddle blanket decorated with sage brush for a war bonnet, with a few cat tails for plumes. He looked more like a grizzly bear than an Indian, but his appearance was well calculated to strike terror into the heart of any civilized human being, especially when everyone was looking for trouble from such a source anyway. The rest of the crowd dressed up as each saw fit, carrying their hats inside their shirts so as to travel bareheaded after the Indian fashion. When all was ready they took a direct route for Captain Milligan’s place. They all knew how to render the Cheyenne war whoop when the proper time arrived, and the leader rode along at a moderate pace chanting his war song. They came to a halt to decide whether they should burn him alive, or capture him and hold him for ransom. One man said it was useless to hold him for any ransom as he knew most of the company, and as for burning him alive, he did not think there was a cow-puncher in the crowd that would waste time necessary to gather chips for the sacrifice. In the meantime the chief kept ranging around and waving his hands, keeping his war bonnet as much in evidence as possible. They moved up to a position within about a quarter of a mile of the Captain’s house and then gave a war whoop. By this time the object of the joke became aware of their presence and felt his peril keenly. He made a dash for his corral where he kept a little, old, notch-eared, sore-backed pony that he always kept saddled for any emergency. To say that he went rapidly, is putting it mildly—he fairly flew. When he got started the Indians(?) made a rush to capture him, firing at him in the meanwhile. They remained a safe distance behind so as to be sure not to capture him, but kept up the shouting and whooping for about two miles. The Captain took the shortest course to Fort Dodge, and the cowboys returned to camp laughing heartily at the brave man’s flight.

When the Captain had made about five miles of his hasty retreat, he happened upon one of his neighbors, Mike O’Shea, who had begun to dig a well. As he passed in his headlong flight he shouted to Mike, “Tell Rice and Brown they are here, and I am going to Fort Dodge for relief and succor.” He was in too great a hurry to stop and explain the cause of his excitement, and as Mike explained it afterwards, he said he thought he was going for a “thafe and sucker” or something of the kind, or maybe it was “relafe and supper, or something like that.” He also noticed that the Captain’s horse was almost out of breath, and the gentleman himself was very much excited.

Whilst Rice and Brown were interviewing Mike, another man came along and stated that he had seen the Captain about ten miles north, and he reported having had an engagement with the Indians that day at his claim, and said that he had stood them off until they had retired. As he was about out of ammunition at the time of their departure, he took advantage of their retreat to make his way to Fort Dodge for relief and succor. He did not say how many he had killed, but maintained that he had a very narrow escape.

I suppose, if Captain Milligan is alive today, he does not fail to tell of the time he stood off five hundred Cheyenne Indians, single-handed and alone, and how, after driving them off, he beat them to Fort Dodge in quest of aid.

A few days after the encounter with the supposed Indians, Lieutenant Brown received the following note from the Captain:

Fort Dodge, Kansas, April—,’79.

Lieutenant Brown:

Dear Comrade:—I am in receipt of a telegram from the Governor, ordering me to go at once to Topeka, to take charge of the strike-breakers. The railroad employees have gone out on a strike, and it will take the strong arm of the militia to hold them in check. Sell my land and all my effects, and forward the proceeds to my address, which will be, State Capitol, Topeka.

Yours in command,
Captain Milligan.

P. S. Regards to all the comrades.

Thus terminated the war of 1879.

CHAPTER XIII.

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.

A few days after Bill’s return, another herd happened along and I did considerable business with them, selling what goods they needed, and buying several head of injured cattle which I tended to in the customary manner. It happened that they had an extra man with them and I hired him. I put him on the wagon and sent him after more supplies. I kept Bill with me as I was determined not to remain alone in that locality. When the herd had gone forward on the drive, we went out to look after our own stock, and found them as well as could be expected. Shortly after our return to camp, we saw a horseman coming towards us, and I concluded we were going to have some more company. When he rode up, I invited him to dismount, as that was the custom of the country. He thanked me, but declined, saying that he was in a hurry, that he had had some trouble with the Comanche Indians, in which there was some shooting done, that he would like to get a fresh horse to push on his way. I saw that he was pretty well upholstered in the matter of armament, as he had two six-shooters in his belt and a winchester in his scabbard and looked, as though he would be able to protect himself. I asked him no questions as the condition of his horse told the story as plainly as any words he might use. The spur marks on the pony’s sides showed that his vitality was about expended and that he would not be able to go much farther. When he asked if I could supply him with a new mount, I told him I could furnish one. I asked Bill to change his saddle for him, and gave him some directions to guide him towards a cow ranch. He proposed leaving his horse with me as a guaranty that he would return mine to me. I told him that was out of the question, that if the Comanches came along and found his horse with me they would conclude that I had hidden him somewhere, which would mean trouble for me, a thing I did not want just then, especially with the Indians. I told him to take his pony along with him and if he could not keep up with the fresh one, to turn him loose upon the prairie and some cow-puncher would take him in and care for him until called for. He put a hackamaw on his jaded steed, mounted his fresh pony and made ready to start. I told him not to spare the quirt, as the horse could stand a good dash, and that he would be at the ranch in a little over an hour if he rode steadily. He was off in the direction I gave him, and Bill and I set in to make a checker board to while away our idle hours. Something shortly afterward attracted our attention, and on looking up we beheld three Comanche Indians riding towards our tent, with their rifles across their saddles, which meant business. I spoke to Bill and he stepped into the tent and buckled on a pair of six-shooters. I happened to have my winchester near at hand. When they rode up close enough for us to see plainly what they were doing, they stopped and began to make signs. I could not understand the Comanche sign language, so they had to resort to some other means of communication. They drew closer and one of them said ‘How,’ the second one grunted something and the third remained silent. Bill and I went on making our checker board apparently oblivious of their presence, but all the while I kept my eye on the rifle with an occasional glance out of the corner of my eye at the Indians. Finally one of them spoke in broken English and asked if a white man had been there. I told them a white man had stopped for a short time, but went north, and I pointed out the trail. After they had sat in silence for some time, they wheeled their ponies around and galloped off. It would not take much of a genius to see that their visit was not a friendly one, and that they were looking for trouble, and particularly wanted to see a certain white man that had passed that way shortly before. If they could not find the object of their desires, they would likely make some trouble for some innocent party. As they saw that Bill and I were pretty well furnished with fire arms, they thought it better to pursue the object of the search. I knew that, by this time, the pursued was beyond the reach of the pursuers and was likely safe among the cowboys of some neighboring ranch, where the Indian would not follow him. The Indian had a wholesome respect for cow-ranches and did not care to go prowling around that locality, for at that particular time the cowman had lost all respect for the Indian’s feelings. As we did not know at what time they would return, if they ever did, nor did we know what humor they would be in, though we could give a shrewd guess, Bill and I thought it better to make what efforts were necessary to protect ourselves and our stock in the event of their returning with designs, upon us, or our cattle. We took our blankets and guns and spent the night on the prairie near our horses. During the vigil we were keeping we heard some horsemen passing and concluded the Indians were returning from their white-man hunt.

Next forenoon a line rider came over to see us, bringing with him the horse we had loaned the visitor who was in such a hurry. He said that he had seen nothing of the Indians at the ranch. He said that the fugitive horseman had received a new mount at his ranch and had gone on his way, but did not fail to send back his compliments saying that he was grateful for the kindness we had shown him and hoped some day to be able to repay it.

That afternoon, the herd, from which the fugitive above mentioned had taken his departure, arrived in our neighborhood, and from the boys of the outfit I learned the particulars of the whole occurance. The foreman gave me all the information in the case, and I shall detail it here. He said that the Indians had met them over in the Comanche country and had made their usual demand for “Wohaw.” As he had given one steer already down in the Red River district, he did not feel obliged to yield to their demands for a second contribution. In order to get rid of them, and at the same time to make a peace-offering he said he would let them have another. That did not satisfy the Indians and they started for the herd to cut out what they wanted. That was the thing that brought matters to a focus. They might have known that their presence in the herd would cause a stampede. When they persisted in doing so in spite of the warning to desist, then came the signal for the disturbance which followed.

The first steer they cut out from the herd was met and driven back by a young fellow by the name of McRay. An Indian tried to prevent his driving the steer back to the herd. That spelled disaster for the Indian, for the young fellow drew his forty-five and shot the Indian off his pony. All was confusion for a brief space, but no more shooting took place. The Indians picked up their wounded comrade and bore him away as fast as they could, and then the herd moved on. McRay, acting on the advice of the foreman, sought safety in flight towards the north. That was the fugitive that came to my tent in search of a fresh pony. If he had remained with the herd, serious trouble would have resulted, and if they had caught him in his flight, he would likely have been scalped, if not subjected to other barbarities.

I am not going to say anything about the merits of the case as it stood, but will say that if the same conditions existed today, the same would occur again.

As on the arrival of the former herds, we made another bargain for some of the foot-sore cattle, and after doctoring them to the best of our ability, we turned them in with the rest of our stock.

We did considerable business with the foreman of the outfit. After getting what goods he wanted, he moved onward with his herd.

When they had gone, I saddled Old Jimmie and took a ride down to where our stock was feeding along the creek, to look them over and see if they needed any attention. They seemed in good condition, so I rode on, more for pastime than with any object in view. When I had passed a mile or so beyond where our herd was grazing peacefully, I saw something that I could not account for, and proceeded to make an investigation. As I drew nearer to the object of my curiosity I found an Indian sitting on the bank of the creek. I was rather surprised to see that he had no pony in sight, nor were there any other Indians in view. I approached him with the purpose of making a closer scrutiny of this lone denizen of the plains. His wardrobe consisted of a breech-clout, a pair of moccasins, and three feathers in his hair. I rode up to him and saluted him with the customary Indian “How.” He made no reply, did not give even a grunt of recognition. I studied him carefully for awhile. I noted that his hair was well braided and hung down his back, and was tipped with strips of Beaver fur. I rode on a short distance, and returned again to take another look at him. I addressed him as before, with the same result. He set me thinking very seriously as he had no fire-arms and no pony. I thought that, perhaps, he might be one of the three that had visited me the day they chased the cowboy.

When I returned to camp I found a visitor, a line-rider. I explained to him and Bill what I had seen, and the line-rider volunteered the explanation that the Indian was a runner, or what one would call a mail-carrier and was likely carrying some message to the Caddos, perhaps, an invitation to a green corn dance, or some other festivity. His appearance there had no further significance, so I let the matter drop. In the meantime, Bill was busying himself cooking some venison the cowboy had killed, getting ready for our next repast, which was about due. While waiting for Bill to put the finishing touches on his work of art, we amused ourselves with a game of checkers. When luncheon was ready we abandoned the checker board with alacrity and threw ourselves very earnestly into the work of demolishing what Bill had taken so much care to prepare.

A strong friendship had sprung up between Bill and Nero. It was very much like the story of Mary and her little lamb, wherever Bill went, there was Nero at his heels. Such devotion was very touching, but in Bill’s case it was almost too touching for it nearly cost him his life. As my partner was not much given to riding horseback, any more than he could help, he used to divert himself by taking a stroll over the prairie, and of course, the dog was at his heels. It amused Bill to see the dog chasing jack rabbits, or diving at prairie dogs, but both species seemed to have an uncanny way of avoiding his onslaughts. He never caught any of them. One day as he was tearing around after a rabbit, a herd of wild cattle came over the brow of the hill. The dog was heading for them straight as an arrow; barking and cavorting in a fashion wonderful to see. Any man who has had any experience with wild cattle will know what danger my friend and partner encountered at that point. Wild cattle are curious, and when they see a man afoot, they begin to investigate immediately, and therein lies the danger. If anything were to excite them at the moment they would trample him to death. That was just about what was due to happen to Bill as the dog had excited them and they were coming toward the man afoot. The idea of self-preservation struck Nero about the same time as the cattle began to move toward Bill, and he rushed to his master to save him. The cowboys added to the pandemonium already turned loose, by trying to shoot Nero. I always kept a horse saddled at the camp for an emergency, and when I heard the commotion, I mounted and set out at full gallop to the scene of action. I was just in time, for there was Bill hitting only the high places in his flight for safety. I met him and he needed no invitation to mount behind me, but caught the horn of the saddle and swung himself up with alacrity and away we went at top speed. The danger was not entirely passed, for there right behind us was Nero, the cause of a great part of the trouble. Bill pulled his gun and shot the dog. That itself seemed to check the herd, but we had a narrow escape. One stumble of the horse, and we would both have been trampled into such small pieces that there would be left only a damp spot on the ground where we had fallen. However, we were safe and that was the chief thing for us. We saddled our ponies and went to help the cowboys round up the herd that had become scattered through the playful antics of Nero. As it was time to eat when we had got the cattle back on the trail and quieted down, we joined the cowmen in their meal. There was considerable joking and laughing over our predicament, but they said not one word about the danger we encountered in our flight before the stampede.

As this was an opportunity for us to do business again, we took advantage of it. Bill bought some of the footsore stock, and I sold them provisions to last them until they could find a more convenient market.

When the outfit had gone northwards, things began to assume the monotonous routine of dull times. We did the best we could to entertain ourselves with checkers and talking over prospects, but it was not very exciting at best. From a business point of view it seemed a success, and we thought it advisable to establish ourselves in a dugout and make a lengthy stay of it. The prospects were good, the success of the past argued well for the future, but “The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft aglee.”

Next morning I rode down to take a look at our growing herd and had not gone very far when I found that one of my cattle had been killed. I dismounted to examine the carcass more closely and found evidence that the cow had been killed by some wild animal. I could not say what animal had killed her as the manner of attack was entirely different from any I have ever seen. It was not a gray wolf, as I was familiar with their mode of destruction. I examined the ground and found the foot-prints of two animals, one large and one small. I followed their trail for some distance and found where they had been rolling in the sand after their feast. I endeavored to follow it farther, but it was soon lost in the long buffalo grass, and I had to give up the task.

I returned to camp and reported the matter to my partner, and he said that he would fix things for them. He concluded that if he put strychnine in the carcass they had already killed, they would come again, and in that way he would rid us of the intruders. We applied the strychnine in the most approved fashion laid down by old hunters and trappers, but it was in vain. Next night they returned and killed another steer, but did not go near the one they had killed before. As we were looking over the result of the night’s work, a line-rider came by, and we explained the situation to him. He said the mischief had been wrought by a cougar, or Mexican lion, and that it was useless to try to poison him as he would not eat anything in the nature of flesh except what had been freshly killed by himself. Furthermore, he said, they had been attracted by our cattle because, being footsore, they could not put up a fight to defend themselves, and thus fell an easy prey to the marauders. We saw at once that there was only one way out of the difficulty and that was to shoot the lions, as they seemed to wary to be taken by poison. If we did not take that course, we would soon be out of cattle. With that end in view we moved them up in the neighborhood of our tent. We made a temporary corral for them, and awaited an opportunity to send a bullet into the expected visitor. He came as usual, but we did not get a shot at him, as he did not give us a chance. I wish to say that in all my experience I have never met, in Canada or in the West, another animal so cowardly and treacherous as the Mexican lion. I have known them to kill an animal not more than four rods from where I was sitting, and before I could reach the corral, he would be out of sight. I could not shoot towards the corral for fear of killing or crippling some of the stock. I have known them to kill a two-year-old steer, and by the time I could get there the cougar was gone, but the attack was so swift and sure that the poor beast would be still standing with his entrails hanging on the ground. That gives some idea of how short a time it takes a cougar to kill a cow. In spite of all his great strength, he is a great coward, as he will not face a man. I tried to rid myself of the pest that was thinning out my herd, and devoted a good deal of time in trying to find his den, to get a shot at him, but my efforts were to no purpose. I had to do the best I could, watch and wait, in the hope of success.

While engaged in the hunt for the cougar one afternoon, I saw, at some distance, a horse grazing along the creek. He had a saddle and bridle on him, but no rider. I thought he had run away from some outfit, and went down to where he was to secure him and bring him to my tent, so that the owner could call for him when he had time. Upon reaching the place where the pony was grazing, I saw a strange sight. There sat an Indian on a knoll, wearing a Navajoe blanket, ear-rings that hung down like small sleigh bells, his hair plaited and hanging down his back, his head decorated with eagle feathers, all of which made me think I had met a very distinguished gentleman. As a neighbor I greeted him with the customary, “How.” To my greeting he made no sign of recognition, did not even move a muscle. I rode past him for some distance and then returned on the opposite side of him, and then I discovered the cause of his sullen dignity. He had fastened to his blanket a small-sized pewter plate polished as bright as a new dollar fresh from the mint, and around the rim of it was inscribed the letters of the alphabet. I saw that he had left his rifle in the scabbard of his saddle, and if he made any move of a warlike nature, I could do a lot of business before he could get organized for battle. This condition made me bolder and encouraged me to make a more critical inspection of his wardrobe than I would have done if he had his winchester near at hand. He wore a pair of moccasins highly ornamented with beads of all colors. Whether he had any under garments I was not in position to know, but he looked to be clothed in the highest degree of cool, calm, unruffled dignity. As I had seen no cartridge belt on the saddle, I was satisfied that he wore one around his waist, with the customary pair of six shooters for ornaments and use. As he remained stolid in his attitude towards me, I gave up any hope of finding out anything about him, and rode home. I related my experience to Bill, laughing over the dignity displayed by the Indian, based on the possession of a pewter breast-plate that once belonged to some white child, and which he had found on his meanderings over the plains.

After a quarter of a century has elapsed, and taking a retrospective view of the situation at that time, I can see what a trifle it would have taken to send one of us, if not both, over the Great Divide to the Happy Hunting Grounds.

Bill had been out in another direction in search of the cougar, but met with as little success as I had. It became a question of sitting up nights guarding the herd, with the hope of being able to get a shot at the cause of our misfortunes, but it was in vain. Every morning brought us evidence of further devastation wrought by the bloodthirsty brute. Things came to such a pass that we had to choose between losing the whole herd, or moving to Kansas, and we chose the latter.

CHAPTER XIV.

Returning to Kansas; A Settler; A Phenomenon, etc.

Reluctantly we folded our tent and started off in the direction of the Sun-flower State, where our ranch was located. Business had been good and we were loath to leave such a good opportunity for increasing our profits, but the unseen enemy made further delay impossible. Our outfit on the trail did not present a very inviting appearance, but there was something substantial about it that cheered us considerable. We had increased our holdings during our sojourn in the Territory, and were now returning with the fruits of our venture. Personally we were not much to look at, as we had not had a shave in several months, but that fact did not interfere with the happiness we felt at the prospect of seeing the old homestead once more. On the first night of our advance we camped in the brakes of the Cimmaron river. We were fortunate in killing a deer, which provided us with a change of meat. It was the last wild game we expected to obtain, as the antelope and other wild game had been shot at so much that they had become gun-shy, and it was impossible to get within any close proximity to them to obtain a shot at one of them. The antelope in particular we did not expect to see, as that animal does not frequent the low lands, and the only time he is found there is when he is on the way to get water. Even then they seem to have on one guard at all times, so that at the sight of a man they are off like a shot and soon out of sight. Antelopes and wild horses are very much alike in their habits, as neither will enter a creek or a canyon except for water or shelter.