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AN OLD STOVE UP COW PUNCHER WHOHAS SPENT NEARLY A LIFE TIME ON THEGREAT WESTERNCATTLE RANGES.

A TEXAS COW BOY

OR,

Fifteen Years

ON THE

Hurricane Deck of a Spanish Pony.

TAKEN FROM REAL LIFE

CHAS. A. SIRINGO,

AN OLD STOVE UP "COW PUNCHER," WHO HAS SPENT
NEARLY TWENTY YEARS ON THE GREAT
WESTERN CATTLE RANGES.

INDEX.

PREFACE.

I suppose the above would suffice, but as time isnot very precious I will continue and tell how theidea of writing a book first got into my head:

While ranching on the Indian Territory line,close to Caldwell, Kansas, in the winter of '82 and'83, we boys—there being nine of us—made an iron-cladrule that whoever was heard swearing or caughtpicking grey backs off and throwing them on thefloor without first killing them, should pay a fine often cents for each and every offense. The proceedsto be used for buying choice literature—somethingthat would have a tendency to raise us above theaverage cow-puncher. Just twenty-four hours aftermaking this rule we had three dollars in the pot—orat least in my pocket, I having been appointedtreasurer.

As I was going to town that night to see mySunday girl, I proposed to the boys that, while upthere, I send the money off for a years subscriptionto some good newspaper. The question then came[x]up, what paper shall it be? We finally agreed toleave it to a vote—each man to write the one of hischoice on a slip of paper and drop it in a hat.There being two young Texans present who couldneither read nor write, we let themspeak theirchoice after the rest of us got our votes deposited.At the word given them to cut loose they both yelled"Police Gazette", and on asking why they voted forthat wicked Sheet, they both replied as though withone voice: "Cause we can read the pictures." Wefound, on counting the votes that the Police Gazettehad won, so it was subscribed for.

With the first copy that arrived was the beginningof a continued story, entitled "Potts turning Parisinside out." Mr. Potts, the hero, was an old stove-upNew York preacher, who had made a raise ofseveral hundred thousand dollars and was over inParis blowing it in. I became interested in thestory, and envied Mr. Potts very much. I wishedfor a few hundred thousand so I could do likewise;I lay awake one whole night trying to study up aplan by which I could make the desired amount.But, thinks I, what can an uneducated cow puncherdo now-a-days to make such a vast sum? In tryingto solve the question my mind darted back a few[xi]years, when, if I had taken time by the forelock, Imight have now been wallowing in wealth with therest of the big cattle kings—or to use a more appropriatename, cattle thieves. But alas! thought I, thedays of honorable cattle stealing is past, and I mustturn my mind into a healthier channel.

The next morning while awaiting breakfast Ihappened to pick up a small scrap of paper andread: "To the young man of high aims literatureoffers big inducements, providing he gets into anuntrodden field."

That night I lay awake again, trying to locatesome "cussed" untrodden field, where, as an author,I might soar on high—to the extent of a few hundredthousand at least.

At last, just as our pet rooster, "Deacon Bates"was crowing for day, I found a field that I had neverheard of any one trampling over—a "nigger" lovestory. So that night I launched out on my newnovel, the title of which was, "A pair of two-leggedcoons." My heroine, Miss Patsy Washington wasone shade darker than the ace of spades, while herlover, Mr. Andrew Jackson, was three colors darkerthan herself. My plot was laid in African Bend onthe Colorado river in Southern Texas.[xii]

Everything went on nicely, until about half waythrough the first chapter, when Mr. Jackson wasconvicted and sent to Huntsville for stealing aneighbors hog; and while I was trying to find asubstitute for him, old Patsy flew the track andeloped with a Yankee carpet-bagger. That wasmore than I could endure, so picking up the manuscriptI threw it into the fire. Thus ended my firstattempt at Authorship.

I then began figuring up an easier field for myinexperienced pen, and finally hit upon the idea ofwriting a history of my own short, but rugged life,which dear reader you have before you. Butwhether it will bring me in "shekels" enough tocapsize Paris remains yet to be "disskivered" asthe Negro says.

A TEXAS COW BOY.

Chapter I.

It was a bright morning, on the 7th day of February1856, as near as I can remember, that yourhumble Servant came prancing into this wide andwicked world.

By glancing over the map you will find his birthplace,at the extreme southern part of the LoneStar State, on the Peninsula of Matagorda, a narrowstrip of land bordered by the Gulf of Mexico on thesouth and Matagorda Bay on the north.

This Peninsula is from one to two miles wide andseventy five miles long. It connects the mainlandat Caney and comes to a focus at Deskrows Pointor "Salura Pass." About midway between the twowas situated the "Dutch Settlement," and in thecentre of that Settlement, which contained only adozen houses, stood the little frame cottage that firstgave me shelter.[14]

My father who died when I was only a year old,came from the sunny clime of Italy, while my dearold mother drifted from the Boggs of good "ould"Ireland. Am I not a queer conglomerate—a sweet-scentedmixture indeed!

Our nearest neighbor was a kind old soul by thename of John Williams, whose family consisted ofhis wife and eleven children.

In the fall of 1859 I took my first lessons inschool, my teacher being a Mr. Hale from Illinois.

The school house, a little old frame building,stood off by itself, about a mile from the Settlement,and we little tow-heads, sister and I, hadto hoof it up there every morning, through thegrassburrs, barefooted; our little sunbrowned feethad never been incased in shoe-leather up to thattime.

To avoid the grassburrs, sometimes on gettingan early start we would go around by the Gulfbeach which was quite a distance out of our way.In taking this route though, I would generally belate at school, for there were so many little thingsto detain me—such as trying to catch the shadowof a flying sea gull, or trying to lasso sand crabson my stick horse.[15]

Crowds of Cow Boys used to come over to thePeninsula from the mainland and sometimes haveoccasion to rope wild steers in my presence—henceme trying to imitate them.

I remember getting into a scrape once by takingthe beach route to school; sister who was a yearolder than I, was walking along the water edgepicking up pretty shells while I was riding along onmy stick horse taking the kinks out of my rope—apiece of fishline—so as to be ready to take in thefirst crab that showed himself. Those crabs went inlarge droves and sometimes ventured quite a distanceout from the Gulf, but on seeing a personwould break for the water.

It was not long before I spied a large drove onahead, pulling their freight for the water. I putspurs to my pony and dashed after them. I managedto get one old fat fellow headed off and turnedtowards the prairie. I threw at him several timesbut he would always go through the loop before Icould pull it up. He finally struck a hole and disappeared.

I was determined to get him out and take anotherwhirl at him, so dropping my horse and getting[16]down on all fours I began digging the sandaway with my hands, dog fashion.

About that time sister came up and told me tocome on as I would be late at school, etc.

I think I told her to please go to Halifax, as I wasgoing to rope that crab before I quit or "bust." Atany rate she went off, leaving me digging with allmy might.

Every now and then I would play dog by stickingmy snoot down in the hole to smell. But I rammedit down once too often. Mr. Crab was nearer thesurface than I thought for. He was laying for me.I gave a comanche yell, jumped ten feet in the airand lit out for home at a 2:40 gait. One of hisclaws was fastened to my upper lip while the otherclamped my nose with an iron-like grip.

I met Mr. William Berge coming out to the beachafter a load of wood, and he relieved me of my uncomfortableburden. He had to break the crabsclaws off to get him loose.

I arrived at school just as Mr. Hale was ringingthe bell after recess. He called me up and wantedto know what was the matter with my face, it wasso bloody. Being a little George W., minus thehatchet, I told him the truth. Suffice to say he laid[17]me across his knee and made me think a nest ofbumble bees were having a dance in the seat of mybreeches—or at least where the seat should havebeen. I never had a pair of pants on up to thattime. Had worn nothing but a long white shirtmade of a flour sack after some of the "big bugs"in Matagorda had eaten the flour out.

The fall of 1861 Mr. Hale broke up school andleft for Yankeedom to join the blue coats. Andfrom that time on I had a regular picnic, doingnothing and studying mischief. Billy Williams wasmy particular chum; we were constantly togetherdoing some kind of devilment. The old womenused to say we were the meanest little imps in theSettlement, and that we would be hung before wewere twenty-one. Our three favorite passtimeswere, riding the milk calves, coon hunting and sailingplay-boats down on the bay shore.

Shortly after school broke up I wore my firstpair of breeches. Uncle "Nick" and aunt "Mary,"mothers' brother and sister, who lived in Galveston,sent us a trunk full of clothes and among them wasa pair of white canvas breeches for me.

The first Sunday after the goods arrived mothermade me scour myself all over and try my new[18]pants on. They were large enough for two kids ofmy size, but mother said I could wear them thatday if I would be a good boy, and that she wouldtake a few tucks in them before the next Sunday.So after getting me fixed up she told me not to leavethe yard or she would skin me alive, etc.

Of course I should have been proud of the newaddition to my wardrobe and like a good little boyobeyed my mother; but I wasn't a good little boyand besides the glory of wearing white pants wasinsignificant compared to that of an exciting coonhunt with dogs through brush, bramble and rushes.You see I had promised Billy the evening beforeto go coon hunting with him that day.

I watched my chance and while mother wasdressing sister in her new frock I tiptoed out ofthe house and skipped.

Arriving there the dogs disappeared in the tallrushes barking at every jump; we jumped right inafter them, up to our waists in the mud. We hada genuine good all-day coon hunt, killing severalcoons and one wild cat.[19]

We gave up the hunt about sundown, and Istarted for home, the glory of my new pants havingdeparted. I was indeed a sorry looking sight, coveredwith mud from head to foot.

I entered the house with some fear and trembling,and well I might, for mother was "laying" for mewith the old black strap. The result was I sleptsound that night, but couldn't sit down without painfor a week afterwards.

Chapter II.

It was Monday morning—a day that I despised.Need you wonder, for it was mother's wash dayand I had to carry wood from the Gulf beach tokeep the "pot boiling."

I tried to play off sick that morning but it wouldnot work, for mother had noticed that I got awaywith two plates of mush besides three hard boiledeggs for breakfast.

Before starting out after my first load of wood,I hid the big old strap which hung by the door,for I felt it in my bones there was war in theair. I always did have a tough time of it on washdays, and I knew this Monday would bring thesame old story.

At last mother got the fire started under the wash-potwhich stood out in the yard and told me forabout the twentieth time to go after an armful ofwood. I hesitated, in hopes that she would take anotion to go herself, but when she stamped her footand picked up a barrel stave I knew I had better be[21]going, for when she got her Irish blood up it wasdangerous to linger.

When I got out among the drift wood on thebeach, I treed a cotton-tail rabbit up a hollow log,and I made up my mind to get Mr. cotton-tail out,wood or no wood.

I began digging the sand away from the log asfast as I could so as to be able to roll it downinto the Gulf and drown the rabbit out.

It was a very hot day and digging the heavy sandwith only my hands and a stick was slow, tiresomework. The result was I fell asleep with my headunder the log and my bare legs sticking out in thehot June sun. I dreamt I died and went to a dreadfulhot country and Satan was there piling hot coalson me.

Finally the sun went under a cloud, or at least Isuppose it did, for the burning pain left me and Ibegan to dream of Heaven; I thought the Lord wasthere sitting upon His throne of gold in the midstof scores of happy children. Calling me up to himhe pointed to a large pile of fence rails down in abeautiful valley and said: "my boy you go down andcarry every one of those rails up here to me beforeyou stop."[22]

His words landed up against my happy thoughtslike a thunderbolt from a clear sky. I had beenthinking of what a picnic I would have with theother children.

A walk of about one mile brought me to the pileof rails; there were more in the pile than I couldcount, I shouldered one of the lightest and struckout up the steep hill, thinking how I would like tobe back with mother, even if I had to carry anarmful of wood from the beach now and then.

When about half way up the hill I heard a terriblenoise such as I had never heard before, it awakenedme, and in trying to jump up I bumped myhead against the log, and also filled my eyes full ofsand.

When I got onto my feet and the sand out ofmy eyes, I discovered the whole beach, east of me,thronged with men carrying guns, and marchingright towards me. The head ones were not over ahundred yards off, beating drums and blowing theirhorns.

It is needless to say I was scared and that Iran as fast as my legs could carry me, looking backevery minute to see if they were after me. It wasin this way that I ran or sprang right into the midst[23]of Mrs. Zipprian's drove of geese, before I knewit. There were several old ganders in the drovewhich used to chase me every chance they got. Igenerally took particular pains to go around them;but this time my mind was in a different channelfrom what it had ever been in before, hence my notlooking out for them.

As I flew past, two of the old ganders made a diveat me, but only one succeeded in catching on; hegrabbed the tail of my shirt, which stuck straightout behind, in his mouth and hung on with blood inhis eyes. My speed seemed to increase instead ofslacken, every time the old gander would bounceup and come down, his claws would rake the skinfrom the calves of my legs. His death-like gripfinally broke loose and I felt considerable lighter.My mind also, felt somewhat relieved.

Mother was out in the yard washing, she hadpicked up chips enough to boil the water; the tubwas sitting upon a box and she was rubbing awaywith all her might, her back towards me. As I waslooking over my shoulder I ran against her, knockingher, tub and all over in a pile, myself with them.

Mother got up first with her right hand in my shirtcollar, I plead manfully, and tried to tell her about[24]the scores of men, but she was too mad to listen,she dragged me to where the big black strap shouldhave hung, I knew she couldn't find it, thereforehoped to get off with a few slaps, but alas, no shespied the mush stick and the way she gave it to mewith that was a caution!

The crowd I saw proved to be Dr. Pierceson'scompany of rebels, who had been sent over fromMatagorda to drill and be ready to fight the bluecoats when they came. It was then the summer of1862. They located their camp on the beach, abouta mile from our house, and I used to march withthem all day long sometimes. The captain, Dr.Pierceson, gave me an umbrella stick which I usedfor a gun.

That coming fall about five thousand Yankeeslanded at Deckrows Point on the Peninsula andmarched by our ranch on their way to the rebelcamp which was stationed forty miles above, at themouth of Caney Creek.

They camped one night close to our house andfilled me up with hard-tack, which was quite a treatto a fellow living on mush and milk.

They had a five or six day fight with the rebels,neither of them coming off victorious. We could[25]hear the guns plainly from the "Settlement." Manydead men were washed ashore on the beach. Mysister and I stumbled onto one poor fellow one day,shot through the heart. His clothes were gone andhis wrist was marked "J. T." in India ink.

After the battle the Yankees marched back toDeckrows Point where they remained to the end ofthe war; the rebels still held their ground at themouth of Caney. Every now and then a squad fromeach side would meet at the "Settlement" and have askirmish. I remember once after one of those skirmishesa crowd of Yankees rounded Mr. Williamsup on the prairie—Billy and I being with him—andthrowing their pistols in his face told him if they everfound him so far from home again they would kill him.

Their threats didn't scare Mr. Williams the leastbit, for he afterwards slipped into their camp afterdark and stole eleven head of their best horses andgave them to the rebels. But on his way back fromthe rebel ramp, where he went to take the horsesthey caught him and took him aboard of a Yankeeman-of-war to hang him. They had the rope aroundhis neck ready to swing him when the General turnedhim loose, on account of his old age and bravery,telling him never to be caught from home again.[26]

Fighting was going on nearly every day in sightof us; sometimes the Yankee gun boats would getinto the Bay among the rebel boats, and at othertimes they would fight across the narrow strip ofland, shooting right over the houses at one another.Many of the cannon balls dropped on the prairie;one of them at one time struck within a few feet ofMr. Williams, almost burying him in the sand as itplowed along on the ground. Poor fellow, he wasafterwards killed by one, he carried one home andtaking all the powder out of it, as he supposed, setit out in the yard with the hole up, and then told Billyto get him a coal of fire in the tongs. He thoughtit would just flash a little.

I was present, and not liking the looks of it, creptout behind the picket gate, a few yards away, andpeeped between the pickets.

The whole family was looking on to see the fun,Mattie, one of the little girls, was sitting with herarms around a dog's neck, within a few feet of it.

Billy, arriving with the coal, handed it to hisfather who reached over and let it drop down intothe hole—where he had taken out the lead screw.

It seemed to me that the coal hadn't reached thehole when the thing exploded. For a few seconds[27]everything was enveloped in smoke; when thesmoke disappeared sufficiently for me to see, thewhole sky seemed to be a blaze of fire, and finallyMr. Williams emerged out of the heavy cloud ofsmoke hopping on one leg.

A piece of the bomb-shell had taken off part ofone foot on the left leg and another piece hadplowed through the calf of his right leg; part ofone ear was also gone. He only lived a few days.

A piece of the shell took off one of the dog'slegs without even touching Mattie, the little girlwho had her arms around his neck.

Several pieces went through the house, and onepiece went through the picket gate right over myhead. The next day Billy and I found a large piecesticking in the wall of an old vacant house a milefrom where it exploded.

During the war several ships were driven ashoreon the beach by the Yankee gun boats. The folksat the "Settlement" would get all the plunder. Oneship was loaded with dry goods and from that timeon I wore breeches.

About a year after the war broke out the rebelsgathered up all the cattle on the Peninsula and drovethem to the mainland, where they were turned[28]loose with the thousands upon thousands of wildcattle already over there. Their idea in doing sowas to keep the Yankees—whom they knew wouldhold the lower part of the Peninsula, they havingthe best gunboats—from getting fresh beef to eat.There was only one cow left in the whole "Settlement"and that was our old "Browny;" mother hadbegged manfully for them to leave her, for she knewwe children would starve to death living on mushstraight.

When the war broke up everybody was happy.We cheered for joy when Mr. Joe Yeamans broughtthe good news from town.

Shortly after this all of the men and boys thatwere large enough, went over to the mainland togather up the Peninsula cattle. On their arrival theyfound it a bigger job than they had figured on, forthey were scattered over two or three hundredmiles of country and as wild as deer.

Billy and I thought it very hard that we couldnot go and be Cow Boys too; but we had lots of funall by ourselves, for we had an old mule and two orthree ponies to ride, so you see we practiced ridingin anticipation of the near future, when we wouldbe large enough to be Cow Boys.[29]

After being gone about three months the crowdcame back, bringing with them several hundredhead of cattle, which they had succeeded in gathering.Among them were about twenty head belongingto mother.

The crowd went right back after more. Thisstimulated Billy and I to become a crowd of CowBoys all by ourselves, therefore we put in most ofour time lassoing and riding wild yearlings, etc.We hardly stayed at home long enough to get ourmeals. Mother had to get her own wood in thosedays, for sister had gone to school in Galveston.Of course I always had to come home at night,therefore mother would get satisfaction out of mewith the black strap or mush stick, after I wassnugly settled in bed, for my waywardness andtrifling habits.

In the spring of 1867, a cattle man by the nameof Faldien brought his family over to the Peninsulafor their health and rented part of our house tolive in.

After getting his wife and babies located in theirnew quarters, he started back home, in Matagorda,to make preparations for spring work, hehaving to rig up new outfits, etc. He persuaded[30]mother to let me go with him, and learn to runcattle. When she consented I was the happiestboy in the "Settlement," for my life long wish wasabout to be gratified.

Chapter III.

The next day after arriving in town, Mr. Faldiensent me out to his ranch, twenty miles, on BigBoggy. I rode out on the "grub" wagon with thecolored cook. That night, after arriving at theranch, there being several men already there, wewent out wild boar hunting. We got back aboutmidnight very tired and almost used up. Such ahunt was very different from the coon hunts Billyand I used to have at the "Settlement." Our dogswere badly gashed up by the boars, and it was awonder some of us hadn't been served the same way.

In a few days Mr. Faldien came out to the ranch,bringing with him several men. After spending afew days gathering up the cow-ponies, which hadn'tbeen used since the fall before, we started for LakeAustin—a place noted for wild cattle.

During the summer I was taken sick and had togo home. I was laid up for two months with typhoidfever. Every one thought I would die.[32]

That fall, about October, mother married a manby the name of Carrier, who hailed from Yankeedom.He claimed that he owned a farm in Michigan, besideslots of other property.

He was very anxious to get back to his farm, sopersuaded mother to sell out lock, stock and barreland go with him.

She had hard work to find a buyer as money wasvery scarce, but finally she got Mr. George Burkheart,a merchant in Matagorda, to set his ownprice on things and take them.

The house and one hundred and seventy-fiveacres of land only brought one hundred and seventy-fivedollars. The sixty head of cattle that we hadsucceeded in getting back from the mainland wentat one dollar a head and all others that still remainedon the mainland—thrown in for goodmeasure.

At last everything for sale was disposed of andwe got "Chris" Zipprian to take us to Indianola inhis schooner. We bade farewell to the old homesteadwith tears in our eyes. I hated more thananything else to leave old "Browny" behind for shehad been a friend in need as well as a friend indeed.Often when I would be hungry and afraid to go[33]home for fear of mother and the mush stick, shewould let me go up to her on the prairie calf fashionand get my milk. She was nearly as old asmyself.

At Indianola we took the Steamship "CrescentCity" for New Orleans. The first night out we raninto a large Brig and came very near going under.The folks on the Brig were nearly starved to death,having been drifting about for thirty days without arudder. We took them in tow, after getting ourship in trim again, and landed them safely in Galveston.

There was a bar-room on our ship, and our newlord and master, Mr. Carrier, put in his spare timedrinking whisky and gambling; I do not think hedrew a sober breath from the time we left Indianolauntil we landed in New Orleans, by that time hehad squandered every cent received for the homesteadand cattle, so mother had to go down intoher stocking and bring out the little pile of goldwhich she had saved up before the war for "hardtimes," as she used to say. With this money shenow bought our tickets to Saint Louis. We tookpassage, I think, on the "Grand Republic." Therewas also a bar-room on this boat, and after wheedling[34]mother out of the remainder of her funds, hedrank whisky and gambled as before, so we landedin Saint Louis without a cent.

Mother had to pawn her feather mattress andpillows for a month's rent in an old delapidatedframe building on one of the back streets. It containedonly four rooms, two up stairs and two down;the lower rooms were occupied by the stingy oldlandlord and family; we lived in one of the upperrooms, while a Mr. Socks, whose wife was an invalid,occupied the other.

The next day after getting established in our newquarters, the "old man," as I called him, struck outto find a job; he found one at a dollar a day shovelingcoal.

At first he brought home a dollar every night,then a half and finally a quarter. At last he got tocoming home drunk without a nickel in his pocket.He finally came up missing; we didn't know whathad become of him. Mother was sick in bed atthe time from worrying. I went out several timeshunting work but no one would even give me aword of encouragement, with the exception of anold Jew who said he was sorry for me.[35]

A little circumstance happened, shortly after the"old man" pulled his trifling carcass for parts unknown,which made me a better boy and no doubta better man than I should have been had it neverhappened.

Everything was white without, for it had beensnowing for the past two days. It was about fiveo'clock in the evening and the cold piercing northwind was whistling through the unceiled walls ofour room. Mother was sound asleep, while sisterand I sat shivering over an old, broken stove, whichwas almost cold, there being no fuel in the house.

Sister began crying and wondered why the Lordlet us suffer so? I answered that may be it was becausewe quit saying our prayers. Up to the timewe left Texas mother used to make us kneel downby the bed-side and repeat the Lord's prayer everynight before retiring. Since then she had, fromworrying, lost all interest in Heavenly affairs.

"Let us say our prayers now, then, brother!"said sister drying the tears from her eyes.

We both knelt down against the old, rusty stoveand commenced. About the time we had finishedthe door opened and in stepped Mr. Socks with abundle under his arm. "Here children, is a loaf of[36]bread and some butter and I will bring you up abucket of coal in a few moments, for I supposefrom the looks of the stove you are cold," said thegood man, who had just returned from his day's work.

Was ever a prayer so quickly heard? We enjoyedthe bread and butter, for we hadn't tasted foodsince the morning before.

The next day was a nice sunny one, and I struckout up town to try and get a job shoveling snowfrom the sidewalks.

The first place I tackled was a large stone fronton Pine street. The kind lady of the establishmentsaid she would give me twenty-five cents if I woulddo a good job cleaning the sidewalk in front of thehouse.

After an hour's hard work I finished, and, afterpaying me, the lady told me to call next day andshe would give me a job shoveling coal down in thecellar, as I had done an extra good job on the sidewalk.This was encouraging and I put in thewhole day shoveling snow, but never found anymore twenty-five cent jobs; most I received for onewhole hour's work was ten cents, and then the oldfat fellow kicked like a bay steer, about the d——dsnow being such an expense, etc.[37]

From that time on I made a few dimes each daysawing wood or shoveling coal and therefore gotalong splendid.

I forgot to mention my first evening in SaintLouis. I was going home from the bakery when Inoticed a large crowd gathered in front of a cornergrocery; I went up to see what they were doing.Two of the boys had just gotten through fightingwhen I got there; the store-keeper and four or fiveother men were standing in the door looking onat the crowd of boys who were trying to cap anotherfight.

As I walked up, hands shoved clear to the bottomof my pockets, the store-keeper called out, pointingat me, "there's a country Jake that I'll bet can lickany two boys of his size in the crowd."

Of course all eyes were then turned onto me,which, no doubt, made me look sheepish. One ofthe men asked me where I was from; when I toldhim, the store-keeper exclaimed, "by gum, if he isfrom Texas I'll bet two to one that he can clean outany two boys of his size in the crowd."

One of the other men took him up and theymade a sham bet of ten dollars, just to get me tofight. The two boys were then picked out; one[38]was just about my size and the other considerablysmaller. They never asked me if I would take ahand in the fight until everything was ready. Ofcourse I hated to crawl out, for fear they mightthink I was a coward.

We had it up and down for quite a while, finallyI got the largest one down, and was puttingit to him in good shape, when the other one pickedup a piece of brick-bat and began pounding me onthe back of the head with it. I looked up to seewhat he was doing and he struck me over one eyewith the bat. I jumped up and the little fellow tookto his heels, but I soon overtook him and blackenedboth of his eyes up in good shape, before theother boy, who was coming at full tilt could get thereto help him. I then chased the other boy back tothe crowd. That ended the fight and I receivedtwo ginger-snaps, from the big hearted storekeeper,for my trouble. I wore the nick-name of"Tex" from that time on, during my stay in thatneighborhood; and also wore a black eye, wherethe little fellow struck me with the bat, for severaldays afterwards.[39]

About the middle of January mother received aletter from the "old man," with ten dollars enclosed,and begging her to come right on without delay ashe had a good job and was doing well, etc. Hewas at Lebanon, Ill., twenty-five miles from thecity. The sight of ten dollars and the inducementshe held out made us hope that we would meet withbetter luck there, so we packed up our few trapsand started on the Ohio and Mississippi railroad.

On arriving in Lebanon about nine o'clock atnight we found the "old man" there waiting for us.

The next morning we all struck out on foot,through the deep snow, for Moore's ranch wherethe "old man" had a job chopping cord wood. Atramp of seven miles brought us to the little old logcabin which was to be our future home. A fewrods from our cabin stood a white frame house inwhich lived Mr. Moore and family.

Everything went on lovely for the first week,notwithstanding that the cold winds whistledthrough the cracks in our little cabin, and we hadnothing to eat but corn bread, black coffee and oldsalt pork that Moore could not find a market for.

The first Saturday after getting established in ournew home the "old man" went to town and got on[40]a glorious drunk, squandered every nickel he couldrake and scrape; from that time on his visits totown were more frequent than his trips to thewoods, to work. At last I was compelled to go towork for Moore at eight dollars a month, to helpkeep the wolf from our door, and don't you forgetit, I earned eight dollars a month, working out inthe cold without gloves and only half clothed.

Towards spring the "old man" got so mean andgood-for-nothing that the neighbors had to run himout of the country. A crowd of them surroundedthe house one night, took the old fellow out andpreached him a sermon; then they gave him untilmorning to either skip or be hung. You bet hedidn't wait until morning.

A short while afterwards mother took sister andwent to town to hunt work. She left her householdgoods with one of the near neighbors, a Mr. Muck,where they still remain I suppose, if not worn out.But there was nothing worth hauling off except thedishes. I must say the table ware was good; wehad gotten them from a Spanish vessel wrecked onthe Gulf beach during the war.

Mother found work in a private boarding house,and sister with a Mrs. Bell, a miller's wife, while I[41]still remained with Moore at the same old wages.

Along in June sometime I quit Moore on accountof having the ague. I thought I should have moneyenough to take a rest until I got well, but bless youI only had ninety cents to my credit, Moorehad deducted thirty-five dollars the "old man" owedhim out of my earnings. I pulled for town as madas an old setting hen. But I soon found work again,with an old fellow by the name of John Sargent,who was to give me eight dollars a month, boardand clothes and pay my doctor bills.

About the first of September mother and sisterwent to Saint Louis where they thought wageswould be higher. They bade me good bye, promisingto find me a place in the city, so I could bewith them; also promised to write.

Shortly afterwards I quit Mr. Sargent with onlyone dollar to my credit; and that I havn't got yet.He charged me up with everything I got in theshape of clothes, doctor bills, medicine, etc.

I then went to work for a carpenter, to learn thetrade, for my board, clothes, etc. I was to remainwith him three years. My first day's work wasturning a big heavy stone for him to grind a lot ofold, rusty tools on. That night after supper I broke[42]my contract, as I concluded that I knew just asmuch about the carpenter's trade as I wished toknow, and skipped for the country, by moonlight.

I landed up at a Mr. Jacobs' farm twelve milesfrom town and got a job of work at twelve dollarsa month. I didn't remain there long though, as Ihad a chill every other day regular, and thereforecouldn't work much.

I made up my mind then to pull for Saint Louisand hunt mother and sister. I had never heard aword from them since they left. After buying asmall satchel to put my clothes in and paying for aticket to the city, I had only twenty-five cents leftand part of that I spent for dinner that day.

I arrived in East Saint Louis about midnight withonly ten cents left. I wanted to buy a ginger-cakeor something, as I was very hungry, but hated toas I needed the dime to pay my way across theriver next morning. I wasn't very well posted then,in regard to the ways of getting on in the world, orI would have spent the dime for something to eat,and then beat my way across the river.

Chapter IV.

Bright and early next morning I gave my dimeto the ferryman and pulled out for the bustlingcity, where I was soon lost in the large crowd whichthronged the levee.

I left my satchel in a saloon and struck out to findMr. Socks, hoping he could give me some informationas to mother and sister's whereabouts, but Iwas sadly disappointed, he had left that part of thecity in which he lived when I knew him.

I put in the rest of the day gazing through theshow windows, especially of the bakeries, at thefat pies, cakes, etc., for I was getting very hungry,my last meal being dinner the day before.

About dark I strolled up to a second-hand bookstore and asked how much a bible, nearly new,would bring? The man behind the counter told meto bring it around and he would give whatever itwas worth. So I struck out after my satchel; Ihated the idea of parting with the book for it hadbeen presented to me by my late employer's mother[44]Mrs. Moore, a nice old lady who had taken a likingto me. But you know how it is when a fellow ishungry, or would have known had you been in myshoes.

I got twenty-five cents for the bible and immediatelyinvested fifteen cents of it in a mince pie.

That night I stowed myself away in an emptydry goods box. I did not sleep well, and when Idid sleep it was to dream of snakes and other venomousreptiles.

I put in the whole of the next day hunting work,but failed to find it. I had bought a five cent ginger-cakefor my dinner and now I got a five cent piefor my supper; this broke me flat and I had nothingelse that I could sell; so I put up for the night in apile of bailed hay, which was stacked up behind astore.

The next morning I struck out again huntingwork, but this time on an empty stomach. Abouttwo o'clock in the afternoon I found a hack driverwho said he wanted to hire a boy to take care ofhis horses; he said he would not be going homeuntil about one o'clock that night and for me to waitfor him in front of the Court house on Fourth street.[45]

Just as soon as dark came, I went to the appointedplace and staid there for fear my manwould conclude to go home earlier than he expected.I was exceedingly happy when the long-lookedfor hour drew near, for I thought it wouldn'tbe long until I would have a good square meal anda warm bed to sleep in.

About two o'clock, while leaning against a lamppostgazing up and down Fourth street, a policemanpunched me in the ribs and told me to "hunt myhole" and that if he caught me out again so lateat night he would put me in the cooler.

I pulled out across the street and waited until hegot out of sight, then I went back to my same oldstand, thinking that my man would certainly bealong in a few moments at the outside. Every hackthat drove by would cause me to have a spell of theblues, until another hove in sight—soon to disappearagain. Finally about three o'clock my courageand what few sparks of hopes that still remained,wilted, for, an empty stomach and sitting up so latehad given me a terrible headache, which was almostpast endurance.

I was sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, withmy face buried in both hands, crying, when someone[46]touched me on the shoulder. I was scared atfirst for I thought it was a "peeler;" but my fearsvanished when I looked up into the gleaming countenanceof a small, red complexioned man, whosaid in a pleasant tone:—"Is there anything I cando for you my little man?"

His kindness proved too much for me, I burstout crying and it was quite awhile before I couldtell him my trouble. He was terribly mad when Itold him how the hack man had served me; he toldme to watch for the hard-hearted wretch next dayand if I saw him to point him out and he wouldteach him how to play jokes on innocent children.

He took me to his boarding place, a fancy restaurant,right across the street; he said he was justfixing to go to bed when he spied me across thestreet, acting as though in trouble.

When he found out that I hadn't had a squaremeal for three days he remarked that it was a d—dshame and then told the night clerk, who appearedto be half asleep, to have me a good supper fixedup and to give me a good room. He then bid megood night and started to bed, telling me to remainthere until I found work, if it was a month, that hewould arrange everything with the proprietor in the[47]morning before he went to work. I thanked himwith tears in my eyes, for his kindness.

I was so tired and sleepy that I never woke upuntil nearly noon next day. After eating breakfast,I struck out to hunt a job, but failed as usual.

Three days after, while out hunting work, Istopped an old man and asked him if he knewwhere I could find a job? He smiled and said:"My boy this is the fourth time you have asked methat same question in the last three days. You mustlike my looks, for I have noticed you pass scoresof men without stopping them."

I told him I never tackled a man unless he hada pleasing countenance, for I had been snapped upshort by so many; I also told him that I did notremember asking him before.

He finally, after asking me a few questions, said:"Follow me and I will find you work before I stop."

The first place we went into was the Planters'House, on Fourth street, between Pine and Chestnut,and he asked the clerk if they needed a bellboy. "No," was the short answer he received.

He then asked where he could find the proprietor."Up in his room, No.—. on first floor," was theanswer.[48]

We found the "boss" busily writing. My newfriend plead my case like a dutch uncle and told himif I didn't prove to be just what he recommendedme to be—a wide-awake, get-up-and-get, honestboy, that he would pay all damages, etc.

That seemed to settle it, for I was told to godown to the office and wait for orders.

I was too happy to live. I thanked the kind oldgentleman from the bottom of my heart and offeredto pay him for his trouble as soon as I earned somemoney. He told me I could pay him for his troubleby being a good boy.

After waiting a few minutes in the office, the proprietorcame down and made a bargain with me.My wages were to be ten dollars a month. Hegave me one month's wages in advance, to buyclean clothes with.

I was put on the forenoon watch which went onduty at eight in the morning and came off at one inthe afternoon. There were five of us on at a time.

We would always make from twenty-five cents tofive dollars a day while on duty, for we hardly everwent to wait on a person but what they would giveus something in the shape of money. Gamblersgenerally gave us the most; sometimes a lot of[49]them would get together in a room to play cardsand send down to the bar after their drinks andmay be send a ten or twenty dollar bill and tell thebell boy to keep the change. With this money weused to have some gay old times taking in the cityafter coming off guard.

The next fall, nearly one year after landing atthe "Planters," I had a fight with one of the bellboys, Jimmie Byron. He called me a liar and Ijumped aboard of him. When it was over with,the clerk, Mr. Cunningham, called me up to thecounter and slapped me without saying a word.

I went right straight to my room, packed up my"gripsack" and went to the proprietor for a settlement.

I told him the whole thing, just as it happened.He tried to get me to stay but I was still mad andwouldn't listen to him. I had made up my mindto buy a pistol, come back and get square with Mr.Cunningham for slapping me.

I left the house with eighteen dollars in mypocket; jumped aboard of a street car and rode downto the levee. I left my valise at a saloon and then[50]started back to find a gun store. I finally found oneand gave ten dollars for a fancy little ivory handledfive-shooter.

I then started for the "Planters" still as mad as anold setting hen. I had not gone far when I cameacross a large crowd gathered around one of thoseknife rackets, where you pay a quarter for five ringsand try to "ring" a knife.

I watched the thing awhile and finally invested aquarter. I got a little "Jim Crow" barlow the firstthrow. That made it interesting, so I bought anotherquarters worth, and another until five dollarswas gone. This did not satisfy me, so I kept onuntil I didn't have a nickel left.

But wasn't I mad when I realized what I haddone! I forgot all about my other troubles and feltlike breaking my own head instead of Cunningham's.

I went to the levee and found out that the "BartAble" would start for New Orleans in a few minutes,so I ran to get my satchel, not far off, determinedon boarding the steamer and remaining there untilkicked off. Anything to get nearer the land of mybirth, I thought, even if I had to break the rulesof a gentleman in doing so.[51]

When the Purser came around collecting fares,I laid my case before him with tears in my eyes;I told him I was willing to work—and hard, too, topay my fare. He finally, after studying awhile,said, "Well go ahead, I'll find something for youto do."

Everything went on lovely with me until oneevening when we stopped at a landing to take onsome freight, mostly grain. We pulled up by theside of an old disabled steamer which was beingused for a wharf-boat and went to work loading.The job given to me was sewing sacks when everone was found out of order.

There were two sets of men loading, one in thestern and the other in the bow, and I was supposedto do the sewing at both ends. When they cameacross a holey sack, if I happened to be at theother end they would holloa for me and I would gorunning through the narrow passage way, leadingfrom one end to the other.

I was in the stern when the sound of my namecame from the other end; I grabbed my ball oftwine and struck out in a dog trot through thepassage the sides of which were formed of grainpiled to the ceiling. When about half way through[52]I thought I heard my name called from the end Ihad just left; I stopped to listen and while waiting,being tired, I went to lean over against the wall ofsacked grain, but instead of a wall there was anold vacated hatchway and over into that I went.There being no flooring in the boat, there wasnothing but the naked timbers for my weary bonesto alight upon.

Chapter V.

The next day about noon I came to my senses.I found myself all alone in a nice little room ona soft bed. I tried to get up but it was useless; myback felt as if it was broken. I couldn't think whathad happened to me. But finally the door openedand in stepped a doctor, who explained the wholematter. He said the captain, just as the boat wasfixing to pull out, was walking through the passageway when he heard my groans down in the holdand getting a lantern, ladder and help, fished meout almost lifeless. I was in the captain's privateroom and having the best of care. The back of myhead was swollen out of shape, it having struck onone of the cross timbers, while my back landedacross another. The doctor said I owed my life tothe captain for finding me, "for," said he, "if youhad remained in there twenty minutes longer yourcase would have been hopeless."[54]

At last we arrived in Memphis, Tenn. We hadbeen traveling very slowly on account of having tostop at all the small landings and unload freight ortake on more.

After landing at Memphis I took a notion that alittle walk would help my lame back, so I struckout along the river bank, very slowly.

During my walk I came across a drove of smallsnipe, and having my pistol with me, I shot atthem. The pistol report attracted the attention oftwo boys who were standing not far off. Theycame over to me, and one of them, the oldest, whowas on crutches, having only one leg, asked howmuch I would take for my "shooter?" I told himI would take ten dollars for it, as I was in need ofmoney. He examined it carefully and then said:"It's a trade buddy, but you will have to go up tothat little house yonder, to get the money, as Ihavn't got that much with me."

The house he pointed out stood off by itself tothe right of the town, which was situated about a milefrom the river. The house in question being half amile off, I told him that I was too weak to walk thatfar, on account of my back being out of whack."Well," said he, "you go with us as far as that big[55]sand hill yonder," pointing to a large red sand hill afew hundred yards from where we stood, "and mychum here, who has got two good legs, will runon and get the money while we wait."

I agreed, not suspecting anything wrong andwhen behind the sand hill, out of sight of thesteamboat landing, Mr. one-leg threw down on mewith my own "shooter" and ordered me to throwup my hands. I obeyed and held mighty still whilethe other young ruffian went through my pockets.They walked off with everything I had in mypockets, even took my valise key. I felt considerablyrelieved, I can assure you, when the cockedrevolver was taken down from within a few inchesof my nose. I was in dread for fear his tremblingfinger might accidently touch the trigger.

As soon as I was released I went right back tothe landing and notified a policeman who struckout after them. But whether he caught them or notI never knew, as the "Bart Able" steamed down theriver shortly afterwards.

The same evening after arriving in New Orleansthe "Bart Able" pulled back, for Saint Louis, leavingme there flat broke and among strangers.[56]

I looked terribly blue late that evening as Iwalked up and down the crowded levee studyingwhat to do. I had already been to the Morgansteamship landing and begged for a chance to workmy way to Texas, but met with poor success. Icould not hire out even if I had applied and got ajob, for my back was still stiff, so much so that Icouldn't stoop down without terrible pain.

That night I laid down under an old tarpaulinwhich was spread over a lot of sugar.

After getting up and shaking the dust off nextmorning, I went down the river about a mile wherescores of small boats were being unloaded.

Among them were several boat loads of oranges,bananas, etc., which were being unloaded. In carryingthe bananas on shore the over ripe ones woulddrop off. On those I made my breakfast, but Iwished a thousand times before night that I had noteaten them, for Oh Lord, how my head did ache!

That night I went to sleep on a pile of cottonbales—that is I tried to sleep, but my headache wasterrible, I could get but little repose.

The next morning I found there was a Morgansteamship in from Texas, and I struck out to interview[57]the captain in regard to a free ride to Texas.But the old pot-bellied sinner wouldn't talk to me.

In the afternoon I began to grow weak from hungerand my back ached badly. I sat down on anold stove at the foot of Canal street and never movedfor three long hours.

Finally a well dressed old man about fifty yearsof age, with an umbrella over his head, came outof Couens' office, a small building a short distancefrom where I sat, and walking up to me said, in agruff voice, "young man what are you sitting outhere in the sun for, so upright and stiff, as if nailedto that old stove?"

I told him I was compelled to sit upright onaccount of a lame back. In fact I laid my case beforehim in full. He then said in a much more pleasantvoice: "My boy I'm going to make you an offer,and you can take it or let it alone—just as you like.I will give you four dollars a month to help my wifearound the house and at the end of four monthswill give you a free pass to Texas. You see I amagent for Couens' Red River line of boats and,therefore, can get a pass cheap."

I accepted his offer at once and thanked himwith all my heart for his kindness. Being on[58]his way home, we boarded a Canal street car. Itwas then almost sundown.

Walking up a pair of nicely finished steps at No.18 Derbigny street, he rang a bell. A negro servantwhom he called "Ann," answered the call.Everything sparkled within, for the house was furnishedin grand style. The old gentleman introducedme to his wife as a little Texas hoosier thathad strayed off from home and was about to starve.

After supper "Miss Mary," as the servants calledMrs. Myers and as I afterwards called her showedme to the bath house and told me to give myselfan extraordinary good scrubbing.

I do not know as this improved my looks any, asI hadn't any clean clothes to put on, my valisehaving been stolen during my illness coming downthe river.

The next day Miss Mary took me to a clothinghouse and fitted me out in fine style. I admiredall but the narrow brimmed hat and peaked toedgaiters. I wanted a broad brimmed hat and startop boots, but she said I would look too much likea hoosier with them on.[59]

That evening I got a black eye. After Mr. Myerscame home from his work about four o'clock, we allwent out on the front steps to breathe the fresh air.There being a crowd of boys playing at the cornerI asked Mr. and Mrs. Myers if I could go over andwatch them awhile. Both consented, but told menot to stay long as they didn't want me to get intothe habit of mixing with the street loafers.

On arriving there all eyes were turned towardsme. One fellow yelled out, "Hello dandy, whendid you arrive!" and another one remarked, "He isa stiff cuss—aint he?"

I concluded there was nothing to be seen andturned back; just as I turned around a yellow negroboy slipped up behind me and pulled my hair.The white boys had put him up to it, no doubt.

I jumped aboard of him quicker than a flash andforgot all about my sore back. It was nip and tuckfor awhile—we both being about the same size, butI finally got him down and blooded his nose ingood shape. As I went to get up he kicked meover one eye with his heavy boot. Hence the blackeye, which was swollen up in a few minutes to anenormous size.[60]

I expected to get a scolding from Mr. and Mrs.Myers, but they both gloried in my spunk for takingmy own part. They had witnessed the whole thing.

Somehow or another that fight took the kink outof my back for from that time on it began to getwell. I am bothered with it though, to this day,when I take cold or do a hard day's work.

Chapter VI.

Mr. and Mrs. Myers had no children and after Ihad been with them about a month, they proposedto adopt me, or at least they made mepromise to stay with them until I was twenty-oneyears of age.

They were to send me to school until I was seventeenand then start me in business. They alsopromised to give me everything they had at theirdeath.

So they prepared me for school right away. AsI was not very far advanced in book learning, havingforgotten nearly all that Mr. Hale taught me, theythought I had better go to Fisk's public school untilI got a start.

I had not been going to this school long when Ihad trouble with the lady teacher, Miss Finnely.It happened thus: A boy sitting behind me, struckme on the neck with a slate pencil, and when I[62]turned around and accused him of it he whispered,"you lie." I gave him a lick on the nose that madehim bawl like a calf.

She made the other boy hold out his hand firstand after giving him five raps told him to take hisseat.

It was then my time, and I stuck out my handlike a little man. She gave me five licks and wasraising the rule to strike again when I jerked myhand away, at the same time telling her that itwasn't fair to punish me the most when the otherboy caused the fuss. She insisted on giving me alittle more so finally I held out my hand and receivedfive more licks and still she was not satisfied;but I was and went to my seat. She told me twoor three times to come back but I would not do it,so she sent a boy upstairs after Mr. Dyer, the gentlemanwho taught the large boys.

I had seen Mr. Dyer try his hand on boys, atseveral different times, therefore didn't intend to lethim get hold of me if I could help it. She saw melooking towards the door, so she came over andstood between me and it.[63]

I heard Mr. Dyer coming down the stairs; thatwas enough; I flew for the door. I rememberrunning against something soft and knocking itover and suppose it must have been Miss Finnely.When I got to the street I pulled straight for home.

About a week afterwards Mr. Myers sent me topay school, where I was taught German, French andEnglish. My teacher was an old gentleman whoonly took a few select scholars.

Everything went on fine until the following spring,in May or June, when I got into a fuss with one ofthe scholars and skipped the country.

The way it happened: One day when school letout for dinner we all, after emptying our dinner baskets,struck out for the "green" to play "foot and ahalf."

There was one boy in the crowd by the name ofStemcamp who was always trying to pick a fusswith me. He was twice as large as I was, thereforeI tried to avoid him, but this time he called mea liar and I made for him.

During the scuffle which followed, I got out mylittle pearl handled knife, one "Miss Mary" had givenme just a few days before and was determined touse it the first opportunity.[64]

I was down on all fours and he astride of myback putting it to me in the face, underhanded.The only place I could get at with the knife washis legs, so I stuck it in up to the handle, on the insideof one leg, just below the groin and rippeddown.

As soon as I regained my feet he took to hisheels, but I soon overtook him and got another digat his back. I thought sure I had done him up forgood this time but found out afterwards that I haddone no harm, with the exception of ripping hisclothes down the back.

The next day at that time I was on my way toSaint Louis. I had stowed myself away on boardof the "Mollie Able" among the cotton bales.

The second night out we had a blow up. One ofthe cylinder-heads blew out of the engine. Itnearly killed the engineer and fireman, also severalother persons.

A little negro boy—who was stealing his passage—andI were sleeping on a pile of lumber close to theengine when she went off. We both got prettybadly scalded.[65]

The steamer ran ashore and laid there until morningand then went the balance of the way on onewheel. It took us just eight days from that time toget to Saint Louis.

I remained in Saint Louis one day without food—notcaring to visit the "Planters" or any of my acquaintances—andthen walked to Lebanon, Ill.,twenty-five miles. I thought may be I might findout through some of my Lebanon friends wheremother and sister were.

It was nearly noon when I struck out on my journeyand nine o'clock at night when I arrived at mydestination. I went straight to Mrs. Bell's, wheresister had worked, but failed to hear a word ofmother and sister's whereabouts.

Mrs. Bell gave me a good bed that night andnext morning I struck out to hunt a job.

After considerable tramping around I found workwith one of my old employers, a Mr. Jacobs, wholived twelve miles from town.

I only worked a short while when I began to wishI was back under "Miss Mary's" wing. So onemorning I quit and pulled for Saint Louis.

I had money enough to pay my fare to SaintLouis and I arrived there just as the "Robert E.[66]Lee" and "Natchez" were fixing to pull out on theirbig race for New Orleans.

The "Robert E. Lee" being my favorite boat, Ijumped aboard just as she was shoving off. Ofcourse I had to keep hidden most of the time, especiallywhen the captain or purser were around.I used to get my chuck from the cook who thoughtI was a bully boy.

The "Natchez" would have beaten, no doubt, butshe got too smart by trying to make a cut-off throughan old canal opposite Memphis and got stuck inthe mud.

The first thing after landing in New Orleans, Ihunted up one of my boy friends and found out byhim how my victim was getting on. He informedme that he was up and hobbling about on crutches.He also stated that the poor fellow came very nearlosing his leg. I concluded if they did have mearrested that Mr. Myers was able to help me out, soI braced up and struck out for home.

Mr. and Mrs. Myers were terribly tickled overmy return. They had an awful time though gettingme scrubbed up again, as I was very black and dirty.

A few days after my return Mr. Myers went tosee my same old teacher to find out whether he[67]would take me back or not. At first he said thatno money could induce him to be bothered with meagain, but finally Mr. Myers talked him into the notionof trying me once more.

So the next morning I shouldered my books andstruck out for school to take up my same old studies,German, French and English.

Chapter VII.

Everything went on lovely until the coming fall,about the latter part of November when I skippedthe country for good. I will tell you how ithappened.

One afternoon a fire broke out close to the schoolhouse and as everybody was rushing by, I becameexcited and wanted to go too, to see the fun. Iasked the teacher if I could go, but he refused in agruff voice. This did not keep me, I made a breakfor the door and was soon lost among the surgingmass of people.

The next heard of me was on the "rolling deep."I had boarded a Morgan steamship and stowedmyself away until the vessel was at sea, where Iknew they wouldn't land to put me ashore.

"St. Mary" was the name of the ship. She lostone of her wheel houses and was considerably outof shape when we landed in Galveston, Texas. Ithad stormed terribly during the whole trip.[69]

During the few hours that the ship remained inGalveston, I put in my time hunting an old uncleof mine by the name of "Nick" White, whom Ihad never seen. He had been living there seventeenyears, therefore I experienced but little difficultyin finding his place; but after finding it Ididn't have courage enough to go in and make myselfknown. One reason was, I thought he mightthink I was beholden to him, or in other words,trying to get his sympathy. I just stood at the gatea few minutes viewing the beautiful shrubbery,which filled the spacious yard and went back to theboat which by that time, was just fixing to pull out.

We arrived in Indianola one morning about sun-up.I recognized several of my old acquaintancesstanding on the wharf before the ship landed;among them was my old God-father Mr. Hagerty,who stood for me when I was being christened bythe Catholic priest.

They were all surprised to see me back. Mr.Hagerty took me home with him and told me tocontent myself until I could find work.

In about a week I went to work for Mr. H.Selickson, who ran a packing house five miles belowtown. He gave me fifteen dollars a month all winter.[70]

The first month's wages went for a fancy pistol,the next, or at least part of it, for a pair of star toppedboots and all the balance on "monte," a mexicangame. There were lots of mexicans working thereand after working hours some of them would "deal"monte while the rest of us "bucked."

About the first of February I quit the packinghouse and went to Matagorda where I was welcomedby all my old acquaintances. From there Itook a trip over to the "Settlement," on the Peninsula,to see the old homestead. Everything lookednatural; the cedar and fig trees were covered withlittle red winged black birds, seemingly the sameones that were there when I left, nearly three yearsbefore.

After a week's stay in the Settlement, I went backto Matagorda and went to work for Mr. JosephYeamans, a Baptist preacher. My work was farmingand my wages part of the crop.

Mr. Yeamans' farm was a thirty acre sand patchon the Peninsula, about forty miles above the Settlement.Our aim was to raise a big crop of watermelons and sweet potatoes, but when I left everythingpointed to a big crop of grass burrs and a veryslim lay out of sweet potatoes and water melons.[71]

The old gentleman and I lived all alone in a littledelapidated shanty with a dirt floor. Our chuckconsisted of black coffee, hard-tack and coon or'possum meat. We had three good coon dogs,therefore had plenty of fresh meat such as it was.

There being plenty "Mavricks" close at hand,and being tired of coon meat, I used to try and getthe old man to let me butcher one now and then fora change, but he thought it wicked to kill cattle notour own.

In early days, a man by the name of Mavricksettled on the Lavaca river and started a cow ranch.He being a chicken-hearted old rooster, wouldn'tbrand nor ear-mark any of his cattle. All his neighborsbranded theirs, therefore Mr. Mavrick claimedeverything that wore long ears.

When the war broke out Mr. Mavrick had to bidadieu to wife and babies and go far away to fightfor his country's good.

When the cruel war was ended, he went homeand found his cattle roaming over a thousand hills.Everywhere he went he could see thousands uponthousands of his long-eared cattle.[72]

But when his neighbors and all the men in thesurrounding country came home and went to brandingtheir five years increase, Mr. Mavrick did notfeel so rich. He made a terrible fuss about it, butit did no good, as in a very few years his cattlewore some enterprising man's brand and he wasleft out in the cold.

Hence the term "Mavrick." At first people usedto say: "Yonder goes one of Mr. Mavrick's animals!"Now they say: "Yonder goes a Mavrick!"

About the time we got our crops, sweet potatoes,melons, etc., in the ground, I swore off farmingand skipped out for town, leaving Mr. Yeamans myshare of the "crop" freegratis.

After arriving in Matagorda I hired out to a Mr.Tom Nie, who was over there, from Rancho Grande,hiring some Cow Boys.

"Rancho Grande" was owned by "Shanghai" Pierceand Allen and at that time was considered one ofthe largest ranches in the whole state of Texas.To give you an idea of its size, will state, that thenext year after I went to work we branded twenty-fivethousand calves—that is, just in one season.

Altogether there were five of us started to RanchoGrande to work—all boys about my own age; we[73]went in a sail boat to Palacious Point, where thefirm had an outside ranch and where they werefeeding a large lot of cow ponies for spring work.

It was about the middle of April, 1871, that weall, about twenty of us, pulled out for the headquarterranch at the head of Tresspalacious creek.It took us several days to make the trip as we hadto brand calves and Mavricks on the way up.

A few days after arriving at the ranch Mr. or"Old Shang" Pierce as he was commonly called,arrived from Old Mexico with about three hundredhead of wild spanish ponies, therefore we kids hada high old time learning the art of riding a "pitching"horse.

We put in several days at the ranch making preparationsto start out on a two months trip. Beinga store there we rigged up in good shape; I spenttwo or three months' wages for an outfit, spurs, etc.,trying to make myself look like a thoroughbredCow Boy from Bitter creek.

There were three crowds of us started at the sametime; one to work up the Colorado river, the otheraround home and the third which was ours, to workwest in Jackson and Lavaca counties.[74]

Our crowd consisted of fifteen men, one hundredhead of ponies—mostly wild ones—and a chuckwagon loaded down with coffee, flour, molassesand salt. Tom Nie was our boss.

Chapter VIII.

Arriving on the Navadad river, we went to workgathering a herd of "trail" beeves and alsobranding Mavricks at the same time. Some dayswe would brand as high as three or four hundredMavricks—none under two years old.

After about a month's hard work we had the herdof eleven hundred ready to turn over to Mr. Blackwho had bought them, delivered to him at theSnodgrass ranch. They were all old mossy hornfellows, from seven to twenty-seven years old.

Mr. Black was a Kansas "short horn" and he hadbrought his outfit of "short horn" men and horses,to drive the herd "up the trail."

Some of the men had never seen a Texas steer,consequently they crossed Red river into the Indianterritory with nothing left but the "grub" wagonand horses. They had lost every steer and Mr.Black landed in Kansas flat broke.[76]

Lots of the steers came back to their old rangesand Mr. "Shanghai" had the fun of selling themover again, to some other greeny, may be.

"Shanghai" Pierce went to Kansas the next yearand when he returned he told of having met Mr.Black up there, working at his old trade—blacksmithing.He said Mr. Black cursed Texas shamefullyand swore that he never would, even if he shouldlive to be as old as Isaac, son of Jacob, dabble inlong horns again.

After getting rid of Mr. Black's herd we turnedour whole attention to branding Mavricks.

About the first of August we went back to theranch and found that it had changed hands in ourabsence. "Shanghai" Pierce and his brother Jonathanhad sold out their interests to Allen, Pool & Co.for the snug little sum of one hundred and tenthousand dollars.

That shows what could be done in those days,with no capital, but lots of cheek and a brandingiron. The two Pierce's had come out there fromYankeedom a few years before poorer than skimmedmilk.

Everything had taken a change—even to theranch. It had been moved down the river four[77]miles to Mr. John Moore's place. Mr. Moore hadbeen appointed "big chief," hence the ranch beingmoved to his place.

About the middle of August we pulled out againwith a fresh supply of horses, six to the man and abran new boss, Mr. Wiley Kuykendall.

Some of the boys hated to part with Mr. Nie,but I was glad of the change, for he wouldn't allowme to rope large steers nor fight when I got on thewar-path. I remember one time he gave me fits forlaying a negro out with a four-year old club; andanother time he laid me out with his open hand fortrying to carve one of the boys up with a butcherknife.

We commenced work about the first of Septemberon "Big Sandy" in Lavaca county, a place noted forwild "brush" cattle. Very few people lived in thatsection, hence so many wild unbranded cattle.

To illustrate the class of people who lived on BigSandy, will relate a little picnic a negro and I hada few days after our arrival there.

While herding a bunch of cattle, gathered theday before, on a small prairie, we noticed afootman emerge from the thick timber on the oppositeside from where we were and make straight[78]for a spotted pony that was "hobbled" and grazingout in the open space.

He was indeed a rough looking customer, beinghalf naked. He had nothing on his head but athick mat of almost gray hair; and his feet and legswere bare.

We concluded to "rope" him and take him tocamp, so taking down our ropes and putting spursto our tired horses we struck out.

He saw us coming and only being about a hundredyards from the spotted pony, he ran to him andcutting the "hobbles," which held his two front legstogether, jumped aboard of him and was off in thedirection he had just come, like a flash. The ponymust have been well trained for he had nothing toguide him with.

A four hundred yard race for dear life broughthim to the "brush"—that is timber, thickly coveredwith an underbrush of live-oak "runners." He shotout of sight like an arrow. He was not a minutetoo soon, for we were right at his heels.

We gave up the chase after losing sight of him,for we couldn't handle our ropes in the "brush."

The next day the camp was located close to thespot where he disappeared at, and several of us[79]followed up his trail. We found him and his threegrown daughters, his wife having died a short whilebefore, occupying a little one room log shanty in alonely spot about two miles from the little prairie inwhich we first saw him. The whole outfit weretough looking citizens. The girls had never seena town, so they said. They had about two acresin cultivation and from that they made theirliving. Their nearest neighbor was a Mr. Penny,who lived ten miles west and the nearest townwas Columbus, on the Colorado river, fifty miles east.

As the cattle remained hidden out in the "brush"during the day-time, only venturing out on the smallprairies at night, we had to do most of our workearly in the morning, commencing an hour or twobefore daylight. As you might wish to know exactlyhow we did, will try and explain:—Abouttwo hours before daylight the cook would holloa"chuck," and then Mr. Wiley would go around andyell "breakfast, boys; d——n you get up!" two orthree times in our ears.

Breakfast being over we would saddle up ourponies, which had been staked out the night before,and strike out for a certain prairie may be three orfour miles off—that is all but two or three men, just[80]enough to bring the herd, previously gathered, onas soon as it became light enough to see.

At the first peep of day the cattle, which wouldbe out in the prairie, quite a distance from thetimber, would all turn their heads and commencegrazing at a lively rate towards the nearest point oftimber. Then we would ride around through thebrush, so as not to be seen, until we got to thepoint of timber that they were steering for.

When it became light enough to see good, wewould ride out, rope in hand, to meet them and aptas not one of the old-timers, may be a fifteen ortwenty-year old steer, which were continuously onthe lookout, would spy us before we got twentyyards from the timber. Then the fun would begin—thewhole bunch, may be a thousand head, wouldstampede and come right towards us. They neverwere known to run in the opposite direction fromthe nearest point of timber. But with cattle raisedon the prairies, it's the reverse, they will alwaysleave the timber.

After coming in contact, every man would ropeand tie down one of the finest animals in the bunch.[81]Once in awhile some fellow would get more beefthan he could manage; under those circumstances hewould have to worry along until some other fellowgot through with his job and came to his rescue.

If there was another prairie close by we would goto it and tie down a few more, but we would haveto get there before sunup or they would all be inthe brush. It was their habit to graze out into thelittle prairies at night-fall and go back to the brushby sunrise next morning.

Finally the herd which we had gathered beforeand which was already "broke in," would arrivefrom camp, where we had been night-herdingthem and then we would drive it around to eachone of the tied-down animals, letting him up sohe couldn't help from running right into the herd,where he would generally stay contented. Once inawhile though, we would strike an old steer thatcouldn't be made to stay in the herd. Just as soonas he was untied and let up he would go rightthrough the herd and strike for the brush, fightinghis way. Under those circumstances we would haveto sew up their eyes with a needle and thread. Thatwould bring them to their milk, as they couldn't seethe timber.[82]

I got into several scrapes on this trip, by being anew hand at the business. One time I was going atfull speed and threw my rope onto a steer just as hegot to the edge of the timber; I couldn't stop myhorse in time, therefore the steer went on one sideof a tree and my horse on the other and the consequencewas, my rope being tied hard and fast to thesaddle-horn, we all landed up against the tree in aheap.

At another time, on the same day, I ropeda large animal and got my horse jerked over backwardson top of me and in the horse getting up hegot me all wound up in the rope, so that I couldn'tfree myself until relieved by "Jack" a negro manwho was near at hand. I was certainly in a ticklishpredicament that time; the pony was wild and thereI hung fast to his side with my head down whilethe steer, which was still fastened to the rope, wasmaking every effort to gore us.

Just before Christmas Moore selected our outfitto do the shipping at Palacious Point, where aMorgan steamship landed twice a week to takeon cattle for the New Orleans market.

We used to ship about five hundred head at eachshipping. After getting rid of one bunch we would[83]strike right back, to meet one of the gatheringoutfits, after another herd. There were three differentoutfits to do the gathering for us.

We kept that up all winter and had a tough timeof it, too, as it happened to be an unusually cold andwet winter.

Towards spring the cattle began to get terriblypoor, so that during the cold nights while night-herdingthem a great many would get down in themud and freeze to death. Have seen as high asfifty head of dead ones scattered over the groundwhere the herd had drifted during the night. It's apity if such nights as those didn't try our nerves.

Sometimes it would be twelve o'clock at nightbefore we would get the cattle loaded aboard of theship. But when we did get through we would surelyhave a picnic—filling up on Mr. Geo. Burkheart'sred eye. Mr. Burkheart kept a store at the "Point"well filled with Cow Boys delight—in fact he madea specialty of the stuff.

Our camping ground was three miles from thePoint, and some mornings the cook would get upand find several saddled horses standing aroundcamp waiting for their corn—their riders havingfallen by the wayside.

Chapter IX.

When spring opened, our outfit, under the leadershipof Mr. Robert Partin, Mr. Wiley havingquit, struck out up the Colorado river in Whortonand Colorado counties to brand Mavricks.

About the last of July we went to the "home"ranch, where Mr. Wiley was put in charge of usagain. We were sent right out on another trip,west, to Jackson county.

It was on this trip that I owned my first cattle.Mr. Wiley concluded it would look more businesslike if he would brand a few Mavricks for himself insteadof branding them all for Allen, Pool & Co.,so he began putting his own brand on all thefinest looking ones. To keep us boys from givinghim away, he gave us a nest egg apiece—that is afew head to draw to. My nest eggs were a couple oftwo-year olds, and my brand was A. T. connected—theT. on top of the A. Of course after that Ialways carried a piece of iron tied to my saddle so[85]in case I got off on the prairie by myself I couldbrand a few Mavricks for myself, without Mr. Wileybeing any the wiser of it. The way I would go aboutit would be to rope and tie down one of the long-earedfellows and after heating the straight piece ofround, iron bolt, in the brush or "cow-chip" fire,"run" my brand on his hip or ribs. He was then myproperty.

Everything ran along as smooth as if on greasedwheels for about two months, when somehow oranother, Mr. Moore, our big chief, heard of ourlittle private racket and sent for us to come home.

Mr. Wiley got the "G. B." at once and a Mr.Logan was put in his place. Now this man Loganwas a very good man but he was out of his latitude,he should have been a second mate on a Mississippisteamboat.

I worked with Logan one trip, until we got back tothe ranch and then I settled up for the first timesince going to work, nearly two years before.

An old irishman by the name of "Hunky-dorey"Brown kept the store and did the settling up withthe men. When he settled with me he laid allthe money, in silver dollars, that I had earned sincecommencing work, which amounted to a few hundred[86]dollars, out on the counter and then aftereyeing me awhile, said: "Allen, Pool & Co. oweyou three hundred dollars," or whatever the amountwas, "and you owe Allen, Pool & Co. two hundredninety-nine dollars and a quarter, which leaves youseventy-five cents." He then raked all but six bitsinto the money drawer.

To say that I felt mortified wouldn't near expressmy feelings. I thought the whole pile was mineand therefore had been figuring on the many purchasesthat I intended making. My intentions wereto buy a herd of ponies and go to speculating. Ihad a dozen or two ponies, that I knew were forsale, already picked out in my mind. But my fondexpectations were soon trampled under foot. Yousee I had never kept an account, consequently neverknew how I stood with the company.

After pocketing my six bits, I mounted "Fannie"a little mare that I had bought not long before andstruck out for W. B. Grimes' ranch, a few miles upthe river. I succeeded in getting a job from the oldgentleman at fifteen dollars per month.

Mr. Grimes had a slaughter house on his ranchwhere he killed cattle for their hides and tallow—themeat he threw to the hogs. About two hundred[87]head per day was an average killing. Did you askkind reader, if those were all his own cattle that hebutchered? If so, will have to say that I nevertell tales out of school.

After working around the ranch a short while Mr.Grimes gave me the job of taking care of his "stockhorses," that is mares, colts and horses that wern'tin use. There were about two hundred head ofthose and they were scattered in two hundred andfifty different places—over fifty square miles ofterritory and of course before I could take care ofthem I had to go to work and gather them up intoone bunch.

A little circumstance happened shortly after goingto work at the "W. B. G." ranch which I am goingto relate.

An old gentleman by the name of Kinchlow, whoowned a large horse ranch up on the Colorado riverin Whorton county, came down and told Mr. Grimesthat his outfit was fixing to start on a horse "hunt"and for him to send a man along, as there werequite a number of "W. B. G." horses in that country.

As I had the job taking care of the horses, it fellto my lot to accompany the old gentleman, Mr.Kinchlow, to his ranch fifty miles distant.[88]

It was bright and early one morning when wepulled out, aiming to ride the fifty miles by teno'clock that night. Mr. Kinchlow was mounted on"old Beauregard," a large chestnut sorrel, while Irode a fiery little bay.

Our journey was over a bald, wet prairie; nightovertook us at the head of Blue creek, still twentymiles from our destination.

A few minutes after crossing Blue creek, justabout dusk, we ran across a large panther, whichjumped up out of the tall grass in front of us. Itwas a savage looking beast and appeared to be onthe war-path. After jumping to one side it just satstill, growling and showing its ugly teeth. I startedto shoot it but Mr. Kinchlow begged me not to asit would frighten his horse, who was then almostbeyond control, from seeing the panther.

We rode on and a few minutes afterwards discoveredthe panther sneaking along after us throughthe tall grass. I begged Mr. Kinchlow to let mekill it, but he wouldn't agree, as, he said, a pistolshot would cause old Beauregard to jump out ofhis hide.

It finally became very dark; our guide was acertain bright little star. We had forgotten all[89]about the panther as it had been over half an hoursince we had seen it. The old man was relating anindian tale, which made my hair almost stand onend, as I imagined that I was right in the midst ofa wild band of reds, when all at once old Beauregardgave a tremendous loud snort and dashedstraight ahead at a break-neck speed. Mr. Kinchlowyelled "whoa," every jump; finally his voice diedout and I could hear nothing but the sound of hishorse's hoofs, and finally the sound of them too,died out.

Of course I socked spurs to my pony and triedto keep up, for I imagined there were a thousandand one indians and panthers right at my heels.

After running about a quarter of a mile I heardsomething like a faint, human groan, off to my rightabout fifty yards. I stopped and listened, but couldnot hear anything more, except now and then thelonely howl of a coyote off in the distance. Ifinally began to feel lonesome, so I put spurs to mypony again. But I hadn't gone only a few jumpswhen I checked up and argued with myself thusly:—Nowsuppose that groan came from the lips of Mr.Kinchlow, who may-be fell from his horse and isbadly hurt; then wouldn't it be a shame to run off[90]and leave him there to die when may be a little aidfrom me would save him?

I finally spunked up and drawing my pistol startedin the direction from whence came the groan.My idea in drawing the pistol was, for fear thepanther, who I felt satisfied had been the cause ofthe whole trouble, might tackle me. Suffice it tosay that I found the old gentleman stretched out onthe ground apparently lifeless and that a half hour'snursing brought him to. He finally after severaltrials, got so he could stand up, with my aid. Ithen helped him into my saddle, while I rode behindand held him on and we continued our journeyboth on one horse. He informed me after he cameto his right senses, that old Beauregard had fallenand rolled over him.

We landed at our destination about ten o'clocknext morning; but the good old man only livedabout two weeks afterwards. He died from theeffects of the fall, so I heard.

About Christmas I quit Mr. Grimes and went towork on my own hook, skinning "dead" cattle andadding to the nest egg Mr. Wiley gave me. I putmy own brand on quite a number of Mavricks whiletaking care of Mr. Grimes' horses, which began to[91]make me feel like a young cattle king. The onlytrouble was they were scattered over too much wildterritory and mixed up with so many other cattle.When a fellow branded a Mavrick in those days itwas a question whether he would ever see or realizea nickel for it. For just think, one, or even ahundred head mixed up with over a million of cattle,and those million head scattered over a territoryone hundred miles square and continually driftingaround from one place to another.

After leaving Daddy Grimes I made my homeat Mr. Horace Yeamans', an old mexican war veteran,who lived five miles from Grimes'. Hisfamily consisted of two daughters and two sons, allgrown but the youngest daughter, Sally, who wasonly fourteen, and who I was casting sheeps eyesat. The old gentleman had brought his children upvery pious, which was a glorious thing for me as,during the two years that I made my home there,I got broke of swearing—a dirty, mean habit whichhad fastened itself upon me, and which I thought wasimpossible to get rid of. I had become so that itwas almost an impossibility for me to utter a sentencewithout using an oath to introduce it andanother to end it. To show how the habit was[92]fastened upon me: Mr. Parten, one of my formerbosses, made me an offer of three dollars morewages, on the month, if I would quit cursing but Iwouldn't do it.

Horace Yeamans, who was about my own ageand I went into partnership in the skinning business.Cattle died by the thousands that winter, on accountof the country being overstocked, therefore Horaceand I had a regular picnic skinning, and brandingMavricks—only those that looked as if they mightpull through the winter.

To give you an idea how badly cattle died thatwinter will state that, at times, right after a sleet,a man could walk on dead animals for miles withoutstepping on the ground. This, of course, would bealong the Bay shore, where they would pile up ontop of one another, not being able to go further, onaccount of the water.

About five miles east of Mr. Yeamans' was aslough or creek called "Turtle bayou" which lay eastand west a distance of several miles, and which Ihave seen bridged over with dead cattle, from oneend to the other. You see the solid mass of halfstarved animals, in drifting ahead of a severe"Norther," would undertake to cross the bayou,[93]which was very boggy and consequently the weakestones would form a bridge for the others to cross on.

My share of the first hides we shipped to Indianolaamounted to one hundred and fourteendollars. You bet I felt rich. I never had so muchmoney in all my life. I went at once and boughtme a twenty-seven dollar saddle and sent mothertwenty-five dollars. I had found out mother's address,in Saint Louis, by one of my old Peninsulafriends getting a letter from sister.

Our next sale amounted to more than the first.That time Horace and I went to Indianola with thehides for we wanted to blow in some of our surpluswealth; we were getting too rich.

When spring opened I bought five head of horsesand thought I would try my hand at trading horses.The first trade I made, I cleared twenty-five dollars.I gave an old mare which cost me twenty dollars,for a pony which I sold a few days afterwards forforty-five.

Along in May I fell head over heels in love, forthe first time in my life. A pretty little fourteenyear old Miss, cousin to Horace and the girls, cameover on a month's visit and when she left I was completelyrattled—couldn't think of anything but her;[94]her beautiful image was continually before my eyes.

Her father, who was Sheriff of Matagorda countylived on the road to Matagorda, fifteen miles fromMr. Yeamans', therefore, during the coming summerI went to town pretty often; to get a new brandrecorded was generally my excuse. You see, asshe lived about half way between the Yeamans'ranch and town, I could be near her two nightseach trip, one going and one returning.

I had very poor success that summer in my newenterprise, horse trading. I was too badly "locoed"to tell a good horse from a bad one; in fact I wasn'tfit for anything, unless it would have been a Mailcarrier between "Denning's Bridge" and Matagorda.

Chapter X.

I put in the following winter branding Mavricks,skinning cattle and making regular trips to Matagorda;I still remained in partnership with HoraceYeamans in the skinning business. I made considerablemoney that winter as I sold a greater numberof Mavricks than ever before. But the moneydid me no good as I spent it freely.

That coming spring, it being 1874, I hired toLeander Ward of Jackson county to help gather aherd of steers for the Muckleroy Bros., who weregoing to drive them to Kansas. I had also made acontract with Muckleroy's boss, Tom Merril, to goup the trail with him, therefore I bid my friendsgood-bye, not expecting to see them again until thecoming fall. My wages were thirty-five dollars permonth and all expenses, including railroad fare backhome.

After a month's hard work we had the eleven hundredhead of wild and woolly steers ready to turn over[96]to the Muckleroy outfit at Thirteen mile point onthe Mustang, where they were camped, ready toreceive them. Their outfit consisted mostly ofKansas "short horns" which they had brought backwith them the year before.

It was a cold, rainy evening when the cattle werecounted and turned over to Tom Merril. HenryCoats, Geo. Gifford and myself were the only boyswho were turned over with the herd—that is keptright on. We were almost worn out standing nightguard half of every night for the past month andthen starting in with a fresh outfit made it appeartough to us.

That night it began to storm terribly. The herdbegan to drift early and by midnight we were fiveor six miles from camp. The steers showed a dispositionto stampede but we handled them easy andsang melodious songs which kept them quieted.But about one o'clock they stampeded in grandshape. One of the "short horns," a long leggedfellow by the name of Saint Clair got lost from theherd and finally when he heard the singing camedashing through the herd at full speed yelling "let'em slide, we'll stay with'em!" at every jump.[97]

They did slide sure enough, but he failed to "staywith 'em." For towards morning one of the boyscame across him lying in the grass sound asleep.When he came dashing through the herd a stampedefollowed; the herd split up into a dozen differentbunches—each bunch going in a different direction.I found myself all alone with about three hundredof the frightened steers. Of course all I could dowas to keep in front or in the lead and try to checkthem up. I finally about three o'clock got themstopped and after singing a few "lullaby" songs theyall lay down and went to snoring.

After the last steer dropped down I concluded Iwould take a little nap too, so locking both legsaround the saddle-horn and lying over on the tiredpony's rump, with my left arm for a pillow, whilethe other still held the bridle-reins, I fell asleep. Ihadn't slept long though when, from some unaccountablereason, every steer jumped to his feet atthe same instant and was off like a flash. My ponywhich was sound asleep too, I suppose, becamefrightened and dashed off at full speed in the oppositedirection. Of course I was also frightenedand hung to the saddle with a death grip. I wasunable to raise myself up as the pony was going so[98]fast, therefore had to remain as I was, until afterabout a mile's run I got him checked up.

Just as soon as I got over my scare I struck outin a gallop in the direction I thought the cattle hadgone, but failed to overtake them. I landed incamp almost peetered out about nine o'clock nextmorning. The rest of the boys were all there, justeating their breakfast. Tom Merril and HenryCoats had managed to hold about half of the herd,while the balance were scattered and mixed up with"range" cattle for twenty miles around.

After eating our breakfast and mounting freshhorses we struck out to gather up the lost steers.We could tell them from the range cattle by thefresh "road" brand—a brand that had been puton a few days before—therefore, by four o'clockthat evening we had all but about one hundred headback to camp and those Leander Ward boughtback at half price—that is he just bought the roadbrand or all cattle that happened to be left behind.

On arriving at camp, we all caught fresh horsesbefore stopping to eat dinner or supper, whicheveryou like to call it, it being then nearly night. Thepony I caught was a wild one and after riding upto camp and dismounting to eat dinner, he jerked[99]loose from me and went a flying with my star-spangledsaddle.

I mounted a pony belonging to one of the otherboys and went in hot pursuit. I got near enoughonce to throw my rope over his rump and that wasall. After a run of fifteen miles I gave it up as abad job and left him still headed for the Rio Grande.

I got back to camp just at dark and caught afresh horse before stopping to eat my supper. Itwas still raining and had kept it up all day long.Mr. "Jim" Muckleroy had an extra saddle alongtherefore I borrowed it until I could get a chanceto buy me another one.

After eating a cold supper, the rain having putthe fire out, I mounted and went on "guard," thefirst part of the night, until one o'clock, beingmy regular time to stay with the herd, while thelast "guard" remained in camp and slept.

About ten o'clock it began to thunder and lightning,which caused the herd to become unruly.Every time a keen clash of thunder would come theherd would stampede and run for a mile or two beforewe could get them to stop. It continued in thatway all night so that we lost another night's rest;[100]but we managed to "stay with 'em" this time; didn'teven loose a steer.

That morning we struck out on the trail for Kansas.Everything went on smoothly with the exceptionof a stampede now and then and a fuss withJim Muckleroy, who was a regular old sore-head.Charlie, his brother was a white man. Where thetrouble began, he wanted Coats and I, we beingthe only ones in the crowd who could ride wildhorses—or at least who were willing to do so, todo the wild horse riding for nothing. We finallybolted and told him that we wouldn't ride anotherwild horse except our regular "mount," unless hegave us extra pay. You see he expected us to ridea horse a few times until he began to get docile andthen turn him over to one of his muley pets whilewe caught up a fresh one.

At High Hill in Fayette county I got the bouncefrom old Jim and a little further on Coats got thesame kind of a dose; while nearing the northernstate-line Geo. Gifford and Tom Merril, the boss,were fired; so that left old Jim in full charge. Hehired other men in our places. He arrived inWichita, Kansas with eight hundred steers, out ofthe eleven hundred we started with.[101]

After leaving the outfit I rode to the Sunset railroadat Shusenburg and boarded a train for Columbuson the Colorado river. "Pat" Muckleroy,Charlie's son, who was about eighteen years old,quit and went with me. His home was in Columbusand he persuaded me to accompany him and havea good time.

On arriving in Columbus I went with Pat to hishome where I remained during my stay in thatplace. I found Mrs. M., Pat's mother, to be a kind-heartedold lady, and I never shall forget the big,fat apple cobblers she used to make; she could beatthe world making them. There were also two youngMisses in the family, Nannie and Mary, who madetime pass off pleasantly with me.

It being seventy-five miles to Tresspalacious andthere being no railroad nearer than that, I had towait for a chance to get home. I could have boughta horse and saddle when I first struck town but afterremaining there a week I began to get light in thepocket, for it required quite a lot of money to keepup my end with the crowd that Pat associated with.

At last after about a three weeks stay, I struckAsa Dawdy, an old friend from Tresspalacious.He was there with a load of stock and was just fixing[102]to load them on the cars to ship them to Galvestonwhen I ran afoul of him. He had sold hissaddle and was going to put his pet pony, one thathe wouldn't sell, into a pasture until some othertime when he happened up there. So you see I wasin luck, he turned the pony over to me to ridehome on.

After buying and rigging up a saddle I left townflat broke. I spent my last dime for a glass oflemonade just before leaving. Thus ended my firstexperience on the "trail."

Chapter XI.

A three days' ride brought me to Grimes' ranchwhere I hoped to strike a job, but the oldgent' informed me that he was full handed—hadmore men than he really needed. But he offeredme a job cutting cord wood at a dollar a cord untilthere should be an opening for me, which hethought would be when the branding outfit arrivedfrom Jackson county where it had gone quite awhile before.

"Cutting cord wood" sounded tough to me, butI finally agreed to try it a round or two, for I hatedthe idea of being "busted." Mr. Grimes was to advanceme about two weeks provisions on "tick," soI concluded I couldn't lose anything—unless it wasa few pounds of muscle and I had grave doubtsabout that, for I knew my failing when it came todabbling in wood.

Before launching out into the wood business Iborrowed a horse and struck out to hunt up old[104]Satan so that I could ride around and find easytrees to cut down; I found him about thirty milesfrom Grimes' ranch; he was fat and wild; I had toget help to put him in a corral and when I mountedhim he pitched like a wolf. He had forgotten thathe had ever been ridden.

The "wood camp" was three miles from the ranchin a thinly timbered bottom. I had to camp all bymyself, which made it a disagreeable job.

The first day, after locating camp, was spent inbuilding a kind of Jim Crow shanty out of rottenlogs—was saving my muscle to cut cord wood.

Next morning bright and early I mounted Satanand rode around hunting some easy trees—onesthat I thought would cut nicely. I marked abouta dozen and went back to camp, it being noon bythat time.

After dinner I lay down to take a nap untilevening when it would be cooler. About five o'clockI rolled up my sleeves and waded into a small, sicklypin-oak tree and the way chips flew for half anhour was a caution. I then put in the balance ofthe evening cording it up—that is what I had cut.It lacked considerable of being half a cord, butI filled in a lot of rotten chunks to make it pan out[105]fifty cents worth. I slept sound that night for Iwas tired.

Bright and early next morning I shouldered myaxe and struck out to tackle another sickly pin-oaktree. While spitting on my hands and figuring onhow many licks it would take to down the little sapling,I spied a large coon in a neighboring live-oak.Now catching coons, you all know by this time wasa favorite passtime with me, so dropping the axe Iwent for him. By the time I got part of himcooked it was noon; and after dinner I fell asleepand dreamt happy dreams until after sundown. Aftersupper I went turkey hunting and killed a fatgobbler. Thus ended my third day in a wood camp.

I became tired of the cord wood business aftertwo weeks time. It was too lonesome a work fora boy of my restless disposition. I mounted Satanone morning after devouring the last speck of grubin camp and struck out for the ranch. On my arrivalthere Mr. Grimes asked me how much wood I had?I told him I thought there was enough to balancemy grub bill. He said all right, he would send aman up there with me next morning to measure it.I finally informed him that it wasn't in shape formeasuring, with the exception of half a cord that I[106]cut the first day, as it was scattered over a vastterritory, two or three sticks in a place.

Just then I came across a factory hand, JohnCollier by name, who had a boat for sale. He hadbought it for a pleasure boat but found he couldn'tsupport such a useless piece of furniture. Heoffered it to me for forty dollars and he had paidone hundred for it. I tried to sell Satan so as tobuy it, but no one would have him as a gift, as theysaid they would have to get their lives insured beforemounting him.

I wanted the boat, but how to get her I did notknow. I finally studied up a scheme: Mr. Collierwanted to buy a horse in case he sold the boat, soI began talking horse trade. Nothing but a gentleanimal would suit he said. I then described one tohim and asked how much he would take to-boot ifthe pony proved to be as I represented? "Ten dollars"said he; "she pops" continued I. So I startedover to Cashe's creek to trade Horace Yeamans outof an old crippled pony that he couldn't get rid of.He was a nice looking horse and apparently assound as a dollar; but on trotting him around a[107]short while he would become suddenly lame in bothof his front legs.

Before starting to Cashe's creek next morningMr. Collier told me to try and get the horse therethat night as, in case we made the trade, he andMr. Murphy would start next morning on a pleasuretrip to Columbia, a town forty miles east. I assuredhim that I would be back by dark. You see, thatwas a point gained, making the trade after dark.

I succeeded in making the trade with Horace; hegave me "old gray" as he called him and fourteendollars in money for my interest in three differentbrands of cattle. He afterwards sold the cattle forenough to buy a whole herd of crippled ponies.

I rode back to Grimes' ranch very slowly so asnot to cause old gray to become lame.

Mr. Collier, on being notified of my arrival,came out, lantern in hand, bringing his friendMurphy along to do the judging for him. He confessedthat he was a very poor judge of a spanishpony, not having been long in America. He wasfrom "Hengland."[108]

After examining old gray all over they both pronouncedhim a model of beauty—an honor to themustang race. You see, he was hog fat, not havingbeen used for so long.

The trade was sealed that night and next morningMr. Collier and Murphy, who already had apony of his own, started on their forty mile journey.When within five miles of Elliott's ferry on theColorado river, which was fifteen miles from Grimes'old gray gave out entirely, so that poor Collier hadto hoof it to the ferry where he secured anotherhorse.

Now kind reader you no doubt think that ashabby trick. If so, all I can say is "such is lifein the far west."

Now that I was owner of a ship I concluded itpolicy to have a partner for company if nothingmore, so I persuaded a young factory hand by thename of Sheiseinhamer or some such name to goin with me in my new enterprise. He only hadten dollars to invest, therefore I held the controllinginterest.

Our ship was schooner-rigged and would carryabout three tons. Her name was "Great Eastern"but we changed it to "The Blood Hound."[109]

I turned Satan loose to rustle for himself (I afterwardssold him to astranger for thirty dollars) andthen pulled down the river for Matagorda Bay, adistance of fifteen miles.

I concluded to go to the Peninsula and buy a loadof melons that trip, as there were none on Tresspalacious.

We struck the Bay just at dark; the water wasterribly rough and the wind was so strong that itmade the Blood Hound dip water and slide along asthough it was fun. My young pard, who had neverbeen on salt water before, having been raised inSaint Louis, turned pale behind the gills and wantedto turn back when the low streak of land behind usbegan to grow dim. But as I owned the controllinginterest in the ship, I told him he would have togrin and bear it. He swore that would be his lasttrip and it was. He sold me his interest on theway back for eight dollars; he lost just two dollarsbesides his time in the speculation.

Finally we hove in sight of the light house atSalura Pass. Then we were all right for I couldtell just where to head for, although I hadn't beenon the Bay much since leaving there in '67. But Ihad learned it thoroughly before then.[110]

It was fifteen miles across the Bay to Fred Vogg'slanding, where I had concluded to land. We arrivedthere about midnight and next morning walked upto Mr. Vogg's house, about half a mile for breakfast.The whole family were glad to see me—forthe first time in eight years.

I bought a load of melons delivered at the landingfor five cents a head—or piece I should havesaid.

The next evening we started back home, andarrived at Grimes' just as the whistle was tootingfor dinner, next day. The whole crowd of factoryhands, there being about seventy-five, made abreak for the boat to fill up on melons. The largestI sold at fifty cents and the smallest at twenty-five.By night I had sold entirely out and started backafter another load, all by myself this time, with theexception of a dog, a stray that I had picked up.

I bought my melons at a different place this time,from a Mr. Joe Berge who lived a few miles aboveMr. Vogg. I got them for two and a half cents apiece, therefore made a better "speck" than before.I struck a terrible storm on my return trip and camevery near swamping.[111]

I made my next trip to Indianola as I had fourpassengers to take down, at two dollars and a halfa head.

Shortly after landing in Indianola I got two passengers,one of them a pretty young lady, MissRuthie Ward, to take to Sand Point in Lavacacounty, just across the Bay from Indianola.

I remained in Indianola two days "bucking"monte. I left there broke after paying for a loadof melons.

Chapter XII.

When the oyster season began, I abandonedthe melon trade in favor of the former.

I would load up at one of the many oyster reefsin the Bay and take them either to the factory orIndianola where they sold for one dollar a barrel,in the shell.

Along in October sometime, I worked up ascheme by which I thought I could make a stake.My scheme was to get into the Colorado riverwhere there were no boats and speculate among theafricans that lined the river banks on both sides justas far up as it was navigable, which was fifty milesor more.

The worst job was to get the boat into the river,the mouth of it being stopped up with a raft, or "drift"about eighteen miles long.

My only show was to snake her across the prairiefrom the head of Willson's creek, a distance of five[113]miles—and that I concluded to do if it took all theoxen in Matagorda county.

As I needed a partner in my new enterprise, Imanaged to find one in the person of an old irishmanby the name of "Big Jack." He only had acapital of eighteen dollars but I agreed to give himhalf of the profits—which I figured on being verylarge. You see my intentions were to swap forhides, pecans, etc., which I would have hauled overlandto Willson's creek and from there to Indianolaby sail boat.

Our plans being laid we struck out for Indianolato buy our goods—all kinds of articles that wethought would catch the negro's eye, including agood supply of tanglefoot—which I am sorry to saycost me dear, besides being the cause of smashingmy little scheme into a thousand fragments.

We finally started back from Indianola with ourload of goods; and Jack being an irishman, couldn'tresist the temptation of taking a "wee drop of thecritter" every fifteen or twenty minutes. The consequenceswere everything but edifying.

I hired Anthony Moore, a gentleman of color tohaul the Blood Hound and all of our traps to theriver.[114]

We fixed rollers under the boat and after gettingher out high and dry on the ball prairie, found thatwe didn't have oxen enough to carry out the job.

While Anthony Moore was off rustling for a couplemore yoke of cattle, I hired a horse to ride up tothe Post Office after my mail, but before startingI gave Jack a raking over for remaining drunk solong. He hadn't drawn a sober breath since leavingtown.

When I returned next evening Jack was gone—noone there but my faithful dog, Ranger.

I found Jack had taken a negro's skiff and pulleddown Willson's creek, taking all of my snide jewelry,tobacco, etc. along. I traced him up to where hehad sold a lot of the stuff. He sold an old englishmana lot of tobacco for seven dollars that didn'tcost less than twenty. Being discouraged I soldthe Blood Hound to Anthony Moore for twenty-fivedollars, right where she lay, on the open prairie.

I then hired to Wiley Kuykendall, who was buyingand shipping beeves at Houston, at twenty-fivedollars per month. I left my companion, Ranger,with Anthony, paying him two dollars and a half amonth for his board. But poor dog he met a sadfate the next winter during one of my rash moments.[115]

I was out after a wild bunch of horses one dayand while trying to slip up on them unobservedRanger and three others belonging to a neighbormade a break after a little calf that jumped up outof the tall grass, which of course scared the horses.I wanted to run after them as that was my best andonly chance, but I hated to go off and let the dogskill the poor little calf which they all four had holdof by that time.

I finally galloped back and yelled myself hoarsetrying to get them off; but no use, so drawing mypistol I began firing right and left.

When the smoke cleared away I discovered twoof the dogs lifeless and poor Ranger crawling uptowards me howling with pain. He was shot throughboth shoulders. No, no! I didn't feel bad; it wassome other youngster about my size. I dismountedand caressed the poor dumb brute, with tears inmy eyes. It was ten miles to camp or the nearestranch, therefore I had no alternative but to killhim—or leave him there to suffer and finally die.I had tried to lift him on my horse so as to takehim to camp and try and doctor him up, but he wastoo heavy—being a large, powerful brute.[116]

I made several attempts to kill him, but everytime I would raise the pistol to shoot he would lookup into my eyes so pitifully as much as to sayplease don't kill me. I at last mounted my horseand after starting off wheeled around in my saddleand put a bullet between his eyes. Thus ended thelife of as faithful a dog as ever lived.

After New Year's I quit Mr. Wiley and went towork again on my own hook, skinning cattle andbranding Mavricks. I had bought me a twenty-fivedollar horse for the occasion.

I established my camp at the head of Cashe'screek, three miles above Mr. Yeamans.' The onlycompany I had was Ranger and I didn't have himbut a short while, as you already know.

Cattle died pretty badly that winter and thereforeI made quite a pile of money, besides branding agreat many Mavricks.

About the middle of April I met with a painful andalmost fatal accident—got shot through the kneewith one of those old time dragoon pistols, whichcarry a very large ball.

The bullet entered the top of my knee and cameout—or at least was cut out—on the opposite side;went right through the knee-cap. The doctor who[117]waited on me said I would be a cripple for life, buthe missed his guess, although I have received anotherbullet hole through the same knee since then.

After getting wounded I remained at Mr. Yeamans'awhile and then went down to Mr. Morris'on Tresspalacious Bay to board.

When I got so that I could move around oncrutches I went up to Mr. John Pierce's ranch tolive. Mr. Pierce had persuaded me to put in mytime going to school while unable to work. Hegave me my board and washing free and all I had todo was to take care of the "children," little JohnnyPierce, eight years old, Mamie Pierce, "Shang's"only child, twelve years old and a Miss FannieElliott, sweet sixteen. The school house being twomiles off, we had to ride on horseback.

I would have had a soft time of it all summer,but before two weeks rolled around I had a fusswith the red complexioned school master. I thenmounted "Boney-part" and struck out for Houston,ninety miles east.

I arrived in Houston during the State Fair.Everything was lively there—in fact too lively forme. The first thing I did was to strike a monte[118]game and the second thing was lose nearly all themoney I had.

After quitting the monte game I struck out tohunt aunt "Mary" whom I heard had moved toHouston from Galveston. I had never seen herthat I remembered of, but held her in high esteemfor her kindness in sending me the white canvasbreeches during the war.

I found her after hunting all day; she kept a privateboarding house close to the Union depot.She appeared to be glad to see me.

The next day aunt Mary's husband, Mr. JamesMcClain, took me out to the Fair ground to seethe sights. The biggest sight to me was Jeff. Davis,although I was deceived as to his makeup; I expectedto see a portly looking man on a gray horse.

May be the following song that I used to singduring the war had something to do with that, forit ran thus:

Jeff Davis is our President,
And Lincoln is a fool,
Jeff Davis rides a big gray horse
While Lincoln rides a mule.

Chapter XIII.

After spending a week with aunt Mary, I grewrestless and pulled for Galveston to visit myuncle "Nick." I went by way of steamboat downBuffalo bayou, leaving my horse and saddle inHouston.

I landed in the "Island City" one evening aboutdark. The first man I met, I inquired of him, ifhe knew where Mr. Nicholas White lived? "Whyof course," was his quick answer, "I have knownhim for seventeen years." He then gave me thedirections how to find him.

His wife, whom he had just married a short whilebefore, she being his second wife, met me at thedoor and escorted me to the bed room where Ifound the old fellow three sheets in the wind. Hesoon braced up though and tendered me a heartywelcome.

The next day he spent in showing me around thecity and introducing me to his friends as his littlenephew who had to "skip" from western Texas for[120]stealing cattle. I remember there were several hightoned officials among the ones he introduced me to;one of them I think was Tom Ochiltree—a red-headedCongressman or Senator, I forget which.

The old gentleman had a horse and buggy, consequentlyI had a regular picnic, during my stay,driving up and down the beach watching the prettygirls go in bathing.

I remained there two weeks and on taking mydeparture uncle "Nick" presented me with a SpencerCarbine—one he had captured from a yankeewhile out scouting during the war. I was veryproud of the gift for I had never owned a repeatingrifle before.

I landed in Houston flat broke, but wasn't longin making a raise of ten dollars from aunt Mary.Boney-part had been taken good care of during myabsence, which made him feel too rollicky—he triedto pitch me off when I got on him.

After bidding aunt Mary and uncle "Jim" good-byeI struck out for Allen, Pool & Co.'s ranch onSimms' bayou. There I hired to a Mr. Joe Davis ofClear creek, who had the contract furnishing beefto the Gulf, Colorado and Santa Fe R. R. whichwas just building out from Galveston.[121]

About the first of September I mounted Ranger,a pony I swapped Boney-part for and lit out forTresspalacious. My wound by that time was aboutwell.

On arriving at Mr. "Tom" Kuykendall's at thehead of Tresspalacious river, I learned that motherwas at Mr. Morris', at the mouth of Cashe's creek,waiting for me. She had arrived there just a fewdays after my departure—for parts unknown, asno one knew where I was going.

You see after getting shot I wrote to mothertelling her of the accident and also sending hersome money, as I was in the habit of doing whenflush. Hence, like a kind mother, she came out tobe of service to me, but arrived too late.

It is needless to say we were glad to meet, forthe first time in several long years.

I went right to work trying to rig up a home forher. She had brought some money with her and Isold a lot of Mavricks—some of those I branded thewinter previous—for two dollars a head, thereforewe both together had money enough to build andfurnish a shanty.

As Mr. Morris was just going to Indianola in hisschooner we sent by him after our lumber, etc.[122]But before he got there the "big" storm, which sweptnearly every soul from the Peninsula and nearlywiped Indianola out of existence, struck him andscattered his boat, money and everything he hadaboard to the four winds of Heaven. He and hisson "Tom" barely escaped with their own lives.

Mother and I experienced a share of the samestorm too; we were still at Mr. Morris.' The stormcame about ten o'clock at night and blew the Morrismansion down, leaving us, Mrs. Morris, herthree children and a step-son, "Jim," mother andmyself to paddle around in water up to our waistsuntil morning.

When daylight came the Bay shore was linedwith dead cattle just as far as the eye could reach;cattle that had blown into the water and drowned.

When Mr. Morris got back he started a newranch up at the head of Cashe's creek, where I hadcamped the winter before and I built mother ashanty a few hundred yards from his, so shewouldn't get lonesome while I was away.

I built it out of an old torn down house that Ibought from Mr. John Pierce on "tick" for I wasthen financially "busted."[123]

Cattle didn't die very badly that coming winter,therefore I did not make much money. But towardsspring I got my work in branding Mavricks.Some days I would brand as high as fifteen ortwenty head.

That spring there was a law passed prohibitingthe carrying of pistols and I was the first man tobreak the law, for which they socked a heavier fineto me than I was able to pay; but I found a goodfriend in the person of Mr. John Pierce who loanedme the desired amount without asking for it.

The first of April I hired to W. B. Grimes to go"up the trail" at thirty dollars per month. I bademother good bye, promising to return, sure, thatcoming fall.

Our outfit consisted of twenty-five hundred headof old mossy-horn steers, a cook and twenty-fiveriders, including the boss, Asa Dawdy, with sixhead of good horses to the man.

Everything went on lovely with the exception ofswimming swollen streams, fighting now and thenamong ourselves and a stampede every stormy night,until we arrived on the Canadian river in the Indianterritory; there we had a little indian scare. Whenwithin a few miles of the river, Dawdy went on[124]ahead to look up a good crossing; it wasn't longuntil we discovered a terrible dust on the trail betweenus and the river; it looked like it might be acyclone coming, but instead of that it was our bossreturning. He galloped up almost out of windtelling us to stop the herd and make preparationsfor war, as the woods along the river were coveredwith indians on the war path.

After getting everything in shape for war, heselected two of his best armed men, which happenedto be Otto Draub and myself, to go back withhim and try to make peace with the red devils. Wescoured the woods out thoroughly, but only succeededin finding one old, blind "buck." Asa had,no doubt, seen him and imagined the rest. Fromthat time on though we were among indians all thetime; and they used to try and scare Asa into givingthem "wo-ha's," (cattle) but he wasn't one of thescaring kind—except when taken by surprise.

Everything went on smoothly again until we arrivedat "Salt Fork" close to the Kansas line. Itwas raining and storming terribly when we hove insight of the above named river. Asa went onahead with the wagons—we having an extra onealong then to haul wood and water in—to find a[125]crossing, but on arriving there he found it veryhigh, almost swimming; he succeeded in gettingboth wagons over though. He then galloped backto hurry the herd up.

We were just about a mile from the river whenhe came dashing up saying: "Whoop 'em up boys!for she's rising a foot every second."

When we got there she was "bank full" and stillrising. It was at least half a mile to the oppositeside and drift wood was coming down at a terriblerate, which made it dangerous to cross. But thewagons being over made it a ground hog case—orat least we thought so.

The old lead steers went right into the foamingwater without a bit of trouble and of course thebalance followed.

Henry Coats was in the lead of the herd, AsaDawdy and Otto Draub on the left point, whilenegro "Gabe" and I kept them from turning to theright.

We were all—that is we fellows on the points—outin swimming water when Henry Coats' horsewent under, which scared the leaders, causing thewhole herd to turn back amidst terrible confusion.Coats came very near drowning. We worked for[126]half an hour or more trying to get the herd to takewater again, but failed. The river continued to riseuntil she was over a mile wide.

Suffice it to say, we remained there seven dayswithout anything to eat except fresh meat withoutsalt. It rained during the whole time nearly, sothat we didn't get much sleep on account of havingto stay with the cattle night and day.

The first grub we got was from a lot of soldierscamped on the opposite side of the wicked littlestream "Wild Horse." They were waiting for it togo down so they could proceed to Wichita, Kansas,their destination.

The boss, Dawdy, a fellow by the name ofHastings and myself found the "blue coats" whileout hunting a lot of steers lost the night before duringa severe storm. We had spied the white tentsoff to the southward and pulled out for them, ina gallop.

On arriving within a few hundred yards we foundout that a swift stream of muddy water laidbetween us.

They were camped right on the opposite bankfrom where we stood. Dawdy yelled over asking[127]if they could spare some chuck? "Yes" was thequick response, "If you will come over after it."

Dawdy and Hastings both looked at me, as muchas to say: "Charlie it all depends on you." I wasconsidered an extra good swimmer.

After shedding my heaviest clothes—there beingofficers' wives in camp, so that I couldn't undressaltogether—I put spurs to "Yankee-doodle" andwent into her. It was at least two hundred yardsacross, but I made it all O. K.

When the captain found out how long we hadbeen without grub he ordered the cook to bring outsome cold biscuits. He brought out a large panfull, and after I got my fists full, a lot of the soldierstook the balance and selecting a narrow place,threw them over one by one to Dawdy and Hastings.

After hiding a dozen or two fat Government biscuitsunder my belt, I began studying up a plan bywhich I could get some flour and salt, also coffee,over. At last I hit upon a plan: I got a wash-tubfrom the captain's wife and filling it full of suchstuff as we needed, launched her out into the water;I swam by the side of it and landed on the oppositeside about half a mile below where I startedin at. I then took the tub back thanked our benefactors,[128]mounted Yankee-doodle and pulled for theother shore feeling a thousand per cent. better.

We arrived at camp about sundown and the boyswent to work baking bread by rolling the dougharound a stick and holding it over the fire. Someof them sat up all night eating, trying to make upfor lost time.

The sun came out next morning for the first timein eight long days and towards evening we made itacross the river. The wagons we found at the "PondCreek" ranch on the Kansas line. The cooks hadbeen having a soft time.

Chapter XIV.

On the fourth day of July, after being on thetrail just three months, we landed on the "Ninnasquaw"river, thirty miles west of Wichita, Kansas.

Nearly all the boys, the boss included, struck outfor Wichita right away to take the train for Houston,Texas, the nearest railroad point to theirrespective homes. Mr. Grimes paid their railroadfares according to custom in those days. I concludedI would remain until fall.

Mr. Grimes had come around by rail, consequentlyhe was on hand to receive us. He already had severalthousand steers—besides our herd—on hand;some that he drove up the year before and others hebought around there. He had them divided up intoseveral different herds—about eight hundred to theherd—and scattered out into different places, thatis each camp off by itself, from five to ten milesfrom any other. With each herd or bunch would bea cook and "chuck" wagon, four riders, a "boss"[130]included—and five horses to the rider. During theday two men would "herd" or watch the cattle untilnoon and the other two until time to "bed" them,which would be about dark. By "bedding" wemean take them to camp, to a certain high piece ofground suitable for a "bed ground" where theywould all lie down until morning, unless disturbedby a storm or otherwise. The nights would be dividedup into four equal parts—one man "on" at atime, unless storming, tormented with mosquitos orsomething of the kind, when every one except thecook would have to be "out" singing to them.

The herd I came up the trail with was split intothree bunches and I was put with one of them undera man by the name of Phillups, but shortlyafterwards changed and put with a Mr. Taylor.

I spent all my extra time when not on duty,visiting a couple of New York damsels, who livedwith their parents five miles east of our camp. Theywere the only young ladies in the neighborhood,the country being very thinly settled then, thereforethe boys thought I was very "cheeky"—getting oncourting terms with them so quick. One of themfinally "put a head on me"—or in grammaticalwords, gave me a black eye—which chopped my[131]visits short off; she didn't understand the Texasway of proposing for one's hand in marriage, waswhat caused the fracas. She was cleaning roasting-earsfor dinner when I asked her how she wouldlike to jump into double harness and trot throughlife with me? The air was full of flying roasting-earsfor a few seconds—one of them striking meover the left eye—and shortly afterwards a youngCow Puncher rode into camp with one eye in asling. You can imagine the boys giving it to meabout monkeying with civilized girls, etc.

After that I became very lonesome; had nothingto think of but my little Texas girl—the only oneon earth I loved. While sitting "on herd" in the hotsun, or lounging around camp in the shade of thewagon—there being no trees in that country to supplyus with shade—my mind would be on nothingbut her. I finally concluded to write to her and findout just how I stood. As often as I had been with herI had never let her know my thoughts. She beingonly fourteen years of age, I thought there wasplenty time. I wrote a long letter explaining everythingand then waited patiently for an answer. Ifelt sure she would give me encouragement, if nothingmore.[132]

A month passed by and still no answer. Can itbe possible that she don't think enough of me toanswer my letter? thought I. "No," I would finallydecide, "she is too much of an angel to be guiltyof such."

At last the supply wagon arrived from Wichitaand among the mail was a letter for me. I was onherd that forenoon and when the other boys cameout to relieve Collier and I, they told me aboutthere being a letter in camp for me, written by a female,judging from the fine hand-writing on theenvelope.

I was happy until I opened the letter and read afew lines. It then dropped from my fingers and Iturned deathly pale. Mr. Collier wanted to knowif some of my relations wasn't dead? Suffice it tosay that the object of my heart was married to myold playmate Billy Williams. The letter went on tostate that she had given her love to another andthat she never thought I loved her only as a friend,etc. She furthermore went on advising me to grinand bear it, as there were just as good fish in thesea as ever was caught etc.

I wanted some one to kill me, so concluded togo to the Black hills—as everyone was flocking[133]there then. Mr. Collier, the same man I tradedthe crippled horse to—agreed to go with me. Sowe both struck out for Wichita to settle up withdaddy Grimes. Mr. Collier had a good horse ofhis own and so did I; mine was a California ponythat I had given fifty-five dollars for quite awhilebefore. My intention was to take him home andmake a race horse of him; he was only three yearsold and according to my views a "lightning striker."

After settling up, we, like other "locoed" CowPunchers proceeded to take in the town, and theresult was, after two or three days carousing around,we left there "busted" with the exception of a fewdollars.

As we didn't have money enough to take us tothe Black hills, we concluded to pull for the Medicineriver, one hundred miles west.

We arrived in Kiowa, a little one-horse town onthe Medicine, about dark one cold and disagreeableevening.

We put up at the Davis House, which was keptby a man named Davis—by the way one of thewhitest men that ever wore shoes. Collier madearrangements that night with Mr. Davis to board[134]us on "tick" until we could get work. But I wouldn'tagree to that.

The next morning after paying my night's lodgingI had just one dollar left and I gave that toMr. Collier as I bade him adieu. I then headedsouthwest across the hills, not having any destinationin view; I wanted to go somewhere but didn'tcare where. To tell the truth I was still somewhatrattled over my recent bad luck.

That night I lay out in the brush by myself andnext morning changed my course to southeast,down a creek called Driftwood. About noon I accidentlylanded in Gus Johnson's Cow camp at theforks of Driftwood and "Little Mule" creeks.

I remained there all night and next morning whenI was fixing to pull out—God only knows where,the boss, Bill Hudson, asked me if I wouldn't stayand work in his place until he went to Hutchison,Kansas and back? I agreed to do so finally if hewould furnish "Whisky-peat," my pony, all the cornhe could eat—over and above my wages, which wereto be twenty-five dollars a month. The outfit consistedof only about twenty-five hundred Texassteers, a chuck wagon, cook and five riders besidesthe boss.[135]

A few days after Mr. Hudson left we experienceda terrible severe snow storm. We had to stay withthe drifting herd night and day, therefore it wentrough with us—myself especially, being from awarm climate and only clad in common garments,while the other boys were fixed for winter.

When Mr. Hudson came back from Hutchisonhe pulled up stakes and drifted south down into theIndian territory—our camp was then on the territoryand Kansas line—in search of good winterquarters.

We located on the "Eagle Chief" river, a placewhere cattle had never been held before. Cattlemenin that section of country considered it betterpolicy to hug the Kansas line on account of indians.

About the time we became settled in our newquarters, my month was up and Mr. Hudson paidme twenty-five dollars, telling me to make that myhome all winter if I wished.

My "pile" now amounted to forty-five dollars,having won twenty dollars from one of the boys,Ike Berry, on a horse race. They had a race horsein camp called "Gray-dog," who had never beenbeaten, so they said, but I and Whisky-peat donehim up, to the extent of twenty dollars, in fine shape.[136]

I made up my mind that I would build me a "dug-out"somewhere close to the Johnson camp and putin the winter hunting and trapping. Therefore asHudson was going to Kiowa, with the wagon, aftera load of provisions, etc., I went along to lay mein a supply also.

On arriving at Kiowa I found that my old "pard"Mr. Collier had struck a job with a cattleman whoseranch was close to town. But before spring he leftfor good "Hold Hengland" where a large pile ofmoney was awaiting him; one of his rich relationshad died and willed him everything he had. Wesuppose he is now putting on lots of "agony," ifnot dead, and telling his green countrymen of hishair-breadth escapes on the wild Texas plains.

We often wonder if he forgets to tell of his experiencewith "old gray," the pony I traded to himfor the boat.

After sending mother twenty dollars by registeredmail and laying in a supply of corn, provisions,ammunition, etc., I pulled back to Eagle Chief, tomake war with wild animals—especially those thattheir hides would bring me in some money, such asgray wolves, coyotes, wild cats, buffaloes and bears.I left Kiowa with just three dollars in money.[137]

The next morning after arriving in camp I tookmy stuff and moved down the river about a mileto where I had already selected a spot for my winterquarters.

I worked like a turk all day long building me ahouse out of dry poles—covered with grass. Inthe north end I built a "sod" chimney and in thesouth end, left an opening for a door. When finishedit lacked about two feet of being high enoughfor me to stand up straight.

It was almost dark and snowing terribly when Igot it finished and a fire burning in the low, JimCrow fire-place. I then fed Whisky-peat some cornand stepped out a few yards after an armful of goodsolid wood for morning. On getting about half anarmful of wood gathered I heard something cracklingand looking over my shoulder discovered mymansion in flames. I got there in time to savenearly everything in the shape of bedding, etc.Some of the grub, being next to the fire-place, waslost. I slept at Johnson's camp that night.

The next morning I went about two miles downthe river and located another camp. This time Ibuilt a dug-out right on the bank of the stream, ina thick bunch of timber.[138]

I made the dug-out in a curious shape; started inat the edge of the steep bank and dug a place sixfeet long, three deep and three wide, leaving theend next to the creek open for a door. I then commencedat the further end and dug another placesame size in an opposite direction, which formed an"L." I then dug still another place, same size,straight out from the river which made the wholeconcern almost in the shape of a "Z." In the endfurthest from the stream I made a fire-place bydigging the earth away—in the shape of a regularfire-place. And then to make a chimney I dug around hole, with the aid of a butcher knife, straightup as far as I could reach; then commencing at thetop and connecting the two holes. The next thingwas to make it "draw," and I did that by cuttingand piling sods of dirt around the hole, until abouttwo feet above the level.

I then proceeded to build a roof over my 3 × 18mansion. To do that I cut green poles four feetlong and laid them across the top, two or threeinches apart. Then a layer of grass and finally, tofinish it off, a foot of solid earth. She was thenready for business. My idea in making it socrooked was, to keep the indians, should any happen[139]along at night, from seeing my fire. Aftergetting established in my new quarters I put outquite a number of wolf baits and next morningin going to look at them found several dead wolvesbesides scores of skunks, etc. But they were frozentoo stiff to skin, therefore I left them until a warmerday.

The next morning on crawling out to feed myhorse I discovered it snowing terribly, accompaniedwith a piercing cold norther. I crawled back intomy hole after making Whisky-peat as comfortableas possible and remained there until late in the evening,when suddenly disturbed by a horny visitor.

It was three or four o'clock in the evening, whilehumped up before a blazing fire, thinking of daysgone by, that all at once, before I had time tothink, a large red steer came tumbling down headfirst, just missing me by a few inches. In travelingahead of the storm the whole Johnson herd hadpassed right over me, but luckily only one brokethrough.

Talk about your ticklish places! That was trulyone of them; a steer jammed in between me anddaylight, and a hot fire roasting me by inches.[140]

I tried to get up through the roof—it being onlya foot above my head—but failed. Finally the oldsteer made a terrible struggle, just about the timeI was fixing to turn my wicked soul over to theLord, and I got a glimpse of daylight under hisflanks. I made a dive for it and by tight squeezingI saved my life.

After getting out and shaking myself I made avow that I would leave that God-forsaken countryin less than twenty-four hours; and I did so.

Chapter XV.

The next morning after the steer racket I pulledout for Kiowa, Kansas. It was then sleetingfrom the north, consequently I had to face it.

About three o'clock in the evening I changed mynotion and concluded to head for Texas. So Iturned east, down the Eagle Chief, to where itemptied into the Cimeron, and thence down thatstream; knowing that I was bound to strike theChisholm trail—the one I came up on, the springbefore.

I camped that night at the mouth of Eagle Chief,and went to roost on an empty stomach, not havingbrought any grub with me. I was then in the westernedge of what is known as the Black-jack country,which extends east far beyond the Chisholmtrail.

The next morning I continued down the Cimeron,through Black-jack timber and sand hills.To avoid the sand hills, which appeared fewer on[142]the opposite side, I undertook to cross the river,but bogged down in the quicksand and had to turnback.

That night I camped between two large sandhills and made my bed in a tall bunch of blue-stemgrass. I went to bed as full as a tick, as I had justeaten a mule-eared rabbit, one I had slipped uponto and killed with a club. I was afraid to shootat the large droves of deer and turkeys, on accountof the country being full of fresh indian signs.

I crawled out of my nest next morning almostfrozen. I built a roaring big fire on thesouth edgeof the bunch of tall grass so as to check the coldpiercing norther. After enjoying the warm fire a fewmoments, I began to get thirsty and there being nowater near at hand, I took my tin cup and walkedover to a large snow-drift a short distance off, toget it full of clean snow, which I intended meltingby the fire to quench my burning thirst.

While filling the cup I heard a crackling noisebehind me and looking over my shoulder discovereda blaze of fire twenty feet in the air and spreading ata terrible rate. I arrived on the scene just in timeto save Whisky-peat from a horrible death. Hewas tied to a tree, the top limbs of which were already[143]in a blaze. I also managed to save my saddleand an old piece of saddle blanket, they being outunder the tree that Whisky-peat was tied to. Ididn't mind losing my leather leggins, saddle blankets,etc., so much as I did the old delapidatedovercoat that contained a little silver-plated matchbox in one of the pockets.

That day I traveled steady, but not making veryrapid progress, on account of winding around sandhills, watching for indians and going around theheads of boggy sloughs. I was certain of strikingthe Chisholm trail before night, but was doomed todisappointment.

I pitched camp about nine o'clock that night andplayed a single-handed game of freeze-out untilmorning, not having any matches to make a firewith.

I hadn't gone more than two miles next morningwhen I came across a camp-fire, which looked asthough it had been used a few hours before; onexamination I found it had been an indian camp,just vacated that morning. The trail, which containedthe tracks of forty or fifty head of horses,led down the river. After warming myself I struckright out on their trail, being very cautious not to[144]run onto them. Every now and then I would dismountand crawl to the top of a tall sand hill to seethat the road was clear ahead.

About noon I came to a large creek, which provedto be "Turkey Creek." The reds had made a goodcrossing by digging the banks down and breakingthe ice.

After crossing, I hadn't gone but a short distancewhen I came in sight of the Chisholm trail. I neverwas so glad to see anything before—unless it wasthe little streak of daylight under the steer's flanks.

The indians on striking the trail had struck southon it; and after crossing the Cimeron I came in sightof them, about five miles ahead of me. I rodeslow so as to let them get out of sight. I didn'tcare to come in contact with them for fear theymight want my horse and possibly my scalp.

About dark that evening I rode into a large campof Government freighters, who informed me thatthe fifty indians who had just passed—being ontheir way back to the reservation—were Kiowaswho had been on a hunting expedition.

I fared well that night, got a good supper and awarm bed to sleep in—besides a good square mealof corn and oats for my horse.[145]

The next morning before starting on my journey,an old irish teamster by the name of "Long Mike"presented me with a pair of pants—mine being almostin rags—and a blue soldier coat, which I canassure you I appreciated very much.

About dusk that evening, I rode into CheyenneAgency and that night slept in a house for the firsttime since leaving Kiowa—in fact I hadn't seen ahouse since leaving Kiowa.

The next morning I continued south and thatnight put up at "Bill" Williams' ranch on the "SouthCanadian" river.

Shortly after leaving the Williams ranch nextmorning I met a crowd of Chickasaw indians whobantered me for a horse race. As Whisky-peatwas tired and foot-sore, I refused; but they keptafter me until finally I took them up. I put up mysaddle and pistol against one of their ponies. Thepistol I kept buckled around me for fear they mighttry to swindle me. The saddle I put up and rodethe race bare-back. I came out ahead, but notenough to brag about. They gave up the ponywithout a murmer, but tried to persuade me to runagainst one of their other ponies, a much largerand finer looking one. I rode off thanking them[146]very kindly for what they had already done for me.

That night I put up at a ranch on the Washitariver and next morning before leaving swapped myindian pony off for another one and got ten dollarsto-boot.

That morning I left the Chisholm trail and struckdown the Washita river, in search of a good, livelyplace where I might put in the balance of the winter.

I landed in Erin Springs late that evening andfound a grand ball in full bloom at Frank Murry'smansion. The dancers were a mixed crowd, theladies being half-breeds and the men, mostly americansand very tough citizens.

Of course I joined the mob, being in search ofexcitement and had a gay old time drinking kill-me-quickwhisky and swinging the pretty indian maidens.

After breakfast next morning the whole crowd,ladies and all, went down the river five miles towitness a "big" horse race at "Kickapoo" flat.

After the "big" race—which was for several thousanddollars—was over the day was spent in runningpony races and drinking whisky. By night thewhole mob were gloriously drunk, your humble servantincluded. There were several fights and fusses[147]took place during the day, but no one seriouslyhurt.

It being against the laws of the United Statesto sell, or have whisky in the Indian territory, youmight wonder where it came from: A man by thename of Bill Anderson—said to have been one ofQuantrell's men during the war—did the selling.

He defied the United States marshalls and it wassaid that he had over a hundred indictments againsthim. He sold it at ten dollars a gallon, thereforeyou see he could afford to run quite a risk.

The next day on my way down the river toPaul's valley I got rid of my extra pony; I cameacross two apple peddlers who were on their way toFort Sill with a load of apples and who had had themisfortune of losing one of their horses by death,the night before, thereby leaving them on theprairie helpless, unable to move on. They had nomoney to buy another horse with, having spent alltheir surplus wealth in Arkansas for the load ofapples. When I gave them the pony, they feltvery happy judging from their actions. On takingmy departure one of them insisted on my taking hissilver watch as a token of friendship. I afterwardshad the watch stolen from me.[148]

Well, patient reader, I will now drop the curtainfor awhile. Just suffice it to say I had a tough timeof it during the rest of the winter and came outcarrying two bullet wounds. But I had some gaytimes as well as tough and won considerable moneyrunning Whisky-peat.

The following May I landed in Gainesville, Texas,"right side up with care" and from there went toSaint Joe on the Chisholm trail, where I succeededin getting a job with a passing herd belonging toCapt. Littlefield of Gonzales. The boss' name was"Jim" Wells and the herd contained thirty-fivehundred head of stock cattle. It being a terriblywet season we experienced considerable hardships,swimming swollen streams, etc. We also had sometrouble with indians.

We arrived in Dodge City, Kansas on the thirdday of July and that night I quit and went to townto "whoop 'em up Liza Jane."

I met an old friend that night by the name of"Wess" Adams and we both had a gay time, untiltowards morning when he got severely stabbed in afree-to-all fight.

On the morning of July fifth I hired to David T.Beals—or the firm of Bates & Beals, as the outfit[149]was commonly called—to help drive a herd of steers,twenty-five hundred head, to the Panhandle ofTexas, where he intended starting a new ranch.

The next morning we struck out on the "Old FortBascom" trail, in a southwesterly direction.

The outfit consisted of eight men besides theboss, Bill Allen and "Deacon" Bates, one of Mr.Beals' silent partners, who was going along to locatethe new range and O. M. Johnson, the whole-souledex-rebel cook. We had six extra goodhorses apiece, my six being named as follows:Comanche, Allisan, Last Chance, Creeping Moses,Damfido and Beat-and-be-damned. The last namedwas afterwards shot full of arrows because hewouldn't hurry while being driven off by a band ofindians who had made a raid on the camp.

Chapter XVI.

About the sixth day out from Dodge we crossedthe Cimeron and that evening I had a littleexcitement chasing a herd of buffaloes.

After crossing the river about noon, we droveout to the divide, five or six miles and made a "dry"camp. It was my evening to lay in camp, or doanything else I wished. Therefore concluded Iwould saddle my little indian mare—one I hadtraded for from an indian—and take a hunt.

About the time I was nearly ready to go Mr.Bates, seeing some of the cattle slipping off into abunch of sand hills which were near the herd, askedme if I wouldn't ride out and turn them back. Iwent, leaving my pistol and gun in camp, thinkingof course that I would be back in a few minutes.But instead of that I didn't get back until after dinnerthe next day.[151]

Just as I was starting back to camp, after turningthe cattle, a large herd of buffaloes dashed by campheaded west. The boys all ran out with their gunsand began firing. I became excited and puttingspurs to my pony, struck out to overtake and killa few of them, forgetting that I didn't have anythingto shoot with. As they had over a mile the start itwasn't an easy matter to overtake them. It wasabout four o'clock in the afternoon and terribly hot;which of course cut off my pony's wind and checkedher speed to a great extent.

About sundown I overtook them. Their tongueswere sticking out a yard. I took down my ropefrom the saddle-horn, having just missed my shootingirons a few minutes before, and threw it ontoa yearling heifer. When the rope tightened theyearling began to bleat and its mammy broke backout of the herd and took after me. I tried to turnthe rope loose so as to get out of the way, butcouldn't, as it was drawn very tight around the saddle-horn.To my great delight, after raking someof the surplus hair from my pony's hind quarters,she turned and struck out after the still fleeing herd.

Now the question arose in my mind, "how areyou going to kill your buffalo?" Break her neck[152]was the only way I could think of; after trying itseveral times by running "against" the rope at fullspeed, I gave it up as a failure. I then concludedto cut the rope and let her go, so getting out myold frog-sticker—an old pocket knife I had pickedup a few days before and which I used to clean mypipe—I went to work trying to open the little bladeit being the only one that would cut hot butter.The big blade was open when I found it, consequentlyit was nothing but a sheet of rust. Thelittle blade had become rusted considerably, whichmade it hard to open. Previous to that I alwaysused my bowie knife, which at that time was hangingto my pistol belt, in camp, to open it with.After working a few minutes I gave up the notionof opening the little blade and went to work sawingat the rope with the big one. But I soon gavethat up also, as I could have made just as muchheadway by cutting with my finger. At last I dismountedand went to him, or at least her, withnothing but my muscle for a weapon.

I finally managed to get her down by getting onehand fastened to her under jaw and the other holdof one horn and then twisting her neck. As someof you might wonder why I had so much trouble with[153]this little animal, when it is a known fact that oneman by himself can tie down the largest domesticbull that ever lived, I will say that the differencebetween a buffalo and a domestic bull is, that thelatter when you throw him hard against the groundtwo or three times, will lie still long enough to giveyou a chance to jump aboard of him, while theformer will raise to his feet, instantly, just as longas there's a bit of life left.

After getting her tied down with my "sash," asilk concern that I kept my breeches up with, Iwent to work opening the little blade of my knife.I broke the big one off and then used it for a pry toopen the other with.

When I got her throat cut I concluded it a goodidea to take the hide along, to show the boys that Ididn't have my run for nothing, so went to workskinning, which I found to be a tedious job withsuch a small knife-blade.

It was pitch dark when I started towards campwith the hide and a small chunk of meat tied behindmy saddle.

After riding east about a mile, I abandoned theidea of going to camp and turned south facing the[154]cool breeze in hopes of finding water, my pony andI both being nearly dead for a drink.

It was at least twenty miles to camp over a level,dry plain, therefore I imagined it an impossibilityto go that distance without water. As the streamsall lay east and west in that country, I knew bygoing south I was bound to strike one sooner orlater.

About midnight I began to get sleepy, so, pullingthe bridle off my pony so she could graze, I spreadthe buffalo hide down, hair up, and after wrappingthe end of the rope, that my pony was fastened toaround my body once or twice so she couldn't getloose without me knowing it, fell asleep.

I hadn't slept long when I awoke, covered fromhead to foot with ants. The fresh hide had attractedthem.

After freeing myself of most of the little pestsI continued my journey in search of water.

About three o'clock in the morning I lay downagain, but this time left the hide on my saddle.

I think I must have been asleep about an hourwhen all at once my pony gave a tremendoussnort and struck out at full speed, dragging meafter her.[155]

You see I had wrapped the rope around my bodyas before and it held me fast some way or another;I suppose by getting tangled. Luckily for methough it came loose after dragging me about ahundred yards.

You can imagine my feelings on gaining my feet,and finding myself standing on the broad prairieafoot. I felt just like a little boy does when he letsa bird slip out of his hand accidently—that is—exceedinglyfoolish.

The earth was still shaking and I could hear aroaring noise like that of distant thunder. A largeherd of buffaloes had just passed.

While standing scratching my head a faint noisegreeted my ear; it was my pony snorting. A trampof about three hundred yards brought me to her.She was shaking as though she had a chill. Imounted and continued my journey south, determinedon not stopping any more that night.

About ten o'clock next morning I struck wateron the head of Sharp's creek, a tributary to"Beaver" or head of North Canadian.

When I got to camp—it having been moved southabout twenty miles from where I left it—the boyshad just eaten dinner and two of them were fixing[156]to go back and hunt me up, thinking some sadmisfortune had befallen me.

When we got to Blue Creek, a tributary to SouthCanadian, camp was located for awhile, until asuitable location could be found for a permanentranch.

Mr. Bates struck out across the country to the Canadianriver, taking me along, to hunt the range—onelarge enough for at least fifty thousand cattle.

After being out three days we landed in Tascosa,a little mexican town on the Canadian. There wereonly two americans there, Howard & Reinheart,who kept the only store in town. Their stock ofgoods consisted of three barrels of whisky and halfa dozen boxes of soda crackers.

From there we went down the river twenty-fivemiles where we found a little trading point, consistingof one store and two mexican families. Thestore, which was kept by a man named Pitcher,had nothing in it but whisky and tobacco. His customerswere mostly transient buffalo hunters, theybeing mostly indians and mexicans. He also madea business of dealing in robes, furs, etc., which heshipped to Fort Lyons, Colorado, where his partner,an officer in the United States Army lived.[157]There were three hundred Apache indians campedright across the river from "Cold Springs," asPitcher called his ranch.

A few miles below where the little store stoodMr. Bates decided on being the center of the"L. X." range; and right there, Wheeler post-officenow stands. And that same range, which was thenblack with buffaloes, is now stocked with seventy-fivethousand fine blooded cattle, and all fenced in.So you see time makes changes, even out here inthe "western wilds."

Chapter XVII.

After arriving on our newly located ranch wecounted the cattle and found the herd threehundred head short.

Bill Allen, the boss, struck back to try and findtheir trail. He found it leading south from the"rifle pits." The cattle had stolen out of the herdwithout anyone finding it out; and of course findingthemselves free, they having come from southernTexas, they headed south across the Plains.

Allen came back to camp and taking me and twohorses apiece, struck down the river to head themoff. We made our headquarters at Fort Elliott andscoured the country out for a hundred miles square.

We succeeded in getting about two hundred headof them; some had become wild and were mixedup with large herds of buffalo, while others hadbeen taken up by ranchmen around the Fort andthe brands disfigured. We got back to camp afterbeing absent a month.[159]

About the first of October four more herds arrived;three from Dodge and one from Grenada,Colorado, where Bates & Beals formerly had a largeranch. We then turned them all loose on the riverand established "Sign" camps around the entirerange, which was about forty miles square. Thecamps were stationed from twenty-five to thirtymiles apart. There were two men to the camp andtheir duty was to see that no cattle drifted outsideof the line—on their "ride," which was half way tothe next camp on each side, or in plainer wordsone man would ride south towards the camp in thatdirection, while his pard would go north until hemet the man from the next camp, which wouldgenerally be on a hill, as near half way as possible.If any cattle had crossed over the line during thenight they would leave a trail of course, and thisthe rider would follow up until he overtook them.He would then bring them back inside of theline; sometimes though they would come out sothick that half a dozen men couldn't keep themback, for instance, during a bad storm. Undersuch circumstances he would have to do the best hecould until he got a chance to send to the "homeranch" for help.[160]

A young man by the name of John Robinsonand myself were put in a Sign camp ten miles southof the river, at the foot of the Staked Plains. Itwas the worst camp in the whole business, for threedifferent reasons, the first one being, cattle naturallywant to drift south in the winter, and secondly, thecold storms always came from the north, and thethird and most objectionable cause was, if any happenedto get over the line onto the Staked plainsduring a bad snow storm they were considered gone,as there were no "breaks" or anything to checkthem for quite a distance. For instance, driftingsouthwest they would have nothing but a level plainto travel over for a distance of three hundred milesto the Pecos river near the old Mexico line.

John and I built a small stone house on the headof "Bonetta" Canyon and had a hog killing time allby ourselves. Hunting was our delight at first,until it became old. We always had four or fivedifferent kinds of meat in camp. Buffalo meat wasway below par with us, for we could go a few hundredyards from camp any time of day and kill anynumber of the woolly brutes. To give you an ideahow thick buffaloes were around there that fall willsay, at one time when we first located our camp on[161]the Bonetta, there was a solid string of them, fromone to three miles wide, going south, which tookthree days and nights to cross the Canadian river.And at other times I have seen them so thick onthe plains that the country would look black just asfar as the eye could reach.

Late that fall we had a change in bosses. Mr.Allen went home to Corpus Christi, Texas, and aman by the name of Moore came down from Coloradoand took his place.

About Christmas we had a little excitement, chasingsome mexican thieves, who robbed Mr. Pitcherof everything he had in his little Jim Crow store.John and I were absent from our camp, six days onthis trip. There were nine of us in the persuingparty, headed by Mr. Moore, our boss. We caughtthe outfit, which consisted of five men, all wellarmed and three women, two of them being prettymaidens, on the staked plains, headed for Mexico.It was on this trip that I swore off getting drunk,and I have stuck to it—with the exception of onceand that was over the election of President Cleveland—Ithappened thus:

We rode into Tascosa about an hour after dark,having been in the saddle and on a hot trail all day[162]without food or water. Supper being ordered wepassed off the time waiting, by sampling Howardand Reinheart's bug juice.

Supper was called and the boys all rushed to thetable—a few sheepskins spread on the dirt floor.When about through they missed one of theircrowd—a fellow about my size. On searching farand near he was found lying helplessly drunk underhis horse, Whisky-peet—who was tied to a rack infront of the store. A few glasses of salty wateradministered by Mr. Moore brought me to my rightmind. Moore then after advising me to remainuntil morning, not being able to endure an all nightride as he thought, called, "come on, fellers!" Andmounting their tired horses they dashed off at almostfull speed.

There I stood leaning against the rack not feelingable to move. Whisky-peet was rearing and prancingin his great anxiety to follow the crowd. Ifinally climbed into the saddle, the pony still tiedto the rack. I had sense enough left to know thatI couldn't get on him if loose, in the fix I was in.Then pulling out my bowie knife I cut the rope andhugged the saddle-horn with both hands. I overtookand stayed with the crowd all night, but if[163]ever a mortal suffered it was me. My stomach feltas though it was filled with scorpions, wild cats andlizards. I swore if God would forgive me for getingon that drunk I would never do so again. Butthe promise was broken, as I stated before, when Ireceived the glorious news of Cleveland's election.

After New Year's, Moore took Jack Ryan, Vandozenand myself and went on an exploring expeditionsouth, across the Staked plains, with a viewof learning the country.

The first place we struck was Canyon Paladuro,head of Red river. The whole country over therewas full of indians and mexicans. We laid over twodays in one of their camps, watching them lancebuffaloes. From there we went to Mulberry wherewe put in three or four days hunting. When wepulled out again our pack-pony was loaded downwith fat bear meat.

Chapter XVIII.

On our arrival back to the ranch, Moore riggedup a scouting outfit to do nothing but drift overthe Plains in search of strayed cattle.

The outfit consisted of a well-filled chuck-wagon,a number one good cook, Mr. O. M. Johnson, andthree warriors, Jack Ryan, Vanduzen and myself.We had two good horses apiece, that is, all but myself,I had three counting Whisky-peet.

About the sixth day out we struck three thousandComanche Indians and became pretty badly scaredup. We had camped for the night on the plains,at the forks of Mulberry and Canyon Paladuro; apoint from whence could be seen one of the roughestand most picturesque scopes of country in the west.

The next morning Jack Ryan went with thewagon to pilot it across Mulberry Canyon, while"Van" and I branched off down into Canyon Paladuroto look for cattle signs. We succeeded infinding two little knotty-headed two-year old steers[165]with a bunch of buffalo. They were almost as wildas their woolly associates, but we managed to getthem cut out and headed in the direction the wagonhad gone.

About noon, on turning a sharp curve in the canyon,we suddenly came in full view of our wagonsurrounded with a couple of thousand red skins, onhorse back, and others still pouring down from thehills, on the east.

It was too late to figure on what to do, for theyhad already seen us, only being about half a mileoff. You see the two wild steers had turned thecurve ahead of us and attracted the indians attentionin that direction. We couldn't see anythingbut the white top of our wagon, on account of thesolid mass of reds, hence couldn't tell whether ourboys were still among the living or not. We thoughtof running once, but finally concluded to go up andtake our medicine like little men, in case they wereon the war-path. Leaving Whisky-peet, who wastied behind the wagon, kept me from running morethan anything else.

On pushing our way through the mass we foundthe boys, winchesters in hand, telling the old chiefswhere to find plenty of buffalo. There were three[166]thousand in the band, and they had just come fromFt. Sill, Indian Territory, on a hunting expedition.They wanted to get where buffaloes were plentifulbefore locating winter quarters.

From that time on we were among indians all thetime. The Pawnee tribe was the next we came incontact with. Close to the Indian Territory line werun afoul of the whole Cheyenne tribe. They werehalf starved, all the buffalo having drifted south, andtheir ponies being too poor and weak to follow themup. We traded them out of lots of blankets, trinkets,etc. For a pint of flour or coffee they would givetheir whole soul—and body thrown in for goodmeasure. We soon ran out of chuck too, havingswapped it all off to the hungry devils.

We then circled around by Ft. Elliott, and up theCanadian river to the ranch, arriving there witheighteen head of our steers, after an absence of sevenweeks.

We only got to remain at the ranch long enoughto get a new supply of chuck, etc., and a fresh lotof horses, as Moore sent us right back to the Plains.In a south westerly direction this time.

We remained on the Plains scouting around duringthe rest of the winter, only making short trips[167]to the ranch after fresh horses and grub. We experiencedsome tough times too, especially duringsevere snow storms when our only fuel, "buffalo-chips,"would be covered up in the deep snow.Even after the snow melted off, for several daysafterwards, we couldn't get much warmth out of thebuffalo-chips, on account of them being wet.

About the first of April, Moore called us in fromthe Plains to go up the river to Ft. Bascom, NewMexico, on a rounding-up expedition. We weregone on that trip over a month.

On our arrival back, Moore went right to workgathering up everything on the range in the shapeof cattle, so as to "close-herd" them during thesummer. His idea in doing that was to keep themtame. During the winter they had become almostbeyond control. The range was too large for sofew cattle. And another thing buffalo being soplentiful had a tendency to making them wild.

About the first of June Moore put me in chargeof an outfit, which consisted of twenty-five hundredsteers, a wagon and cook, four riders, and five horsesto the man or rider. He told me to drift over thePlains wherever I felt like, just so I brought thecattle in fat by the time cold weather set in.[168]

It being an unusually wet summer the scores ofbasins, or "dry lakes," as we called them, containedan abundance of nice fresh water, therefore wewould make a fresh camp every few days. Thegrass was also fine, being mostly buffalo-grass andnearly a foot high. If ever I enjoyed life it wasthat summer. No flies or mosquitoes to bother, lotsof game and a palmy atmosphere.

Towards the latter part of July about ten thousandhead of "through" cattle arrived from southernTexas. To keep the "wintered" ones from catchingthe "Texas fever," Mr. Moore put them all on thePlains, leaving the new arrivals on the north side ofthe river. There was three herds besides mine.And I was put in charge of the whole outfit, that is,the four herds; although they were held separate asbefore, with the regular number of men, horses, etc.to each herd.

I then put one of my men in charge of the herdI had been holding, and from that time on until latein the fall I had nothing to do but ride from oneherd to the other and see how they were gettingalong. Some times the camps would be twentymiles apart. I generally counted each bunch oncea week, to be certain they were all there.[169]

About the first of October, Moore came out andpicked eight hundred of the fattest steers out of thefour herds and sent them to Dodge to be shipped toChicago. He then took everything to the river, tobe turned loose onto the winter range until the nextspring.

When the hardest work was over—winter campsestablished, etc., I secured Moore's consent to letme try and overtake the shipping steers, andaccompany them to Chicago. So mounted onWhisky-peet I struck out, accompanied by one ofthe boys, John Farris. It was doubtful whether wewould overtake the herd before being shipped, asthey had already been on the road about fifteendays, long enough to have gotten there.

The night after crossing the Cimeron river wehad a little indian scare. About three o'clock thatafternoon we noticed two or three hundred mountedreds, off to one side of the road, marching up aravine in single file. Being only a mile off, Johnproposed to me that we go over and tackle them forsomething to eat. We were terribly hungry, as wellas thirsty.

I agreed, so we turned and rode towards them.On discovering us they all bunched up, as though[170]parleying. We didn't like such maneuvering, beingafraid maybe they were on the war-path, so turnedand continued our journey along the road, keepinga close watch behind for fear they might concludeto follow us.

We arrived on Crooked Creek, where there wasa store and several ranches, just about dark. Onriding up to the store, where we intended stoppingall night, we found it vacated, and everything turnedup-side down as though the occupants had just leftin a terrible hurry. Hearing some ox bells downthe creek we turned in that direction, in hopes offinding something to eat.

About a mile's ride brought us to a ranch whereseveral yoke of oxen stood grazing, near the door.Finding a sack of corn in a wagon we fed our horsesand then burst open the door of the log house,which was locked. Out jumped a little playfulpuppy, who had been asleep, his master havinglocked him up in there, no doubt, in his anxiety topull for Dodge.

Hanging over the still warm ashes was a pot ofnice beef soup which had never been touched. Andin the old box cupboard was a lot of cold biscuits anda jar of nice preserves, besides a jug of molasses, etc.[171]

After filling up we struck out for Dodge, still adistance of twenty-five miles. We arrived therea short while after sun-up next morning; and thefirst man we met—an old friend by the name ofWillingham—informed us of the indian outbreak.There had been several men killed on CrookedCreek the evening before—hence John and I findingthe ranches deserted.

On riding through the streets that morning,crowds of women, some of them crying, seeing wewere just in from the South, flocked around us inquiringfor their absent ones, fathers, brothers,lovers and sons, some of whom had already beenkilled, no doubt; there having been hundreds ofmen killed in the past few days.

John and I of course laughed in our boots tothink that we turned back, instead of going on tothe band of blood-thirsty devils that we had startedto go to.

The first thing after putting our horses up at thelivery stable, we went to Wright & Beverly's storeand deposited our "wealth." John had a draft forone hundred and fourteen dollars, while I had aboutthree hundred and fifty dollars. We then shed our[172]old clothes and crawled into a bran new rig out andout. Erskine Clement, one of Mr. Beal's partners,was in town waiting to ship the herd which shouldhave been there by that time. But he hadn't hearda word from it, since getting Moore's letter—which,by the way, had to go around through Las Vegas,New Mexico, and down through the southern partof Colorado—stating about what time it wouldarrive in Dodge. He was terribly worried when Iinformed him that John and I had neither seen norheard anything of the outfit since it left the ranch.

That night about ten o'clock John, who had strucka lot of his old chums, came and borrowed twenty-fivedollars from me, having already spent his onehundred and fourteen dollars that he had when hestruck town.

I went to bed early that night, as I had promisedto go with Clement early next morning to make asearch for the missing herd.

The next morning when Clement and I were fixingto strike out, John came to me, looking badafter his all night rampage, to get his horse andsaddle out of "soak." I done so, which cost methirty-five dollars, and never seen the poor boyafterwards. Shortly after that he went to Ft. Sumner[173]and was killed by one of "Billy the Kid's"men, a fellow by the name of Barney Mason. Thusended the life of a good man who, like scores ofothers, let the greatest curse ever known to mankind,whisky, get the upper hand of him.

Clement and I pulled south, our ponies loadeddown with ammunition so in case the indians got uscorralled we could stand them off a few days, atleast. We were well armed, both having a goodwinchester and a couple of colts' pistols apiece.

We found the outfit coming down Crooked Creek;they having left the main trail, or road, on the Cimeron,and came over a much longer route, to avoiddriving over a dry stretch of country, forty milesbetween water. Hence John and I missing them.No doubt but that it was a lucky move in them takingthat route, for, on the other, they would havejust about come in contact with the three or fourhundred Cheyenne reds, whose bloody deeds arestill remembered in that country.

On arriving in town with the herd we split it intwo, making four hundred head in each bunch, andput one half on the cars to be shipped to Chicago.I accompanied the first lot, while Clement remainedto come on with the next.[174]

In Burlington, Iowa, I met Mr. Beals. We laythere all day feeding and watering the cattle.

On arriving in Chicago, I went right to the Palmerhouse, but after paying one dollar for dinner Iconcluded its price too high for a common clod-hopperlike myself. So I moved to the ErvinHouse, close to the Washington Street tunnel, atwo dollar a day house.

That night I turned myself loose taking in thetown, or at least a little corner of it. I squanderedabout fifteen dollars that night on boot-blacks alone.Every one of the little imps I met struck me for adime, or something to eat. They knew, at a glance,from the cut of my jib, that they had struck a bonanza.They continued to "work" me too, duringmy whole stay in the city. At one time, whilewalking with Mr. Beals and another gentleman, acrowd of them who had spied me from across thestreet, yelled "Yonder goes our Texas Ranger!Lets tackle him for some stuff!"

About the third day I went broke, and from thattime on I had to borrow from Mr. Beals. I leftthere about a hundred dollars in his debt.

After spending six days in the city I left forDodge City, Kansas, in company with Mr. Beals[175]and Erskine Clement, who, instead of stopping atDodge, continued on to Grenada, Colorado, wherethe "Beals Cattle Co." still held their headquarters.

Arriving in Dodge City, I found Whiskey-peet,whom I had left in Anderson's stable, all O. K., andmounting him I struck out all alone for the "L. X."ranch, two hundred and twenty-five miles.

Arriving at the ranch I found the noted "Billythe Kid" and his gang there. Among his daringfollowers were the afterwards noted Tom O'Phalliard,and Henry Brown, leader of the Medicine LodgeBank tragedy which happened in 1884, who wasshot in trying to escape, while his three companionswere hung. "The Kid" was there trying to disposeof a herd of ponies he had stolen from the"Seven River warriors" in Lincoln County, NewMexico—his bitter enemies whom he had fought sohard against, that past summer, in what is knownas the "bloody Lincoln County war of '78." Duringhis stay at the ranch and around Tascosa, I becameintimately acquainted with him and his jovial crowd.I mention these facts because I intend to give youa brief sketch of Billy's doings, in the closing pagesof this book.

Chapter XIX.

After laying around the ranch a couple of weeks,Mr. Moore put me in charge of a scoutingoutfit and sent me out on the South Plains to driftabout all winter, watching for cattle thieves, etc.; alsoto turn back any cattle that might slip by the "signriders" and drift across the Plains.

During that winter we, that is my crowd, wentto church several times. A little Colony of Christiansheaded by the Rev. Cahart, had settled on thehead of Salt Fork, a tributary of Red river, andbuilt a church house in which the little crowd, numberingless than fifty souls would congregate everySunday and pray.

That same little church house now ornaments thethriving little city of Clarendon, County seat ofDonley County. The old inhabitants point to itwith pride when telling of how it once stood solitaryand alone out on the great buffalo range twohundred miles from nowhere.[177]

The Colony had come from Illinois and driftedaway out there beyond the outskirts of civilization toget loose from that demon whisky. And earlythat coming spring a lot of ruffians started a saloonin their midst. A meeting was called in the littlechurch house and resolutions passed to drive themout, if in no other way, with powder and lead. Theypulled their freight and I am proud to state that Ihad a hand in making them pull it; for the simplereason that they had no business encroaching uponthose good people's rights.

When spring opened Mr. Moore called me infrom the Plains and put me in charge of a rounding-upoutfit, which consisted of twelve riders and acook.

To begin rounding-up, we went over to CanyonPaladuro, where Chas. Goodnight had a ranch, andwhere a great many of the river cattle had driftedduring the winter. There was about a hundredmen and seven or eight wagons in the outfit thatwent over. We stopped over Sunday in the littleChristian Colony and went to church. The Rev.Cahart preached about the wild and woolly CowBoy of the west; how the eastern people had himpictured off as a kind of animal with horns, etc.[178]While to him, looking down from his dry goodsbox pulpit into the manly faces of nearly a hundredof them, they looked just like human beings, minusthe standing collar, etc.

About the first of July, Moore sent me to Nickerson,Kansas, with a herd of eight hundred shippingsteers. My outfit consisted of five men, a chuckwagon, etc. Our route lay over a wild strip ofcountry where there was no trails nor scarcely anyranches—that is, until reaching the southern line ofKansas.

We arrived at Nickerson after being on the roadtwo months. "Deacon" Bates, Mr. Beals partner,was there waiting for us. He had come throughwith several herds that had left the ranch a monthahead of us. He was still holding some of thepoorest ones, south of town, where he had a campestablished.

After loading my wagon with a fresh supply ofgrub, Mr. Bates, or the "Deacon" as he was morecommonly called, sent me back over the trail heand his outfits had come, to gather lost steers—somethey had lost coming through.

I was gone about a month and came back witheighteen head. We had a soft trip of it, as most[179]of our hard work was such as buying butter, eggs,etc., from the scattering grangers along the Kansasborder. We never missed a meal on the trip, andalways had the best the country afforded, regardlessof cost. Deacon Bates was always bragging onsome of his bosses, how cheap they could live, etc.I just thought I would try him this time, being in acountry where luxuries were plentiful, and see if hewouldn't blow on me as being a person with goodhorse sense. An animal of course, as we all know,will eat the choicest grub he can get; and why notman, when he is credited with having more sensethan the horse, one of the most intellectual animalsthat exists?

On our return to Nickerson, I concluded to quitand spend the winter with mother, whom I receivedletters from every now and then begging me tocome home. As I wasn't certain of coming back,I thought it best to go overland and take Whisky-peetalong, for I couldn't even bear thethought ofparting with him; and to hire a car to take himaround by rail would be too costly.

I got all ready to start and then went to DeaconBates for a settlement. He took my account bookand, after looking it over, said: "Why, Dum-it to[180]h—l, I can't pay no such bills as those! Why,Dum-it all, old Jay Gould would groan under theweight of these bills!" He then went on to readsome of the items aloud. They ran as follows:Cod-fish $10; eggs $40; butter $70; milk $5; bacon$150; flour $200; canned fruits $400; sundries$600, etc., etc. Suffice it to say, the old gent told mein plain Yankee English that I would have to goto Chicago and settle with Mr. Beals. I hated theidea of going to Chicago, for I knew my failings—Iwas afraid I wouldn't have money enough leftwhen I got back to pay my expenses home.

That same evening a letter came from Mr. Bealsstating that he had just received a letter from Moore,at the ranch, in which he informed him that therewere two more herds on the trail for Nickerson,and, as it was getting so near winter, for JoeHargraves, better known as "Jinglebob Joe," and Ito go and turn them to Dodge City, the nearestshipping point.

After putting Whisky-peet and my "Missouri"mare, one I had bought to use as a pack-horse goinghome, in care of an old granger to be fed and takengood care of until my return, Joe and I struck out[181]with only one horse apiece—just the ones we wereriding.

On our arrival in Dodge I pulled out for Chicago,to get a settlement, with the first train load weshipped. I took my saddle, bridle, spurs, etc.along and left them in Atchison, Mo., the first pointwe stopped to feed at, until my return.

Arriving in Chicago, I told Mr. Beals that I wasgoing home to spend the winter, and thereforewanted to settle up.

He set 'em up to a fine Havana and then proceeded.Every time he came to one of those bigbills, which caused the Deacon's eyes to bulgeout, he would grunt and crack about a forty-centsmile, but never kicked.

When he had finished there was a few hundreddollars to my credit. He then asked me if I couldthink of anything else that I had forgotten to chargethe "company" with? Of course I couldn't, becauseI didn't have time; his question was put tome too sudden. If I could have had a few hoursto myself, to figure the thing up just right, I thinkI could have satisfied the old Gent.

I remained in the city three days taking in thesights and feeding the hungry little boot blacks.[182]When leaving, Mr. Beals informed me that he wasgoing to buy a lot of southern Texas cattle, to puton his Panhandle ranch, the coming spring, and ifI wanted a job, to hold myself in readiness to bossone of the herds up the trail for him. Of coursethat just suited me, providing I couldn't make upmy mind to remain at home.

Landing in Nickerson I hired a horse and wentout to the old granger's ranch where I had left mytwo ponies. They were both fat and feeling good.

Before starting out on my little journey of onlyeleven hundred miles, I bought a pack-saddle andcooking outfit—that is, just a frying pan, small coffeepot, etc. I used the mare for a pack animal androde Whisky-peet. I had just six dollars left whenI rode out of Nickerson.

I went through Fort Reno and Fort Sill, Indianterritory and crossed Red river into Texas on theold military road, opposite Henrietta.

When within ten miles of Denton, Texas, onPecan creek, Whisky-peet became lame—so muchso that he could scarcely walk. I was stoppingover night with a Mr. Cobb, and next morning Ifirst noticed his lameness.[183]

I lacked about twenty-five cents of having enoughto pay Mr. Cobb for my night's lodging that morning.I had sold my watch for five dollars a shortwhile before and now that was spent.

Whisky-peet being too lame to travel, I left himwith Mr. Cobb while I rode into Denton to try andmake a raise of some money.

I tried to swap my mare off for a smaller animaland get some boot, but every one seemed to thinkthat she had been stolen; I being so anxious toswap.

I rode back to Mr. Cobb's that night in the samefix, financially, as when I left that morning.

The next day I made a raise of some money.Mr. Cobb and I made a saddle swap, he givingme twenty dollars to boot. He and I also swappedbridles, I getting four dollars and a half to boot.One of his little boys then gave me his saddle andone dollar and a half for my pack-saddle, whichhad cost me ten dollars in Nickerson. I then hadlots of money.

Whisky-peet soon got over his lameness, havingjust stuck a little snag into the frog of his foot,which I succeeded in finding and pulling out before[184]it had time to do serious damage, and I started onmy journey again.

On arriving in Denton that time, a negro struckme for a horse swap right away. I got a threeyear old pony and six dollars in money for my mare;the pony suited just as well for a pack animal asthe mare.

The next day after leaving Denton, I stopped ina negro settlement and won a fifty-dollar horse,running Whisky-peet against a sleepy looking grey.I had up twenty dollars in money and my Winchester,a fine silver mounted gun. I won the raceby at least ten open feet, but the negroes tried toswindle me out of it.

While riding along that evening three negroesrode up and claimed the horse I had won. Theyclaimed that the parties who bet him off had noright to him, as they just had borrowed him fromone of them to ride to the Settlement that morning.I finally let them have him for twenty dollars.

I went through the following towns after leavingDenton: Ft. Worth, Clenborn, Hillsborough, Waco,Herrene, Bryant, Brenham and Columbus; besidesscores of smaller places.[185]

I rode up to mother's little shanty on Cashe'screek after being on the road just a month andtwelve days.

To say that mother was glad to see me wouldonly half express it. She bounced me the firstthing about not coming back the next fall afterleaving as I had promised. I had been gone nearlyfour years.

Chapter XX.

I hadn't been at home but a few days when I camevery near getting killed by a falling house.

Mother had become tired of the neighborhoodshe lived in and wanted me to move her and hershanty down the creek about a mile, to Mr. Cornelius's.So hiring a yoke of oxen—although apair of goats would have answered the purpose—Ihauled her household goods down to the spot selected.I then went to work tearing the shantydown.

In building it I had set eight pine posts two feetin the ground, and then nailed the sidings, etc., tothem. There was only one room and it was eightfeet wide and fourteen long. The roof had beenmade of heavy pine boards. After tearing bothends out, I climbed onto the roof to undo that.[187]

I was a-straddle of the sharp roof, about midway,axe in one hand and a large chisel in the other,when all at once the sides began spreading out atthe top. Of course I began sinking slowly butsurely, until everything went down with a crash.The pine posts had become rotten from the top ofthe ground down; and just as soon as the roof andI had struck bottom the sides flopped over onto us.

A neighbor's little boy by the name of BennyWilliams, had been monkeying around watching mework, and unluckily he was inside of the shantywhen the collapse came.

Finally little Benny who was one thickness ofboards under me woke up and began squalling likea six months old calf being put through the processof branding.

After squalling himself hoarse he began to moanmost pitiously. That was too much for me. Icould stand his bleating but his moaning for helpput new life into my lazy muscles, causing me toexert every nerve in my body, so as to get out andrender the poor boy assistance. I had, before the[188]boy's cries disturbed me, made up my mind to liestill and wait for something to turn up.

In exerting myself I found that I could move mybody down towards my feet, an inch at a time. Theweight was all on my left shoulder. But it sooncame in contact with something else, which relievedmy bruised shoulder of most of the weight.

I got out finally after a long and painful struggle;and securing help from the Morris ranch, fishedBenny out. He had one leg broken below theknee, besides other bruises. I was slightly disfigured,but still in the ring.

I put in the winter visiting friends, hunting, etc.I had sold my cattle—the mavricks branded nearlyfour years before—to Mr. Geo. Hamilton, at themarket price, from five to ten dollars a head, accordingto quality, to be paid for when he got hisown brand put on to them. Every now and thenhe would brand a few, and with the money receivedfor them I would buy grub and keep up my dignity.

About the first of March I received a letter fromMr. Rosencrans, one of D. T. Beals' partners, statingthat Mr. Beals had bought his cattle in middleTexas instead of southern as he had expected, andas he had told me in Chicago. "But," continued the[189]letter, "we have bought a herd from Charles Wordof Goliad, on the San Antonia River, to be deliveredat our Panhandle ranch and have secured you thejob of bossing it. Now should you wish to comeback and work for us, go out and report to Mr.Word at once."

The next day I kissed mother good-bye, gaveWhisky peet a hug, patted Chief—a large whitedog that I had picked up in the Indian Territory onmy way through—a few farewell pats on the head,mounted "Gotch"—a pony I had swapped my star-spangledwinchester for—and struck out for Goliad,ninety miles west. Leaving Whisky-peet behindwas almost as severe on me as having sixteen jaw-teethpulled. I left him, in Horace Yeamans' care,so that I could come back by rail the coming fall. Ifailed to come back though that fall as I expected,therefore never got to see the faithful animal again;he died the following spring.

A three days' ride brought me to Goliad, the placewhere Fannin and his brave followers met their sadfate during the Mexican war. It was dark when Iarrived there. After putting up my horse, I learnedfrom the old gent Mr. Word, who was a saddler,and whom I found at work in his shop, that his son[190]Charlie was out at Beeville, gathering a bunch ofcattle.

Next morning I struck out for Beeville, thirtymiles west, arriving there about four o'clock in theafternoon.

About sun-down I found Charles Word, and hiscrowd of muddy cow-punchers, five miles west oftown. They were almost up to their ears in mud,(it having been raining all day,) trying to finish "roadbranding" that lot of steers before dark. The corralhaving no "chute" the boys had to rope andwrestle with the wild brutes until the hot iron couldbe applied to their wet and muddy sides.

When I rode up to the corral, Charlie came out,and I introduced myself. He shook my hand witha look of astonishment on his brow, as much as tosay, I'll be——if Beals mustn't be crazy, sendingthis smooth-faced kid here to take charge of a herdfor me! He finally after talking awhile told me thatI would have to work under Mr. Stephens, until wegot ready to put up the Beals herd—or at least theone I was to accompany. He also told me to keepthe boys from knowing that I was going to boss thenext herd, as several of them were fishing for the[191]job, and might become stubborn should they knowthe truth.

I went on "night-guard" after supper and it continuedto rain all night, so that I failed to get anysleep; but then I didn't mind it, as I was wellrested.

The next day after going to work, was when Icaught fits though, working in a muddy pen all day.When night came I didn't feel as much like goingon guard as I did the night before. A laughablecircumstance happened that morning after goinginto the branding-pen.

As the pen had no "chute" we had to rope andtie down, while applying the brand. The men workingin pairs, one, which ever happened to get a goodchance, to catch the animal by both fore feet as herun by which would "bump" him, that is, capsizehim. The other fellow would then be ready tojump aboard and hold him until securely fastened.There being only seven of us to do the roping thatmorning, it of course left one man without a "pard,"and that one was me. Each one you see is alwaysanxious to get a good roper for a "pard," as theneverything works smoothly. Mr. Word told me to[192]sit on the fence and rest until Ike Word, an old negrowho used to belong to the Word family, and whowas the best roper in the crowd, returned from townwhere he had been sent with a message.

It wasn't long till old Ike galloped up, wearing abroad grin. He was very anxious to get in the penand show "dem fellers de art of cotching um byboaf front feet." But when his boss told him hewould have to take me for a "pard" his broad grinvanished. Calling Mr. Word to one side he toldhim that he didn't want that yankee for a "pard,"as he would have to do all the work, etc. He wastold to try me one round and if I didn't suit hecould take some one else. Shortly afterwards whilepassing Mr. Word old Ike whispered and said:"Dogon me if dat yankee don't surprise de natives!"When night came, and while I was on herd, old Ikesat around the camp fire wondering to the otherboys "whar dat yankee learned to rope so well."You see Mr. Word had told the boys that I wasfrom the Panhandle, and old Ike thought the Panhandlewas way up in Yankeedom somewhere,hence he thinking I was a yankee. A few daysafter that though, I satisfied old Ike that I was athoroughbred.[193]

Mr. Word bought a bunch of ponies, new arrivalsfrom Mexico, and among them was a large iron-grey,which the mexicans had pointed out as being"Muncho Deablo." None of the boys, not even oldIke, cared to tackle him. So one morning I caughtand saddled him. He fought like a tiger while beingsaddled; and after getting it securely fastened hethrew it off and stamped it into a hundred pieces,with his front feet, which caused me to have to buya new one next day. I then borrowed Mr. Stephens'saddle, and after getting securely seated in it, raisedthe blinds and gave him the full benefit of spurs andquirt. After pitching about half a mile, me, saddleand all went up in the air, the girths having broken.But having the "hackimore" rope fastened to mybelt I held to him until help arrived. I then borrowedanother saddle, and this time stayed withhim. From that on, old Ike recognized me as agenuine cow-puncher.

We finally got that herd, of thirty-seven hundredsteers, ready for the trail; but the very night aftergetting them counted and ready to turn over to Mr.Stephens the next morning, they stampeded, half ofthem getting away and mixing up with thousands ofother cattle.[194]

Mr. Stephens thought he would try a new schemethat trip up the trail, so he bought a lot of new bulls-eyelanterns to be used around the herd on dark,stormy nights, so that each man could tell just wherethe other was stationed by the reflection of hislight.

This night in question being very dark and stormy,Stephens thought he would christen his new lamps.He gave me one, although I protested against suchnonsense.

About ten o'clock some one suddenly flashed hisbulls-eye towards the herd, and off they went, asthough shot out of a gun.

In running my horse at full speed in trying to getto the lead, or in front of them, me, horse, bulls-eyeand all went over an old rail fence—where therehad once been a ranch—in a pile. I put the entireblame onto the lamp, the light of which had blindedmy horse so that he didn't see the fence.

I wasn't long in picking myself up and mountingmy horse who was standing close by, still tremblingfrom the shock he received. I left the lamp whereit lay, swearing vengeance against the use of them,around cattle, and dashed off after the flying herd.[195]

When daylight came I and a fellow by the nameof Glass, found ourselves with about half of theherd, at least ten miles from camp. The rest of theherd was scattered all over the country, badly mixedup with other cattle. It took us several days to getthe lost ones gathered, and the herd in shape again.

After bidding Stephens and the boys who wereto accompany him, adieu, to meet again on RedRiver where he was to wait for us, we pulled forGoliad to rig up a new outfit, horses, wagon, etc.

The horses, Word bought out of a mexican herdwhich had just arrived from Old Mexico. He gaveeighteen dollars a head for the choice, out of severalhundred head.

Being all ready to start for Kimble County, twohundred miles northwest, where the herd was to begathered, Mr. Word turned the outfit over to me,while he went around by stage.

Chapter XXI.

We went through San Antonio and lay therelong enough to have all of our horses shod,as we were going into a mountainous country wherethey couldn't stand it without shoes. While thereI visited the Almo building where poor DavyCrocket and his brave companions bit the dust.

We arrived at our destination, Joe Taylor's ranch,on Paint creek a small tributary to the Llano, atlast; and it was one of the roughest, rockiest, God-forsakencountries I ever put foot on.

We finally, after three weeks hard work, got theherd of twenty-five hundred head started towardsthe north star. We were awful glad to get out ofthere too, for our horses were all nearly peetered out,and the men on the war-path, from having to worktwenty-six hours a day.

At Red river we overtook Stephens and changedherds with him, his being the ones to go to Beal's[197]ranch, while the others were for the Wyomingmarket.

After parting with Stephens again we turned ina northwesterly direction and arrived at the "L. X."ranch on the first day of July.

Moore sent me right out on the Plains to hold theherd I came up with, until fall. That just suited meas I needed a rest.

After turning the herd loose on the range aboutthe first of September, I was put in charge of abranding outfit. Our work then was drifting overthe range branding calves.

Late in the fall when all the branding was done,Moore put me in charge of a scouting outfit andsent me out on the Plains to drift around, the sameas previous winters.

I hadn't been there long, though, when he sentword for me to turn my outfit over to JamesMcClaughety and come in to the ranch; and to bringthree of my picked men along.

On arriving at the ranch I found that he wantedme to take an outfit and go to New Mexico after alot of cattle that "Billy the Kid" had stolen and runover there.[198]

The cattlemen along the Canadian river had hired afellow by the name of Frank Stuart to keep a lookoutfor stolen cattle in New Mexico; and along in thesummer he came to the Panhandle and notified thedifferent cattlemen who had him employed that"Billy the Kid" and his gang were making a regularbusiness of stealing Panhandle cattle and sellingthem to an old fellow named Pat Cohglin who hada large ranch on Three rivers, close to Ft. Stanton.

The outfits then made up a crowd between them,and sent with Stuart, giving him orders to go rightto the Cohglin ranch and take all the cattle foundthere, in their brands.

But Mr. Stuart failed to go nearer than fortymiles from where the cattle were reported to be.He claimed that Cohglin, who had a blood-thirstycrowd around him, sent him word that if he got thecattle he would have to take some hot lead withthem, or something to that effect. So Stuart cameback, claiming he didn't have men enough.

This made Moore mad, so he concluded to rig upan outfit of his own and send them over after thecattle, hence he sending out after me.

My outfit, after getting it rigged up, consisted ofa chuck wagon with four good mules to pull it, a[199]cook and five picked men, named as follows: JamesEast, Lee Hall, Lon Chambers, Cal Pope and lastbut not by any means least "Big-foot Wallace."They all, except me, had one extra good horseapiece; I had two. Moore thought it best not tohave many horses to feed, as corn would be scarceand high. He thought it best to buy more if weneeded them.

On starting, Moore gave me these orders: "Stayover there until you get those cattle or bust the"L. X." company. I will keep you supplied inmoney just as long as they have got a nickel left,that I can get hold of. And when you get thecattle if you think you can succeed in capturing"Billy the Kid" do so. You can hire all the menyou need; but don't undertake his capture until youhave first secured the cattle."

At Tascosa we met Stuart who had succeeded inraising a little crowd to join us. Mr. McCarty,boss of the "L. I. T." ranch had furnished five men,a cook and chuck wagon; and Torry, whose ranchwas further up the river, a wagon and two men,while a man by the name of Johnson furnished aman and wagon. The "L. I. T." outfit was in chargeof a fellow by the name of "Bob" Roberson, whose[200]orders were to get the stolen cattle before trying tocapture the Kid, but in the meantime, to be governedby Stuart's orders. This placed "Bob" in badshape, as you will see later.

Stuart, after we all got strung out, took the "buck-board"on the mail line, and went on ahead to LasVegas to put in a week or so with his solid girl.

On arriving at San Lorenzo, New Mexico, Imounted a buck-board and struck out ahead, to LasVegas, to buy a lot of corn, grub, ammunition, etc.,to be delivered at Anton Chico, twenty-five milessouth of "Vegas," by the time the crowd got there,so as not to cause any delay. "Bob" Roberson alsogave me money to buy a lot of stuff for his outfit.

Arriving in Vegas, during a severe snow storm,I found there wasn't fifty bushels of corn in town,the snow storm having delayed the freight trains.One merchant had just got a bill of several car loadswhich he expected to arrive any minute. So I concludedI would wait—and help Stuart hold the towndown.

I wrote a letter to Anton Chico, telling the boysto lay there and take it easy, as I might be detainedseveral days waiting for corn.[201]

Every morning I would go to the grain merchant,and receive this reply: "Am looking for it everyminute; t'will certainly be here by night."

Not being acquainted in town, time passed offvery slowly, so I finally got to "bucking" at my oldfavorite game—monte. I won for a while, but finallymy luck took a turn and I lost nearly every dollarI had in my possession, most of which belonged tomy employers. The one hundred dollars that "Bob"Roberson gave to buy stuff for his outfit, also went.

While standing over the exciting game, after mypile had dwindled down to an even seventy dollars,I put just half of it, thirty-five dollars, on theQueen, or "horse," as it is called, being the pictureof a woman on horseback, and made a vow, if Ilost that bet that I never would as long as I lived,"buck" at monte again. I lost, and my vow hasbeen sacredly kept.

The corn finally arrived, but having no money,I had to run my face by giving an order on the"L. X." company, payable on demand. The otherstuff, ammunition, etc., also things "Bob" had sentfor, I had to buy in the same manner. Of courseI hated to give orders so soon after leaving theranch with a pocketfull of money, but then that[202]was the best I could do under existing circumstances.

After getting the goods started for Anton Chico,Stuart and I hired a rig and followed.

Arriving in "Chico" we found Barney Mason, (anex-chum of the "Kid's," but now a deputy sheriffunder Pat Garrett) there, with a message from Garretttelling Stuart to meet him in Vegas at a certaindate, on important business. So Stuart struck rightback to Vegas, accompanied by Mason, as the datefixed was only a few days off.

I found the boys all well and having a fat time.The only thing that bothered me they had run indebt head over heels on the strength of me havinglots of money. The merchants expected their payaccording to contract, immediately after my arrival.I had to satisfy them with orders on the "L. X."firm.

The boys had lots of news to relate, things thathad happened after I left: One of "Bob's" menhad had a shooting scrape with some mexicans; and"Billy the Kid" and his crowd had been in town,they having come in afoot, and went out wellmounted. He and his five men having hoofed it[203]through deep snow from the Greathouse ranch, overa hundred miles southwest of there.

After getting everything in shape we pulled outfor White Oaks, one hundred and fifty miles southwest.

The second night out we camped at the LewellingWells, where bright and early next morning Stuartovertook us; accompanied by Pat Garrett and BarneyMason. They came with a scheme all cut anddried, by which they could get the big rewardoffered for the "Kid." Garrett knew the Kid andhis few remaining followers had been to Chico andleft for Fort Sumner a few days before; and thatthey were wore out from having been chased allover the country by a gang of ninety men fromWhite Oaks and vicinity. Now was his time tostrike, if he could just get Stuart to go in cahootswith him. That was soon accomplished; a promiseof half of the reward, I suppose, done the work.Hence he sending for Stuart to come and see himin "Vegas" on important business.

After eating breakfast Stuart broke the ice bytelling a lie. He knew our orders were strictly toget the cattle first, and then if we could assist inthe capture of the "Kid" to do so. Therefore he[204]branched out thus: "Well boys, we have got a jobon our hands: 'Kid' is on his way to Old Mexicowith a bunch of Panhandle cattle; and we wantevery man in the outfit, except just enough to accompanythe wagons to White Oaks, to go with Garrettand I to overtake them."

"How can that be," someone asked "when Kidand his men just left Anton Chico a few days ago?"

"Don't know," was the quick answer, unless someof his outfit had the cattle under herd somewheredown the river waiting for him. If you doubt myword about it, just ask Mr. Garrett, there.

Of course we all did doubt his word, and werewell satisfied that it was a put up job, to gain thereward.

"Bob" Roberson and I went to one side andtalked the matter over, while Stuart and his littleparty remained at camp wondering whether theirlittle scheme would have strength to hold out, onits weak legs or not.

"Bob" was in favor, after we had talked the thingover, of going right back and telling Stuart in plainEnglish that he lied. But I wouldn't agree to thatfor fear it might accidently be true. I thought itstrange that Garrett, who had the reputation of[205]being a model of a man, would sit by with hismouth shut and listen to such a falsehood. Of courseGarrett couldn't be blamed very much for he, beingSheriff, was interested in the "Kid's" capture, nomatter what became of the cattle we had come after.

"Bob" and I finally concluded, for fear the statementmight be true, to let them have a few men,but not enough to completely cripple us so that wecouldn't go on after the cattle should we think itbest, after getting to White Oaks.

I let them take three out of my crowd: "Jim"East, "Lon" Chambers and "Lee" Hall. While"Bob" gave up two, "Tom" Emory and Louis Bozman.Stuart wasn't satisfied, he wanted more. Butnot being successful in getting his whole wantssupplied, they all rode off down the Pecos valley.

Shortly after they left we pulled out on the WhiteOaks road. That night it began to snow, and keptit up for several days until the whole ground wascovered to the depth of from two to three feet; sothat it was slow work getting our wagons alongthrough it.

A few days afterwards we came to the Greathouseranch, or at least to the hot ashes where itonce stood, where "Kid" and six of his daring followers[206]were surrounded by ninety men one wholenight and day. It was as follows:

A squad of men left White Oaks to hunt the"Kid" who was lurking in the neighborhood. Theysuddenly came upon him and Bill Willson cookingtheir breakfasts, one morning.

On discovering their enemies they both, afterfiring a shot apiece, sped through the mountainslike deer, leaving their horses, saddles, coats andbreakfast behind.

One of the shots fired at the White Oaks partytook effect in the brain of a good horse that a youngman by the name of Johnny Hudgens was riding,while the other, went through a hat, on the head ofa young man.

After following the trail through the deep snowawhile, and after satisfying themselves that the twoyoung outlaws couldn't hide their tracks, the partystruck back to White Oaks after something to eat,and more men.

When they returned, that same evening, therewas ninety men in the crowd. They got on thetrail and followed it, until shortly after dark, whenit brought them to within a few hundred yards of[207]the Greathouse ranch, on the "Vegas" and WhiteOaks road.

To satisfy themselves that the game was bagged,they circled around the ranch to see that no trailswere leading out from it.

They then stationed themselves in a circle aroundthe house and, dismounting, began to make breast-worksout of pine logs—the ranch being in themidst of a large pine grove.

When day-light came Greathouse sent a negro,who was stopping with him, out after the horseswhich had been hobbled the night before.

Mr. "Nig" hadn't gone but a few hundred yardswhen he was captured by the White Oaks boys.

After learning from him that the "Kid" and fiveof his men were in the house they sent him backwith a note to the "Kid," telling him if he and hisparty would come out with their hands up theywould be treated as prisoners of war; if not theywould have to stand the consequences, etc.

In a few minutes the negro returned with a notefrom the "Kid," stating: "You fellers go to h—l!"or something to that effect.

A consultation was then held, and finally decidedto give the boys one more chance for their lives,[208]before storming the house. So they sent Mr. Coonback with another note stating, that that would betheir last chance, etc.

In a short while a new messenger came forward.It was "Jim" Greathouse, proprietor of the ranch.He stated that the "Kid" desired to have a talk withtheir leader. On asking him what assurance hecould give that their leader wouldn't be harmed, hereplied, "myself." He told them that they couldhold him a prisoner, and if anything happened toCarlyle, he was willing to stand the consequences.

So Mr. "Jim" Carlyle, he being the leader,marched forward—never more to return—to havea talk with the "Kid".

Arriving in the house where there was also asaloon, kept there to accommodate the thirsty traveler,he was made to go up to the bar and drink"health to Billy the Kid." This of course wentagainst the grain with "Jim," but then what elsecould he do now, being at their mercy?

Finally the Kid spied one of the gloves he hadleft behind in his retreat the day before, stickingout of "Jim's" coat pocket.[209]

This revived the hardships he and Billy Willsonwere compelled to endure, nearly all day the daybefore, traveling through snow up to their knees.So pulling the glove out of "Jim's" pocket and holdingit up at arms length, he asked: "Jim, was youwith that mob yesterday who caused me such atramp through the snow?"

"Well then, come up and take your last drink onthis earth, for I am going to blow your light out."

"Jim" of course didn't relish the half pint of rotgutthat he was forced to drink at the point of acolts "45."

After drinking a full glass himself the "Kid"threw his pistol down in "Jim's" face, full cocked,telling him at the same time to say his prayers whilehe slowly counted "three."

The "one, two, three!" was uttered, and then apistol shot rang out upon the still air, re-echoingfrom the mountain sides, in every direction.

The bullet had struck its mark, a tin can hangingon the wall a few inches above "Jim's" head.

"Well, Jim," was the first words that broke thedeath-like silence within, "you are worth severaldead men yet, ain't you?" Said "Kid" grabbing[210]"Jim's" trembling hand and leading him up to thebar, over which Billy Willson handed the fiery bug-juice.

"You didn't think I would be brute enough toshoot you insuch a cowardly manner, did you, Jim?"continued the "Kid" setting his empty glass downon the counter.

The shot from within had excited the crowd outsidealmost to fever heat; they thinking that it meanttheir leaders' death. One fellow during the excitingmoment scribbled off a note which read thus: "IfCarlyle ain't out here in ten minutes by the watch,your friend Greathouse will be a corpse," and sent itto the "Kid" by the negro, who had returned afterdelivering the last message which brought Greathouseout.

The note was read in the presence of Carlyle, sothat he heard every word it contained.

"Kid" then answered it by stating: "Carlyle issafe, but we can't give him up just yet. Now remember,if we hear a shot from the outside we willtake it for granted that you have carried out yourthreats by killing Greathouse, and will have to payyou back by killing our prisoner," etc.[211]

"Jim" knew the substance of the note and trembledin his boots at the thoughts of an accident shotbeing fired by his party. He was satisfied that hismen wouldn't do as they threatened in the noteafter hearing, from the negro's own lips, that hewas still alive. It was theaccident shot that disturbedhis mind.

The negro hadn't more than got behind the breastworkswith the note when a man, stationed behindanother breastwork, who knew nothing of the threathaving been made, fired a shot at the house "justfor fun."

Carlyle, on hearing the shot, made a leap at theonly glass window in the house, taking sash and allwith him. But before striking the ground severalbullets from the "Kids" well aimed "45" had piercedhis body. He crawled a few yards and then fellover dead, in plain view of his eighty odd companions.

"Kid" claimed afterwards that he was sorry for havinghad to kill "Jim." Their intentions were to holdhim prisoner until dark, when they would tie himdown, so he couldn't give the alarm, and then maketheir escape.[212]

From that on, the mad crowd outside kept up acontinued firing at the log house until dark. Butdoing no damage, as the boys had breast-worksbuilt of sacks of flour, boxes, bedding, etc.

Jim Greathouse during the excitement gave hisguards the slip and pulled for "tall timber" up in themountains where it was almost impossible for amounted man to follow. I have often afterwardsheard Greathouse laugh over the matter and tellhow he "just hit the high places," and beat GoldsmithMaid's fastest time, for the first half mile.

About ten o'clock that night the White Oaker'sbegan to get tired and hungry, so concluded theywould go back to town, forty miles, fill up, get afresh mount and return by daylight, without the"Kid" and his men knowing anything of it. Theystole off very slyly, without making any noise, andwhen they got about a mile, put their horses downto their best licks.

About midnight the little party inside made abold break for liberty. They headed north-east,with cocked winchesters, determined on fightingtheir way out. But they were happily disappointed.

A ten-mile tramp through snow brought them tothe Spencer ranch, which was kept by a kind old[213]man by the name of Spencer, who lived there allalone, and was trying to establish a shorter routefrom "Vegas" to the "Oaks" by turning the road byhis place, where there was a fine spring of water, aluxury the Greathouse ranch lacked, they having tohaul water a distance of several miles from up inthe rough mountains.

Just as day was breaking the crowd returned fromthe "Oaks," and finding their game had fled theyset fire to the house and struck out on the newlymade foot prints.

Arriving at the Spencer ranch they learned, fromthe old gentleman, that the "Kid" and his little partyof five had been gone about two hours, and thatthey had eaten breakfast with him.

After continuing on the trail about an hour longer,until it brought them to a rough strip of country wherethey would be compelled to take it afoot, they gaveup the chase, and turned back to take their spiteout on poor old Spencer for feeding the "Kid" andhis crowd.

They took the poor old harmless fellow out to aneighboring tree, after setting fire to his ranch, andput a rope around his neck; but before they hadtime to swing him up, a few of the men, who had[214]been opposed from the start, interfered in the oldman's behalf. Thus his neck was saved, and he isto-day a highly respected citizen in that community,which has since that time become a rich miningdistrict.

The "Kid" and his men made it into Anton Chico,where, as I stated before, they stole a good horseand saddle apiece, while the boys were there waitingfor me to arrive from "Vegas," and pulled downthe Reo Pecos.

Chapter XXII.

We arrived in the beautifully located town ofWhite Oaks on the 23d day of December,(1880). The town, which consisted of 1000 inhabitants,mostly American miners, was then not quitetwo years old and pretty lively for its age. It containedeight saloons; and Saturday nights when theboys would come in from the surrounding mountains,to spend the Sabbath, is when the little burgwould put on city airs.

We rented a large log house in the lower end oftown and went to living like white folks. We hadno money, but we struck two of the merchants whogave us an unlimited credit until we could make araise. Our greatest expense was feeding the horsescorn which cost five cents a pound and hay, twocents a pound. The grub we ate wasn't very expensiveas we stole all of our meat, and shared withour honest neighbors who thought it a great sin tokill other people's cattle. You see "Bob" and I still[216]clung to the old Texas style which is, never kill oneof your own beeves when you can get somebodyelse's.

We had concluded not to go after the stolen cattleuntil the rest of the boys got there, by whichtime the deep snow would be melted, maybe, sothat we could scour the White Mountains, wherethe cattle were reported to be, out thoroughly.

New-Year's night we had a bushel of fun makingthe citizens think that "Billy the Kid" had takenthe town. Billy was in the habit of "shooting thetown up a lot" every now and then, hence, everytime a few dozen shots were fired at an unusually latehour, they putting it down as being some of hisdevilment.

We first sent one of our crowd up-town to thebilliard hall, where most of the men generally congregated,and especially "Pinto Tom," the marshal,whose maneuvers we were anxious to learn, to watchand see what kind of an effect our shooting had onthe people.

At precisely twelve o'clock we got out with winchestersand six-shooters, cooks and all, and turnedourselves loose. About one hundred shots were[217]fired in quick succession. We then went up townto note the effect.

Arriving at the billiard hall we found old "UncleJimmie," our man, standing in the door laughing fitto kill himself. The hall was empty, with the exceptionof a few who were still hid under tables,chairs, etc. Most of them had gone out of theback door, there being a rough canyon within a fewyards of it leading to the mountains, right at themarshal's heels. It was said that "Pinto Tom"didn't get in from the mountains for two days, andwhen he did come, he swore he had been off prospecting.

Shortly after New-Years some of our men arrived,bringing the news of the "Kid's" capture, whilethe rest, Jim East and Tom Emory had accompaniedGarrett and Stuart to "Vegas" with theprisoners.

Stuart sent a letter by one of the boys, statingthat he, East and Emory, would be in the "Oaks"just as quick as they could get there, after turningthe prisoners over to the authorities in "Vegas."

So, knowing that we were destined to remainaround the "Oaks" a week or two at least, we pulledout in the mountains and camped, so as to save expenses[218]by letting our horses eat grass instead ofhay.

That night, after the boys arrived and after wehad moved camp out in the timber, while seatedaround a blazing pinyon fire, Lon Chambers whowas a splendid single-handed talker, began relatinghow they captured the "Kid," etc., which ran aboutthis way, as near as I can remember:

"After leaving you fellers we caught——. It begansnowing that night, and kept it up for two orthree days and nights.

Arriving in Ft. Sumner, Garrett got word thatthe Kid and outfit would be in town that night fromLos Potales, where the 'Kid's' ranch or cave wassituated, so he secured a house near the road leadingto 'Potales,' to secret his men in. He then kepta man out doors, on guard, watching the road.

About ten o'clock that night, while we were allinside playing a five-cent game of poker, the guardopened the door and said, 'Garrett, here comes acrowd down the road!' We all dashed out, winchestersin hand, and hid behind an adobe fence,close by, which they would be compelled to pass.

The moon was shining and we could tell who itwas, or at least Garrett and Mason could; they[219]being well acquainted with them. There was sixin the approaching crowd, and thirteen of us.

When they rode up within speaking distanceGarrett yelled, 'throw up your hands!' His voicehad hardly died out when thirteen shots from ournervously gripped winchesters were fired into theirmidst.

When the smoke cleared off we found that theyhad all vanished, with the exception of Tom Ophalliardwho was mortally wounded, and died shortlyafter. He had several bullet holes through hisbody. 'These,' pointing down to his feet, 'are hisover shoes, and this' pulling off a finely finishedmexican sombraro and displaying it, "is the hat Ipulled from his head before he had quit kicking."

The next morning we struck out on the trail whichled back towards Los Potales. The white snowalong the trail was red with blood, having flowedfrom the wounds in Rudabaugh's horse. The pooranimal died though after carrying his heavy masterthrough twelve miles of deep snow.

About midnight we hove in sight of a little rockhouse standing on the banks of a small arroyo. Thetrail led right up to the door which faced the south.Right near the door stood four shivering horses.[220]

Knowing we had the little band trapped, we tookthings cool until daylight, when we stationed ourselvesaround the house.

There being no opening in the building exceptthe door, Garrett and Lee Hall crawled up to the endwall so they could watch the door from around thecorner, while the rest of us concealed ourselvesbehind knolls, etc.

We had left our horses behind a hill quite a distancefrom the house.

When it became light enough to see, CharlieBowdre stepped out doors to see about his horse,but he hadn't more than hit the ground when twobullets, fired by Garrett and Hall, who were still atthe corner not a dozen feet from the door, sent himto his long home. He only uttered a few words,which were: 'I wish, I wish,' before his last breathleft him.

Of course that caused a stirring around inside;they knew what it meant and began making preparationsfor an escape. The 'Kid' had his ponyinside, out of the cold and the other four—Rudabaughhaving secured another one—were tied tothe door frame so that they could reach the ropeswithout exposing their bodies. Now thought they if[221]we can pull three of the horses inside we will mountand make a bold dash out of the door. But whenthey got the first animal about half way into thehouse Garrett sent a bullet through its heart. Thedead animal of course blocked the way so that theyhad to give up that scheme.

They then tried picking port holes through thethick rock walls, but had to give it up also, as theyhad nothing to do it with but their knives and firearms.

The 'Kid' and Garrett finally opened up a conversation.The former seemed to be in fine humor.Every now and then he would crack some kind ofa joke and then laugh, so that every one of us couldhear him. At one time he asked in a jovial way:'Garrett, have you got a fire out there?' 'Yes, agood one!' was the answer. 'Can we come out andwarm if we behave ourselves?' 'Yes,' repliedGarrett, 'but come with your hands up.' 'Oh, yougo to h—l, won't you? You old long-legged s—nof a b——h!'

You see they were without fire, water or provisions,consequently we had the advantage. Wehad a good fire out behind one of the knolls and[222]would take turns about, during the day and comingnight, going to warm.

They held out until next day, when they surrendered,after being promised protection from mobviolence. Kid was the last man to come out withhis hands up. He said he would have starved todeath before surrendering if the rest had stayedwith him."

Chambers, after finishing gave a heavy sigh andwondered whether Garrett and Stuart would actwhite and whack up the reward evenly among thewhole outfit, or not.

"Bob" and I made arrangements with the boys toloan us their part of the reward, which wouldamount to considerable over a hundred dollarsapiece, until we got back to the ranch, to pay ourdebts with.

Chapter XXIII.

About the time we were getting out of patiencewaiting, the two boys, East and Emory, arrivedwith the good news that Stuart would be alongin a few days, he having to remain over to get theirpart of the reward, etc.

Stuart arrived finally; he came in a buggy with agentleman from "Vegas." His orders to Robersonand Torry's men were: "Boys, you fellows pullright back to the ranch, as I have got some importantbusiness to look after in 'Vegas.' We can comeback after those cattle in the spring," etc.

The boys who had helped capture the "Kid" andoutfit rounded him up for their part of the reward, buthe said it was already spent. Oh no, they wasn't mad!Some of them swore that he would be a corpse beforemorning. But luckily for him he pulled for"Vegas" that night. I am not certain whether he wasaware of his danger or not, but there is one thingI am certain of and that is, it wouldn't have been[224]healthy for him to remain in that locality very long."Bob" had even consented to the crowd hanginghim. I was the only one who protested, for thesimple reason that I do not believe in mob law. Ofcourse I thought it very wrong in swindling theboys out of equal share of the reward, after theyhad shared equally in the danger and hardships.

"Bob" was in a bad fix, in debt, no money andordered home, by one whose orders his boss hadtold him to obey. The question was, how to standhis creditors off and get grub, corn, etc. enoughto last him home.

I finally came to his rescue. As I intended remaining,I went to the merchants and told them hisfix and guaranteed that he would send the moneyhe owed as soon as he got home, or else I wouldlet them take it out of my four mules and wagon,which were worth a thousand dollars at least.

They let him off; also let him have grub, corn,etc. enough to last him home, which would takefifteen days to make the trip.

As some of my boys became homesick, on seeingRoberson's outfit getting ready to pull back and asI was anxious to cut down expenses, knowing thatI would have to lay there the rest of the winter,[225]waiting for money to pay up my bills before themerchants would let me move my wagon, I letthree of them go along with "Bob." Those threewere James East, Cal. Pope and Lee Hall. "Bob"let Tom Emory, one of his men, who was stuck on thelight mountain air of New Mexico remain with me.This left me there with a cook and three warriors,Emory, Chambers and "Big-foot" Wallace.

Just as soon as "Bob" had pulled out, I movedinto town and rented a house, so that we couldput on style, while waiting for the money I hadwritten to the ranch for.

The mails were so irregular, on account of thedeep snow which lay on the ground up there in themountains nearly all winter, that I didn't get a letterfrom Moore for three weeks. In the letter weredrafts for three hundred dollars; and Moore statedthat I had done just right by not taking Stuart'sadvice and coming home. He also reminded me thatI mustn't come back until I got the cattle, if it tooktwo years; and also that I must scour out the Sandhills on the Plains around Las Potales, "Kid's" den,on my return. I distributed the three hundred dollarsamong my creditors and then wrote back to theranch for some more, as that was already gone, etc.[226]

We found the citizens of White Oaks to be sociableand kind; and everything went on lovely with theexception of a shooting scrape between a Schoolteacher and "Big foot."

About the last of February I received anotherthree hundred dollars and I then struck out, accompaniedby Tom Emory, to hunt the noted PatCohglin and find out if he would let us have the cattlewithout bloodshed or not. As he had a slaughterhouse in Fort Stanton I struck out for there first.

We left the "Oaks" one morning early, Emorymounted on his pet "Grey" and I on one of the fatwork mules and arrived in "Stanton" about sundown.

We rode up to Cohglin's slaughter pen the firstthing and found a man by the name of Peppen incharge. On examining the hides which hung onthe fence we found five bearing the "L. X." brand.I laid them to one side and next morning broughttwo men Crawford and Hurly, down from the Postto witness the brands. I then told Mr. Peppen, or"Old Pap" as he was called, not to butcher anymore of those cattle sold by "Billy the Kid." Hepromised he wouldn't unless he got new ordersfrom Cohglin.[227]

From there we pulled for Tulerosa where Cohglinlived. The first night out we stopped at the MescaleroApache Indian Agency, which is known asSouth Fork. There I learned from the storekeeperof a bunch of eight hundred cattle having passedthere in a terrible hurry, about three weeks before,going west. He said that they were undoubtedlystolen cattle, for they drove night and daythrough the deep snow. I came to the conclusionthat maybe it was Tom Cooper, one of "Kid's" right-handbowers with a stolen herd of Panhandle cattle,so made up my mind to keep on his trail.

We rode into Tulerosa the next evening aboutsundown. A young man from the Panhandle, bythe name of Sam Coleman, who was on his way toWillcox, Arizona, was with us. We found the townto be a genuine mexican "Plaza" of about onethousand souls. We put up for the night at Cohglin'sstore and learned from the clerk, Morris, thatthe "King of Tulerosa," as Cohglin was called, wasdown on the Rio Grande on trail of a bunch of cattlestolen from him by Tom Cooper. I put that downas a very thin yarn, having reasons to believe thathe and Cooper stood in with one another. I madeup my mind that it was our cattle he was trying[228]to get away with, after hearing of us being in the"Oaks."

The clerk had told the truth though, for he wasafter Cooper. The way it happened, Cohglin hadonly paid Cooper and the "Kid" half down on thelast bunch of Panhandle cattle he bought from themand Cooper hearing of "Kid's" capture and of usbeing in the "Oaks" on our way after the cattle,came onto Cohglin for the rest of the money so hecould leave the country. On being refused he got hiscrowd together and stole three hundred head of thelatter's best cattle and pulled for Arizona with them.

After supper Emory and Coleman went to bedwhile I struck out to a mexican dance, at the outskirtsof town, to keep my ears open for newsconnected with Panhandle cattle, etc.

There being plenty of wine, or "mescal," on theground the "Greasers" began feeling pretty goodabout midnight. Of course I had to join in theirsports, so as to keep on the good side of them.There was only one American in the crowd, besidesmyself.

I became pretty intimate with one old fellow ofwhom I made scores of inquiries in regard to Mr.Cohglin and the herd—the one I heard about at[229]South Fork—that had passed there a few weeksbefore.

He knew nothing of the herd, no further thanhaving seen it, but he pointed out a long-haired"Greaser," who was three sheets in the wind andswinging his pistol around on his fore-finger, whocould tell me all about it, as he had piloted it throughSan Augustine Pass.

I learned that the herd was owned by CharlieSlaughter and that their destination was the HeeleyRiver, near Tombstone, Arizona.

Marking out a lot of brands which I had neverheard of on a piece of paper, I asked the long-hairedfellow if he noticed any of them on the cattle. Hedid not. So I then marked off a lot of Panhandlebrands. He picked out several, the "L X." amongthem, this time, that he remembered of seeing inthe herd. This satisfied me that the herd wouldbear inspection.

The next morning I told Emory what the oldmexican had said and that my intentions were to killtwo birds with one stone; find Cohglin and thenfollow the herd.

This didn't impress Emory very favorably. Headvised me to return and get the wagon and outfit.[230]I couldn't see the point, for we would lose at leasta week by the operation. He took the back trackwhile I continued single handed, accompanied bySam Coleman, whose route was the same as mineuntil arriving on the Rio Grande, where he wouldchange his course to southward.

Chapter XXIV.

After leaving Tulerosa our route lay across ayoung desert, called the "White Sands," a distanceof sixty miles. That night Sam and I campedat a lonely spot called "White Water," where therewasn't a stick of wood in sight. We had to makea fire out of a bush called the "oil weed" to keepwarm by.

The next night we put up with an old man by thename of Shedd, who kept a ranch on the east sideof Osscuro mountains, near San Augustine Pass.

On arriving in the Pass next morning, on ourway to Las Cruces, we could see the whole RioGrande valley, dotted with green fields, for at leasta hundred miles up and down. And by lookingover our shoulder, in the direction we had come,we could see the white looking plain or desert, whichextends for two hundred miles north and south. Itwas indeed a beautiful sight, to one who had justcome from a snowy country, and we were loath toleave the spot.[232]

Arriving in Las Cruces, (City of the Crosses) onthe Rio Grande, twenty-five miles from Shedd'swhere we had left that morning, I went to makinginquiries about Mr. Pat Cohglin's whereabouts. Ifound out by the Postmaster, Cunnifee, who was anintimate friend of his that he was in El Paso,Texas, fifty miles below, and would be up to "Cruces"the next day.

That night Sam and I proceeded to take in thetown, which was booming, on account of the A. T.and S. F. R. R. being only forty miles above, andon its way down the river to El Paso.

The next morning Sam bid me adieu and struckout on his journey for Willcox, Arizona, about twohundred miles distant.

That evening Mr. Cohglin, whom I found to be alarge, portly looking half-breed Irishman, drove upto Mr. Cunnifee's store in a buggy drawn by a finepair of black horses.

I introduced myself as having been sent from thePanhandle after the cattle he had purchased fromthe "Kid." He at first said I couldn't have them,but finally changed his tone, when I told him that Ihad a crowd at White Oaks, and that my instructions[233]were to take them by force if I couldn't securethem in any other way.

He then began giving me "taffy," as I learnedafterwards. He promised faithfully that, as hedidn't like to have his whole herd, which was scatteredthrough the whole White Mountain district,disturbed at that season of the year, if I would waituntil the first of April, at which time the new grasswould be up, he would help me round-up every hoofof Panhandle cattle on his range. I agreed to doso providing he would promise not to have any moreof them butchered at "Stanton."

The old fellow was worried considerably aboutthe three hundred head of cattle Cooper had stolenfrom him. He told me about having followed himwith a crowd of mexicans into the Black Range,near the Arizona line, where he succeeded in gettingback a few of the broken-down ones.

There being a fellow by the name of "HurricaneBill," of Ft. Griffin, Texas notoriety, in town, directfrom Tombstone, Arizona, I concluded to lay overa few days and "play in" with him and his gang offour or five, in hopes of learning something aboutSlaughter and his herd, the one I was on trail of.[234]

I went under an assumed name and told them thatI was on the "dodge" for a crime committed inSouthern Texas.

I found out all about their future plans from oneof the gang, by the name of Johnson, who seemedto be more talkative than the rest. He said theywere waiting for the railroad to get to El Paso;and then they were going into the butchering businesson a large scale. He wanted me to join them;and said the danger wouldn't be very great, as theyintended stealing the cattle mostly from ignorantmexicans.

One morning while Johnson and I were eatingbreakfast at a restaurant a man sat down at thesame table and, recognizing me, said: "Hello," callingme by name; "where did you come from?" Hethen continued; although I winked at him severaltimes to keep still, "So you fellows succeeded incapturing Billy the Kid, did you?" etc.

Johnson gave a savage glance at me as much asto say: d——m you, you have been trying to workus, have you? I kept my hand near old colts "45"for I expected, from his nervous actions, for him tomake a break of some kind. He finally got up andwalked out without saying a word. This man who[235]had so suddenly bursted our friendship was a friendof Frank Stuart's and had met me in Las Vegas,with his chum, Stuart.

I concluded it wouldn't be healthy for me to remainthere till after dark, nor to undertake the tripto Tombstone, for I had manifested such an interestin the Slaughter herd, etc., that they might followme up, on hearing that I had left town. So Iwrote a letter to Mr. Moore, telling him of the wholecircumstances, and asking him if I had better takemy men and follow the herd to the jumping-off placeor not? I then struck back to White Oaks over thesame route I had come.

That night I stopped at Shedd's ranch; and sodid Cohglin, he being on his way back to Tulerosa.

The next day I rode the entire sixty miles, acrossthe "white sands," and landed in Tulerosa about ahalf hour behind Cohglin and his fast steppers. Iwas tired though, and swore off ever riding anothermule on a long trip. I had figured on being inmountains all the time, where I would have lots ofclimbing to do, is why I rode the mule instead of ahorse.

The next morning I made up my mind that Iwould take a new route to the "Oaks" by going[236]around the mountains through Mr. Cohglin's rangewhich was on Three Rivers, twenty odd miles north.So before starting I inquired of Cohglin's clerk asto the best route, etc.

I stopped at the Cohglin ranch that night and wastreated like a white head by Mr. Nesbeth and wifewho took care of the ranch, that is, done the cooking,gardening, milking, etc. The herders, or cowboys,were all mexicans, with the exception of BillGentry, the boss, who was away at the time.

While getting ready to start for White Oaks nextmorning one of the eight or ten, mexicans, whowere sitting on the fence sunning themselves, cameto me, and told me of a near cut to the "Oaks," bytaking an old Indian trail over the White Mountains,and advised me to take that route as I could saveat least twenty miles, it being forty around by theroad.

Mr. Nesbeth spoke up and said it would be betterfor me to travel on the road, even if it was further,as I might experience some difficulty in finding theold Indian trail, etc.

The "Greaser" then offered me his service, sayingthat he would go and put me on the trail so thatit would be impossible for me to miss my way. I[237]agreed, so he mounted a pony and we rode east upa rough canyon.

A ride of about five miles brought us to thealmost obliterated trail. It lead up an awful brushyand rocky canyon towards the snowy crags of theWhite Mountain range.

About an hour after bidding the "Greaser" adieu,I came to where the trail made a short curve to theleft, but I could tell from the lay of the ground that,by keeping straight ahead, I would strike it again.So I left it, and luckily for me that I did, for therewas some one laying for me not far from there.

I hadn't gone but a rod or two when bang! bang!bang! went three shots in quick succession, not overfifty yards to the left; and at the same time mymule gave a lunge forward, on the ice-coveredstones, and fell broad-side, throwing me over a precipiceabout eight feet to the bottom. My winchesterand pistol both were hanging to the saddle-horn,but I managed to grab and pull the latter outof the scabbard as I went off, and took it with me.

The first thing I done on striking bottom was tohunt a hole. I found a nice little nook between twoboulders and lay there with cocked pistol, expectingevery second to see three Indians or "Greasers"[238]peep over the ledge on the hunt for a dead "Gringo"—asthe mexicans call an American.

After waiting a few minutes I became impatientand crawled on top of a small knoll and, on lookingin the direction the shooting had come from, I gota faint glimpse of what I took to be two half-stoopedhuman forms retreating, through the pinyon brush,at a lively gait. Suffice it to say I found my mulestanding in a grove of trees, with his front feet fastenedin the bridle-reins, about two hundred yardsfrom where he fell. And between his forelegs, onthe ground was a small pool of sparkling red blood,which had dripped from a slight bullet wound in hisbreast.

On examination I found that one bullet had cuta groove in the hind tree of my saddle, and anotherhad plowed through a pair of blankets tied behindthe saddle. I arrived in the Oaks, on my almostbroken-down mule about dark that night, after anabsence of nearly two weeks.

Chapter XXV.

About a week after my return to White Oaks, Ireceived a letter from Mr. Moore stating thatI need not go to Arizona to look after the Slaughterherd as he had hired a United States Deputy Marshalby the name of John W. Poe, now Sheriff ofLincoln County, New Mexico, to go around by railand tend to the matter. But when Poe arrived therethe herd had been sold and driven to Old Mexico,so that we never knew whether there were any Panhandlecattle in it or not, except what I learnedfrom the mexican, which appeared to me very goodevidence, that there were.

On the tenth day of March, while taking it easywaiting for the first of April to arrive so that wecould round up the Cohglin range according toagreement, I received a confidential letter from Mr.Geo. Nesbeth of the Cohglin ranch, giving me abroad hint that Mr. Cohglin was getting rid of our[240]cattle as fast as possible, before the first of Aprilshould arrive.

The letter arrived in the evening and next morningI took "Big foot" along and struck out for"Stanton"—after giving Chambers and Emory ordersto load up the wagon with grub and corn, andfollow.

"Big-foot" and I arrived in the Post about threeo'clock in the afternoon and went through the Cohglinslaughter pens, finding several freshly butchered"L. X." hides, which went to show that I had beenduped, and that the hint from Nesbeth was true.We then rode down the "Bonetta" River nine milesto Lincoln, to go through the hides there and tolook for a herd we expected the old fellow had hiddenout somewhere along the river.

We stopped in "Stanton" that night and nextmorning struck out on the White Oaks road to meetthe wagon and turn it towards Three Rivers.

It was sixty miles around by the road to Cohglin'sranch, the route the wagon would have to go andabout twenty-five or thirty on a straight line overthe White Mountains.[241]

After dinner "Big-foot" and I struck out over themountains, while Emory and Chambers went aroundby the road to pilot the cook, etc.

About twelve o'clock that night, after a very hardride over one of the roughest strips of snow coveredcountries a man ever saw, we arrived at theCohglin ranch.

We found the corral full of cattle, but, being verydark, couldn't tell whose they were.

Mr. and Mrs. Nesbeth got up out of bed and gaveus a cold supper; and he also gave us a few pointersin regard to his employer's doings, etc. He informedme that Bill Gentry, the boss, had justbegan, that day, gathering the remaining Panhandlecattle, that might still be left on the range, to taketo the "Stanton" slaughter pens. Hence thosecattle in the corral.

After breakfast Gentry and his seven "Greasers"turned the herd out of the corral with the intentionof keeping right on with his work. There wasonly five head of "L. X.'s," all large steers, in thebunch and I told Gentry that I would have to takecharge of those and also gather up the rest thatwere on his range. He couldn't agree to that, hesaid, for his orders from Cohglin were, not to give[242]up any of the Panhandle cattle, etc. I told himthat I didn't care what his orders were, as I wasbound to have the cattle.

Just about the time we were arguing the case therest of my outfit hove in sight; they had been travelingall night.

After camping the wagon we all went out to theherd, which the mexicans were guarding and proceededto cutting our five head out. Gentry tried toget me to wait until he could send for Cohglin, hehaving already dispatched a mexican to Tulerosaafter him, but I wouldn't reason the matter at all,as I was mad about the way I had been served.

We went right to work after cutting out the fivehead, rounding up the whole range in search ofmore, but after three days hard work we only succeededin finding three head more. But we leftthere with nine head, the ninth one being one ofCohglin's own steers which we butchered in theOaks on our arrival back there, for the benefit ofour many friends whom had been depending on usall winter for their fresh beef. Thus I had the satisfactionof getting even with the old fellow to theextent of one steer and a fat hog which we had[243]butchered and stowed away in the wagon the nightbefore leaving.

The mexican that Gentry sent to Tulerosa withthe dispatch had to go on down to Las Cruces, onthe Rio Grande, Cohglin having started down therethe day before; hence we not having the old fellowto contend with.

After looking over the "Carezo" range, whichwas owned by Catron and Waltz and several smallmexican ranges, we pulled into White Oaks withlots of experience but very few cattle.

On arriving in the "Oaks" I wrote to Mr. Mooretelling him all about the way in which Cohglinhad taken advantage of me, etc. Also advisedhim to have the old fellow prosecuted as I hadsufficient evidence to send him to the "Pen," etc.

Mr. Moore on getting my letter, sent John Poe,the United States Deputy Marshal that he hadsent to Tombstone, Arizona, over to have Cohglinarrested and put through the mill.

On leaving the "Oaks" for good, I bought awagon load of corn, chuck, etc. for which I gaveorders on the "L. X." company, not having anymoney left. The merchants had by this time, become[244]acquainted with me, so that my name to anorder was just the same as cash to them.

From the "Oaks" I pulled due east, around the"Capitan" mountains to Roswell on the Pecos River.I overhauled scores of little mexican ranches scatteredthrough the mountains on my route, but failedto find any of our stock. At Roswell though wefound two large steers which swelled our little herdto ten head.

From Roswell we went to John Chisholm's ranchon the head of South Spring River; and got therejust in time as he was rigging up his outfit for springwork. They were going to start down the ReoPecos to the Texas line, next day, to begin workand I concluded we had better work with them, insearch of Panhandle cattle which might have driftedacross the Plains.

I took my outfit back to Roswell, five miles,where I made arrangements with Capt. J. C. Lea,who kept a store, to board one of my men whom Iwanted to leave there to take care of the ten head ofsteers until my return, not caring to drive them twohundred miles down the river and then back again.

Not having grub enough to last on the trip Ibought a supply from the accommodating Capt. Lea,[245]who took my note for pay. He also sold me twohorses on the same terms.

We were absent two weeks on this trip, butfailed to find any of our cattle. We came backwith the satisfaction though of knowing that therewasn't any in that part of the world.

On our arrival back to Roswell we learned of the"Kid's" escape from Lincoln after having killed histwo guards. That night Lon Chambers wore adifferent hat; he had swapped his star-spangledmexican sombraro off to one of Chisholm's men.This hat had been presented to Tom O'Phalliard bythe "Kid," hence Chambers not wanting it in hispossession for fear he might run across the "Kid."Chambers of course denied the above, saying thathe never thought of such a thing, but traded it offjust because it, being so heavy, made his head ache.But that was too thin we thought under the circumstances.Any of us would have done the samethough, no doubt, knowing that the "Kid" hadsworn vengeance against all of O'Phalliard's "murderers"as he termed them.

We found Emory and the ten steers doing finely.Tom hated to see us back for he was having sucha soft time. All he had to do was turn the steers[246]out of the corral, mornings, and then round-up andpen them at night again.

After drawing on the whole-souled Capt. Leaagain for more grub, etc., we pulled up the ReoPecos—looking through all the cattle on our route—toFt. Sumner, a distance of one hundred miles.

We laid over in Sumner two days and went toa mexican fandango both nights, at the Maxwellmansion in which the "Kid" was killed shortly afterwards.The "Kid" was in the building while thedance was going on but we didn't know it at thetime. The way I found it out, I had escorted ayoung woman, after the dance, one night, to herroom, which was in the same building as the dance,and she bid me good night without asking me in.I thought it strange but never said anything. Thatfall when I came back there she explained matters,by saying that the "Kid" was in her room at thetime, reading. I had noticed that she stood outsideof the door until I had turned the corner out ofsight. She also explained that: The "Kid" hadthe door locked and she had to give a private rap toget him to open it.

From Ft. Sumner we pulled due east on the LosPotales road, on our way to scour out the "Sand[247]Hills" according to Moore's instruction in one ofhis letters to me at White Oaks. Before leaving thePost, the last settlement or store that we would cometo before reaching the Canadian River, I sold oneof the horses bought from Capt. Lea, for thirty-fivedollars and laid in a small supply of grub with themoney. Not being acquainted there my creditwasn't good, hence having to sell the horse.

Two days out from Ft. Sumner we came to thelittle rock house, at Stinking Springs, where the"Kid" and his companions held out so long withoutfire, food or water. Chambers and Emory of coursehad to explain and point out every place of interest,to "Big-foot Wallace," the mexican cook, Frank, orFrancisco, and myself.

The second day after leaving Stinking Springs,we came to the "Kid's" noted "Castle" at Los Potales,on the western edge of the great "LlanoEstacado."

Los Potales is a large alkali Lake, the water ofwhich is unfit for man or beast. But on the northside of the lake is two nice, cool springs which gurgleforth from a bed of rock, near the foot of"Kid's" Castle—a small cave in the cliff. In frontof the cave is a stone corral about fifty feet square;[248]and above the cave on the level plain is severalhitching posts. Outside of those things mentionedthere is nothing but a level prairie just as far as theeye can reach.

We found about one hundred head of cattle,mostly from the Canadian River, but a few from asfar north as Denver Col., at "Potales," which improvedthe appearance of our little herd considerably.

From there we went to the Coyote lake, twelvemiles further east, where we found about fifty headmore cattle, a mixed lot like the first. They werealmost as wild as deer.

We then pulled into the Sand Hills, which extendover a scope of country from ten to fifty miles wide,and two hundred long—that is, two hundred milesnorth and south.

After about ten days hard work we came out ontothe Plains again, our herd having increased to abouttwenty-five hundred head. We were undoubtedlya worn out crowd—horses and all. To do thatamount of work we should have had at least fivemore men, and three or four more horses apiece.We only had one horse apiece, besides one extra,and the four work mules, which we had to press[249]into double duty by using them to guard the cattleat night.

The next day about noon, after getting out of theSand Hills, we came to a buffalo-hunter's camp onthe head of Yellow-house canyon, a tributary to theBrazos River. There was one man in camp, theother one being away on a hunt. Our cattle beingnearly dead for water, there being none there, withthe exception of a small spring, just large enoughto allow one animal to drink at a time, I asked thehunter to give me directions to the nearest waterfrom there, on our route.

Pointing to a cluster of sand hills about fifteenmiles to the east, he said: "You will find RunningWater, the head of Canyon Blanco, just eight mileseast of those sand hills." As we learned, after itwas too late, he should have said; eight milesnorthof the sand hills, instead ofeast. We were allacquainted with the country from Running Waternorth, but had never been south of it; hence ushaving to depend on the "locoed" buffalo-hunter'sdirections.

We camped for the night within a few miles ofthe sand hills. The cattle were restless all night,[250]on account of being thirsty, which caused us all tolose sleep and rest.

The next morning, after eating a hasty breakfast,we let the moaning herd string out towards the bigred sun which was just making its appearance.

Giving the boys orders to keep headed east, andtelling the cook to follow behind the herd with hiswagon, I struck out ahead on my tired and weakpony, Croppy, to find the water, which was "sonear, and yet so far."

I rode about fifteen miles, and still no water. Ithen dismounted to wait for the herd to come insight, but changed my notion and galloped on fivemiles further, thinking maybe the hunter might havemeant eighteen miles instead of eight. The fivemiles was reached and still nothing but a dry, levelplain, with no indications of water ahead, as far asI could see.

Thinking maybe I had bore too far to the south, Ithen rode five or six miles to the north, but withthe same result. I then, after letting Croppy blowawhile started back towards the herd at a slow gait.

Finally a cloud of dust appeared, and shortlyafter, the herd hove in sight. The poor cattle werecoming in a trot, their tongues hanging out a foot.[251]

The way the boys cursed and abused that poorold hunter, at a distance, was a sin, after I had toldthem of our luck. Chambers wanted to go rightback and eat the poor "locoed" human up alive withoutsalt or pepper. But I pacified him by saying thatmaybe he had made a mistake of a few miles, meanteighty instead of eight. At any rate we continuedright on, east.

About noon our ten-gallon keg run dry, and thenwe began to feel ticklish, scared, or whatever youwish to call it. But about three o'clock, we spieda bunch of mustangs off to the right, about fivemiles, and on galloping over to where they had been,before seeing me, I found a small pool of muddyrain water, which they had been wallowing in.

After letting Croppy fill up, and eating a drink ofthe muddy stuff myself, I struck back to let the otherboys come on and fill up; also sent the cook to fillthe keg, and to water his mules, I kept the herd,they being anxious to travel in search of water,pointed east, by myself, while the rest of the boyswere absent.

We traveled till midnight and then pitched campto get something to eat. After getting suppercooked, it was almost an impossibility to find time[252]to eat it, as the herd kept milling and trotting aroundlike so many crazy animals.

We remained there all night, and next morningused the last drop of water to make coffee. Wefound the keg, after draining it, to be about halffull of solid mud.

I concluded that we had gone far enough east, so,that morning changed our course to north.

About eleven o'clock, while the hot June sun wascoming down with vengeance, we struck a largelake about a mile wide. If ever a crowd was happyit was us. The poor cattle drank till some of themfell down and was unable to move.

We laid there resting up until the next day afterdinner. Our grub had given out by this time, thereforewe had nothing to eat but coffee and beef"straight."

About noon the next day we came to the head ofCanyon Blanco, twelve miles below Running Water,consequently we turned west, and traveled twelvemiles up the dry canyon before pitching camp.

From there we turned due north again and traveledtwo days before striking any more water.[253]

On arriving at Terra Blanco, fifty miles south ofthe Canadian river we struck Mr. Summerfield, andhis outfit, from whom we borrowed grub enough tolast us home. There were also two "L. X." boysin the Summerfield camp, and they, having five goodhorses apiece, divided with us. Our ponies werejust about completely peetered out.

We landed at the "L. X." ranch on the 22nd dayof June, with the herd of twenty-five hundred headof cattle, after having been absent just seven months,to a day.

Chapter XXVI.

On my return I found that the "L. X." ranch hadchanged bosses. Moore had quit and boughta ranch of his own, while John Hollicott, one of theold hands had been put in his place. Hence in thefuture I had to be governed by Mr. Hollicott'sorders—that is while working around the ranch.One of the firm, Erskine Clement, had charge ofoutside matters, now, since Moore had left.

I put in the summer running a branding outfit,loafing around Tascosa, working up a cattle stealingcase, etc., until the middle of October, whenClement received a letter from John Poe, who wasprosecuting Cohglin, stating for Chambers and I tocome over to Lincoln as witnesses in the Cohglincase. The time set for us to be there, was on the7th day of November, therefore we had no time tolose, it being five hundred miles over there, by theshortest route.

Hollicott and Clement talked the matter over andconcluded that I had better not come back until the[256]next spring—"just put in the winter drifting over thecountry, wherever you can do the most good," wasmy orders.

Chambers and I struck out from Tascosa onthe 22nd of October. He had only one horse,while I had two of the best animals on the ranch,Croppy and Buckshot.

We traveled up the river to Liberty, New Mexico,and from there cut across the Staked Plains to Ft.Sumner, on the Reo Pecos.

The distance from "Sumner" to the "Oaks"was about one hundred miles on a bee line acrossthe country, while it was one hundred and fiftyaround by the road. We chose the former route,although we were told that there wasn't anywater until reaching the Capitan mountains withinthirty miles of the "Oaks." We both wished though,that we had followed the road, for, our progress beingvery slow on account of the loose dirt whichwould give away under a horse, allowing him tosink almost to his knees, we came very near perishingfrom thirst; and so did our poor horses.

We landed in White Oaks about noon of thefourth day out from Ft. Sumner; and had been onthe road twelve days from Tascosa. We were[257]welcomed back to the "Oaks" by all of our oldacquaintances, especially those whom we hadfurnished with stolen beef all winter.

As we had five days to loaf in, before court setin, we went to work prospecting for gold, everybody in the town being at fever heat over recentrich strikes.

The first day was spent in climbing to the top ofBaxter mountain, where most of the rich mineswere located, and back. The only thing we foundof interest was a lot of genuine oyster shells imbeddedin a large rock on the extreme top of themountain. Of course this brought up a discussionas to how they came there. Chambers contendedthat they grew there during the flood, and I arguedthat they were there before God made the earth.We both finally got mad, each one, over the other'sweak argument, and began to slide down hill towardstown, which looked something like a checkerboardfrom where we were.

The next day we tied the pick and shovel behindour saddles and struck out on horseback to prospectin the valleys. At last we struck it, a fine goldbearing lead. It cropped out of the ground about[258]a foot. I told Chambers to go to work and dig theprospect-hole, while I wrote out the location notices.

Finally an old miner by the name of Stone cameto us. I was sitting under the shade of a pinyontree writing, while Chambers was sweating like a"Nigger at election." "What are you fellows tryingto do?" spoke up Mr. Stone, after grinning a fewmoments. We told him. He then said: "Whyneither one of you fellows has got as much senseas a last year's bird's nest; that's nothing but a verycommon ledge of rock." We took him at his wordand went back to town.

That night Mr. Stone gave us one of his mines,if we would sink a twenty foot shaft on it. Wedone so; that is, Chambers did, while I carriedwater, and rode into town every day at noon tobring him out his dinner.

Finally our time was out and we had to pull forLincoln, a distance of thirty-five miles. Poe hadwritten to me to come in after night, and on the sly,as he wanted to make Cohglin believe that wewouldn't be there to appear against him, so hewould let his trial come off, instead of taking achange of venue. I left Croppy in a feed stable tobe taken care of until my return.[259]

Arriving in Lincoln, Poe sent us down the ReoBonetta, twelve miles, to stop with a Mr. Cline,with whom he had made arrangements, until sentfor.

Mr. Cline was a Dutchman who had married amexican wife and had a house full of little half-breedsaround him.

Time passed off very slowly to Chambers and I,although our host tried to amuse us by telling hishairbreadth escapes from wild indians and grizzly-bears.

We were indeed glad when Mr. Poe rode up, afterwe had been at the Cline ranch twelve days, andtold us that we were free. Cohglin had "smelled amice" and taken a change of venue to Mesilla, inDona Anna County.

Before leaving Lincoln I had to sign a five hundreddollar bond for my appearance in Mesilla, as awitness against Cohglin, on the first Monday inApril, 1882, which was the following spring. Mr.Chambers being sworn and not knowing anythingof importance, was allowed to return home. Weboth received ninety dollars apiece, for mileage andwitness fees.[260]

Returning to White Oaks, Chambers remainedthere a week, making love to his mexican widow,and then struck for the "L. X." ranch, by way ofAnton Chico, and down the Canadian River. Theroute he and I had come was too far between ranchesfor him, traveling alone.

I remained in the "Oaks" about a week after my"pard" had left, waiting for some more moneywhich I had written for.

From the "Oaks" I went to Roswell on the ReoPecos, a distance of one hundred and twenty-fivemiles, by the route I took. There I struck company,a jovial old soul by the name of "Ash" Upson,who was just starting to the Texas Pacific Railroad,two hundred miles down the river, to meet Pat.Garrett, who had written to come there after him,in a buggy. Ash was making his home at Garrett'sranch, a few miles from Roswell.

We laid over Christmas day at the mouth of SevenRivers and helped kind Mrs. Jones, one of Mr.Upson's old-time friends, get away with a nice turkeydinner.

While sitting around our camp-fire at nights "Old"Ash would amuse me by relating circumstances connectedwith the "bloody Lincoln County war." He[261]also gave me a full sketch of "Billy the Kid's" life,a subject which I am going to devote the next chapterto, as I imagine it will be interesting reading tosome.

We arrived at Pecos Station, on the T. P. R. R.,one afternoon about three o'clock. And it being aterribly lonesome place, we, after leaving our horsesand things in care of an old wolf hunter who promisedto see that the horses were well fed, boardedthe west bound passenger train for Toyah, a distanceof twenty-two miles.

We put up at the Alverado House, in Toyah. Itwas kept by a man named Newell, who had a prettylittle fifteen-year old daughter, whose sparkling eyeswere too much for me; to use a western phrase,she broke me all up on the first round.

After supper Ash went out to take in the town,while I remained in the office exchanging glanceswith Miss Bulah.

It was New Year's eve and Mr. and Mrs. Newellwere making preparations for a ball to be givenNew Year's night.

Toyah was then one of those terrible wicked infanttowns, it being only a few months old and containedover a dozen saloons and gambling halls.[262]

About midnight Ash got through taking in thetown and came back to the hotel. He was threesheets in the wind, but swore he hadn't drank anythingbut "Tom and Jerry."

The next morning the town was full of railroaders,they having come in to spend New Years. A grandshooting match for turkeys was advertised to comeoff at ten o'clock, and everybody, railroaders and all,were cleaning up their pistols, when Ash and I gotup, we having slept till about nine o'clock.

Miss Bulah made a remark, in my presence, thatshe wished someone would win a fat turkey andgive it to her. Now was my time to make a "mash,"so I assured her that I would bring in a dozen ortwo and lay them at her feet.

When the shooting commenced I was on handand secured the ticket which was marked numbereleven. The tickets were sold at twenty-five centsapiece, and if you killed the bird, you were entitledto a free shot until you missed.

Mr. Miller, the Justice, was running the businessfor what money there was in it. He had sent toDallas, six hundred miles east, after the turkeys,which had cost him three dollars apiece. Hence[263]he had to regulate the distance and everything sothat there would be considerable missing done.

Everything being ready, he placed the turkey inan iron box, with nothing but its head visible andthen set the box thirty-five yards from the line. Theshooting to be done with pistols "off hand."

Ten shots were fired and still Mr. turkey wascasting shy glances towards the large crowd ofseveral hundred men. Mr. Miller wore a pleasantsmile, when he shouted number eleven.

I stepped forward trembling like an aspen leaf,for fear I would miss and thereby fail to win MissBulah's admiration. I was afraid, should the bulletmiss its mark, that the few dozen birds would beall killed before my time would come around again,there being so many men waiting for a shot. Atlast I cut loose and off went the turkey's head, alsoMr. Miller's happy smile. You see he lacked "twobits" of getting cost for the bird.

Another one was put up, and off went his head.This was too much for Mr. Miller, two birds alreadygone and only two dollars and "six bits" in the pot.He finally after humming and hawing awhile, said:

"Gentlemen, I don't like to weaken this early inthe game, but you all know I have got a large[264]family to support and consequently I will have torule this young man out of the ring. He's too slickwith a pistol to have around a game of this kindanyway."

I hated to quit of course, but it was best, for Imight have missed the very next time, and as it wasBulah would think that I would have carried out mypromise if I had been allowed to keep on.

After that, during my stay on the T. P. R. R., Iwas called the "Turkey shooter." Often whileriding near the railroad track, maybe four or fivehundred miles from Toyah, some one would hailme from a passing train by that name; and wheneverI would ride into a town there was sure to besome fellow on hand to point me out. They allknew me so well by my horse, Croppy, he beingmilk white and both ears being off close up to hishead. He was indeed a notable animal, as well asa long, keen, good one.

That night nearly everybody got drunk, old Ashexcepted of course, as he was already full. Theball was a grand success. The dancers on the womens'side, were all married ladies, with the exceptionof Miss Bulah and a Miss Lee; and those onthe opposite side were a terribly mixed mob, but[265]mostly gamblers, horse thieves and cow boys. Therailroaders didn't take any stock in the ball. Maybeit was because there were so many on the floorwearing six-shooters and bowie knives around theirwaists.

It was indeed a grand sight next morning lookingat black eyes and swollen heads. Every Chinaman,there being a dozen or two living in town, skippedfor parts unknown that night. There was too manyloose bullets flying through the air to suit them; andit is said that the "Pig-tails" have shunned Toyahever since that New Year's night.

A few days after New Years a telegram came toAsh, from Garrett who had arrived at Pecos Stationstating: "Come on the first train as I am in a hurryto get home." Ash got me to answer it as he, havingdrank too much Tom and Jerry, was unable towalk to the Telegraph office. I sent the followingmessage: "Can't leave here; owe every man intown."

In a few minutes another one came, an answer tothe one just sent, stating: "If you don't come downon the morning train I will strike out and leaveyou."[266]

This one raised Ash's spunk, so he told me towrite down just what he told me, and then give itto the operator. I done as requested, which ranthus: "Go to, hic, h—l, d—— you!"

The next evening, Garrett arrived on the westbound passenger, and next morning, after payinga lot of saloon bills, etc., took old Ash back withhim.

I had, the day after New Year's, went down tothe Pecos and brought my ponies up to Toyah,therefore I took a little spin out into the country topass off the time, every now and then, or at leastto look through a few herds of cattle in that vicinity.

After spending about two weeks around Toyah,I struck out for Colorado City, two hundred mileseast. Of course I hated to part with Miss Bulah;and so did Mr. Newell hate to part with me, for hewas losing a good cash boarder.[267]

Chapter XXVII.

The cut on opposite page was taken from a photographand represents the "Kid" as he appearedbefore the artist after having just returned from along, tiresome raid; and the following sketch of hisshort but eventful life was gleaned from himself,Ash Upson and others. The circumstance connectedwith his death I got from the lips of JohnW. Poe, who was with Garrett when he fired thefatal shot.

Billy Bonney, alias the "Kid" was born in NewYork City, November the 23rd, 1859; and at theage of ten he, in company with his mother and step-father,Antrim, landed in the Territory of NewMexico.

Mr. Antrim, shortly after his arrival in the Territory,opened up a restaurant in Santa Fe, theCapitol, and one of his boarders was the jovial old[270]Ash Upson, my informant, who was then interestedin a newspaper at that place.

Often when Ash was too busily engaged abouthis office to go to dinner, Mrs. Antrim would sendit by her little merry-eyed boy, Billy, who was thepride of her life.

Finally Ash sold out and moved to Silver City,which was then booming on account of its richmines. And it wasn't long until Mr. Antrim followedand opened up another eating house there,with Ash as a boarder again. Thus it will be seenthat my informant was just the same as one of thefamily for quite a while.

The "Kid's" first man, as told to me by himself,was a negro soldier in Ft. Union, whom he shot inself-defence.

His next killing was a young blacksmith in SilverCity whom he killed in a personal encounter, but notaccording to law, hence it was this scrape that firstcaused him to become an outcast; driven from pillarto post, out of reach of a kind mother's influence.

It was a cold stormy night when he, after kissinghis mother's pale cheeks for the last time on thisearth, rode out into the darkness, headed west[271]for the wilds of Arizona, where he soon became anadept at cards and horse stealing.

He finally landed in the City of Chihuahua, OldMexico, with a pocket full of Arizona gold. Herehe led a gay life until one night when a bullet fromhis trusty revolver sent a rich mexican monte-dealerto his long and happy home.

The next we hear of him is in the friendly landof Texas, where he remained in retirement until thespring of 1876, when he drifted across the lonelyGandalupe mountains into Lincoln County, NewMexico, then the outlaw's Paradise.

At Lincoln, the county seat, he hired out as acow boy to a young Englishman by the name ofTunstall.

In the spring of '78 Mr. Tunstall was killed by amob, headed by a fellow named Morton, from theReo Pecos.

The "Kid" hearing of his employer's foul murder,rode into Lincoln from the Tunstall ranch to learnthe full particulars concerning the killing. He andthe young Englishman were warm friends and beforeleaving the ranch he swore vengeance against everyone of the murderers.[272]

Arriving in the mexican Plaza of Lincoln the"Kid" learned that Morton and crowd had pulledback to the Reo Pecos. So he joined a crowdcomposed of the following named parties: R. M.Bruer, J. G. Skurlock, Charlie Bowder, HenryBrown, Frank McNab, Fred Wayt, Sam Smith,Jim French, McClosky and Johnny Middleton, andstarted in pursuit. This was just the beginning ofthe "bloody Lincoln County war" which you haveall read so much about. But it is said that the"Kid" killed every man connected with the murderof his friend before the war ended.

Billy was caught in a great many close placesduring the six month's bloody encounter, but alwaysmanaged to escape, as though possessed of a charmedlife. There is one of his hair-breadth escapesI wish to relate, just to show how cool he was intime of danger.

He and about a dozen of his men were housedup at lawyer McSween's in Lincoln, when thirty-fiveof the Seven River "warriors" and two companiesof United States Soldiers under command of Col.Dudly of the Ninth Cavalry, surrounded and setthe large two-story building on fire, determined tocapture or kill the young outlaw.[273]

The house was burning on the south side fromwhence the wind came, and as the fire advancedthe little crowd would move further north, into anadjoining room. There was a fine piano in the parlor,the property of Mrs. McSween, who was absent,and on this the "Kid" played during the whole time,"just to amuse the crowd outside" he said.

Finally everything was wrapped in flames but thelittle kitchen which stood adjoining the main buildingon the north, but still the coarse music continuedto sail forth out onto the night air.

At last the blaze began to stick its firey tonguesinto the kitchen. Then the music ceased, andthe little band, headed by the "Kid" made a bolddash for liberty, amidst the thick shower of hotlead. The balance can be described best by quotinga negro soldier's words, he being nearest thekitchen door when the dash was made: "I jes' tellyou white folkses dis nigger was for getting awayfrom dah, kase dat Billy-goat was shooten wid agun and two six-pistols all bofe at de same time."

The "Kid" and Tom O'Phalliard were the onlyones who came out of this scrape unhurt. Mr.McSween, owner of the burned building was amongthe killed. He had nine bullets in his body.[274]

Late that fall when the war had ended, "Kid" andthe remainder of his little gang stole a bunch ofhorses from the Seven River warriors, whom theyhad just got through fighting with and drove themacross the Plains to the Texas Panhandle, at Tascosaon the Canadian, where they were soon disposedof at good figures.

After lying around the little town of Tascosa fornearly a month, squandering their surplus wealth onpoor whisky and mexican woman, they, with the exceptionof Fred Wayt and Henry Brown who struckeast for the Chickisaw nation where the former'smother and two half-breed sisters lived, pulled backto Lincoln County, New Mexico, to continue theirlawlessness.

From that time on, the "Kid" made a specialty ofstealing cattle and horses, although he would killa man now and then, for what he supposed to be ajust cause. Let it be said right here that the "Kid"was not the cruel hearted wretch that he was picturedout to be in the scores of yellow-back novels,written about him. He was an outlaw and maybea very wicked youth, but then he had some goodqualities which, now that he is no more, he shouldbe credited with. It has been said and written that[275]he would just as soon shoot an innocent child as amule-eared rabbit. Now this is all wrong, for hewas noted as being kind to the weak and helpless;there is one case in particular which I can prove:

A man, now a highly respected citizen of WhiteOaks, was lying at the point of death in Ft. Sumner,without friends or money, and a stranger, when the"Kid," who had just come into town from one of hisraids, went to his rescue, on hearing of his helplesscondition; the sick man had been placed in an oldout-house on a pile of sheep skins. The "Kid" hireda team and hauled him to Las Vegas, a distance ofover a hundred miles, himself, where he could receivecare and medical aid. He also paid the doctorand board bills for a month, besides putting a fewdollars in money in the sick man's hand as he bidhim good bye.

This circumstance was told to me by the sick manhimself, who at the time was hale and hearty, onhearing of the "Kid's" death. While relating it thetears chased one another down his manly cheeks,to the end, at which time he pulled out a large redhandkerchief and wiped them away.

After the "Kid's" capture at Stinking Springs, hewas lodged in jail at Santa Fe, and the following[276]spring taken to Mesilla, county seat of Dona Anacounty, and tried before Judge Bristol for the murderof Sheriff Brady, during the Lincoln countywar.

He was sentenced to be taken to Lincoln, andhung on the 13th day of May. On the 21st day ofApril he was turned over to Pat. Garrett, who, beingsheriff, was to see that the law was carried out.

There being no jail in Lincoln, Garrett used hisoffice, which was up-stairs in the two-story courthouse, to guard the prisoner in. Robert Ollingerand J. W. Bell, two men who should have beenhung before William Bonney was born—judgingfrom reliable reports, were secured to do theguarding.

The morning of April, 28th, Garrett was makingpreparations to go to White Oaks, when he toldthe guards to be very watchful as the prisoner, nothaving but a few more days to live, might make adesperate effort to escape.

Ollinger who hated the "Kid," they having foughtagainst one another in the Lincoln County war,spoke up and said: "Don't worry Pat, we'll watchhim like a goat." So saying he unlocked the armory,[277]a small closet in the wall, and getting out hisdouble-barrel shot gun, put eighteen buck-shot ineach barrel. Then setting it back, remarked, atthe same time glancing over in the opposite cornerat the "Kid" who was sitting on a stool, shackled andhand-cuffed: "I bet the man that gets them willfeel it!" The "Kid" gave one of his hopeful smilesand said: "You might be the one to get themyourself."

After Garrett left, the two guards had five moreprisoners to look after. But they were allowed towear their pistols, for fear of being mobbed by acrowd of Tulerosa mexicans who had chased theminto Lincoln. They had given themselves up toGarrett more for protection than anything else.They had killed four Tulerosa mexicans, in a handto hand fight, the day before, hence the mob beingafter them. One of those prisoners was a youngTexan by the name of Chas. Wall, who had receivedtwo almost fatal bullet wounds in the fracas of theday before. It was from this young man, Mr. Wall,whom I became personally acquainted with afterwards,that I received my information from, in regardto the "Kid's" escape, etc.

About five o'clock, that evening, Ollinger took[278]the armed prisoners across the street, to the hotel,to supper, leaving Bell to guard the "Kid."

According to what the "Kid" told after his escape,Bell became interested in a newspaper, and whilethus engaged, he slipped one of his hand-cuffs, whichhe could have done long before if the right chancehad been presented, and made a leap towards hisguard, using the hand-cuff as a weapon.

Bell almost fainted on looking up from his paper.He broke for the door after receiving a stunninglick over the head with the hand-cuff. But the"Kid" was right at his heels; and when he got tothe door and started down stairs the "Kid" reachedforward and jerked the frightened man's pistol whichstill hung at his side, he having never made an effortto pull it. Bell fell dead out in the back yard, nearthe foot of the stairs, with a bullet hole through hisbody.

"Kid" then hobbled, or jumped, his legs beingstill shackled, to the armory and kicking the dooropen secured Ollinger's shot-gun, which containedthe eighteen buck-shot in each barrel. Then springingto an open window, in an adjoining room, underwhich the other guard would have to come to get[279]up stairs, he waited patiently for his "meat," as hetermed it.

He hadn't waited long though when Ollinger,who had started on hearing the shooting, cametrotting under the window. "Kid" called in a pleasantvoice: "Hello, Bob!" Robert looked up, but justin time to receive eighteen buck-shot in his breast.The "Kid" then walked out onto the balcony, frontingon Main street, and emptied the other barrel intothe dead body of Ollinger. Then breaking the gunin two over the balcony railing he threw the piecesat the corpse, saying: "Take that you s—— of ab——h! You will never follow me with that gunagain!"

This proceeding was witnessed by nearly a hundredcitizens, nearly all of whom sympathized withthe "Kid," although they didn't approve of his law-breaking.There was a few of his bitter enemiesin town, though, but they soon hunted their holes,each one trying to pull the hole in after him, so asto be hid from the outside world.

After being supplied from the armory with a goodwinchester, two colts "45" pistols and four belts ofcartridges, he ordered a file thrown up to him, whichwas done without ceremony; he also ordered the[280]deputy County Clerk's pony and saddle brought outinto the street, which was also done in double quicktime.

The shackles being filed in two he danced aroundon the balcony quite a while, as though he was thehappiest mortal on earth.

As he went to mount, the firey pony, which wasbeing held out in the street, and which had oncebelonged to him, broke loose and ran back to thestable. But he was soon brought back, and thistime held until the "Kid" was securely seated in thesaddle.

After bidding everybody in sight adieu he rodeslowly towards the setting sun, the winchester stillgripped in his right hand. But when he arrived atthe end of Main street he pulled off his hat, andwaving it over his head, yelled at the top of hisvoice: "Three cheers for Billy the Kid!" Thenputting spurs to the pony he dashed out of sight.

After traveling about four miles west he turnednorth-east, across the Capitan mountains, towardsFt. Sumner.

About the first of July, Garrett, who hadn't huntedmuch for the "Kid" since his escape, received a letter[281]from a Mr. Brazil, who lived near Ft. Sumner, informinghim of the "Kid's" presence in that vicinity.

Garrett after answering the letter, asking Mr.Brazil to meet him at a certain spot on a certainnight, secured the services of John W. Poe, one ofthe whitest and bravest men in the Territory, andtaking his Deputy, "Kip" McKinnie along, struckout for "Sumner" to capture the Kid if possible.

The little party of three arrived at the mouth ofTayban Arroyo, on the Reo Pecos, where Garretthad written Brazil to meet him, about dark on thenight of July 13th. They waited there all nightand Mr. Brazil failed to show up.

Mr. Poe being a stranger in that country, and notknown in the Post, Garrett sent him to the town, adistance of five miles, to try and learn, by keepinghis ears open and mouth shut, of the "Kid's" whereabouts,while he and "Kip" would meet him at"Sunny-side" a ranch seven miles above "Sumner."

About sundown Poe met his two companions, atSunny-side, but was no wiser than when he had leftthem. Garrett then concluded that they would allride into the town and if Peet Maxwell was at homehe could maybe get some information from him.[282]

Arriving in an old orchard back of the Maxwellmansion about ten o'clock that night, they tiedtheir horses and crawled around to the front of thebuilding.

There was a long porch on the south side of thehouse and about midway was Peet's room, the doorof which opened onto the porch. Garrett knewwhere the room was, and there they headed for.

On arriving in the front yard opposite the doorof Peet's room, which was wide open, the nightbeing very hot, Garrett told his companions to lieflat down in the grass while he slipped into theroom.

He found Peet asleep, but awakened him. Hethen laid down by the side of Peet, and they begantalking.

Back of the Maxwell house was an adobe cabinin which lived an old mexican Peon. The mexicanhad gone to bed, and by a greasy looking table satthe "Kid," who had just come in from the hills. Hehad pulled off his boots to rest his tired feet, andwas glancing over a newspaper.

Throwing down the paper he told the Peon to getup and cook him some supper, as he was very hungry.Being told that there was no meat in the house he[283]picked up a butcher-knife which was lying on thetable, and said: "I will go and get Peet to rustle me apiece." He started without either hat or boots.

While walking along on the porch, butcher-knifein hand, he discovered the two men out in the grass,and, drawing his pistol, asked in mexican: Quienes? Quien es? (Who's there? Who's there?)Not getting an answer, the boys thinking he wasone of the Peons, he backed into the door of Peet'sroom, and then turning towards the bed, which wasto the left of the door, he asked: "Peet, who isthat out there?" Not receiving an answer again,and being suspicious of some one being in bed withPeet, he began backing towards the opposite sideof the room, at the same time asking: "Who inthe h—l is in here? Who in the h—l is in here?"

Peet whispered to Garrett: "That's him Pat."And by that time the "Kid" had backed until thelight shone full upon him, through one of the southwindows, giving Garrett a good chance to make acenter shot.

Bang! Bang! went Garrett's pistol. The firstbullet took effect in the "Kid's" heart, while the nextone struck the ceiling.[284]

The remains of what was once a fond mother'sdarling were buried next day in the old dilapidatedMilitary Cemetery, without a murmer, except fromone, a pretty young half-breed mexican damsel,whose tears, no doubt, has dampened the lonelygrave more than once.

Thus ended the life of William H. Bonney, oneof the coolest-headed, and most daring young outlawsthat ever lived. He had dwelt upon thisearth just 21 years, seven months and 21 days.

Chapter XXVIII.

After leaving Toyah I followed the railroad eastcross the Reo Pecos, out onto the Llano Esticadoand through the sixty mile stretch of SandHills.

At Sand Hill Station, about midway through thesand hills, I left the railroad and branched off in anorth-easterly direction in search of buffalo-hunter'scamps. Knowing buffalo were getting scarce, andhaving heard of a great many hunters being in thevicinity of Ceader Lake, I thought it a good ideato go out there and see what kind of game theywere killing. Being nearly south of the CanadianRiver country, I thought maybe they were killingcattle which had drifted down in there during thewinters. But I was mistaken. I found their campsblack with genuine buffalo hides. There being noranches in that wild scope of country the buffalo,[286]what few there were left, had nearly all congregatedin there.

I played a single-handed game of freeze-out thefirst two nights after leaving the railroad, for therecame a terrible snow storm, which covered up thebuffalo-chips, there being no wood in that wholecountry, so that I couldn't make a fire to warm by.

After striking the first buffalo-camp, then I wasall right, for I could get directions how to find thenext one, etc.

I finally, by circling around to the east, and thensouth, struck the railroad again, and landed in thetown of Big Springs; where I was mistaken for ahorse-thief, whom I answered the description of,and told to "skip" by one of my friends, a strangerwho recognized me as the turkey shooter fromToyah. I didn't skip; and the thing was finallystraightened up to their entire satisfaction.

I was out of money by this time, but found adraft in the express office awaiting me. Not havingany particular use for the draft I swapped it offfor a hundred dollars in money, to the expressmanager.

After looking through a few herds around theSprings I pulled north-east for the head of Colorado[287]River, to take a look over the Lum Slaughter range,which extended from the head of Colorado Riverdown to Colorado City on the railroad, a distanceof about sixty miles. I went to all the sign camps,and also the head-quarter ranch, but didn't let mybusiness, residence or name be known, which causedthe boys to believe I was "on the dodge."

I rode into the lively little town of Colorado Cityone afternoon about four o'clock, and imagine mysurprise at meeting Miss Bulah Newell on her wayhome from school. She and Mrs. Newell had leftToyah shortly after I did. They had left Mr.Newell at home to run the Hotel. And Mrs. Newellhad accompanied Bulah to Colorado City, the nearestplace where there was a school, so as to keep "thewild rattled-brain girl," as she called her, under herwing. They had rented a little cottage and werekeeping house.

I ran out of money shortly after striking ColoradoCity, my expenses being high, having to pay threedollars a day to keep my two horses at a feed stable,and one dollar and a half per day for my own board,lodging, etc., but found a good friend, Mr. Snyder,a merchant, who let me have all I wanted on mygood looks until I could write to the ranch for some.[288]

While waiting for an answer to my letter I wouldput in my spare time taking little spins out intothe country, looking through herds of cattle, etc.The longest trip I made was three days, down on theConcho River, and that was just two days and a halflonger than I cared to be away from Miss Bulah.

The mail finally brought two hundred dollarsworth of "L. X." drafts, wrapped up in a letter fromMr. Erskine Clement, reminding me of the fact thathis company wasn't a First National Bank. Thisof course was a hint for me to be more economical.

Having to be in Mesilla, New Mexico, a distanceof five hundred and fifty miles, by the last of March,and wanting to look over some small cattle rangeson the route, I struck out. I hated to leave ColoradoCity on account of Bulah, but was anxious toleave on account of the small-pox beginning tospread there.

A forty-mile ride brought me to Big Springs,where I lay two days with a burning fever. Themorning of the third day I pulled out, across theStaked Plains for the Reo Pecos, still feeling sick.

That night I stopped at one of the section houses,which were located every ten miles along the railroad.And the next morning after riding about five[289]miles I became so sick that I had to dismount andlie down in the grass. After groaning and tumblingaround about two hours I fell asleep.

About sundown an east bound freight train camealong, which scared my ponies and awakened me.I felt terribly; my lips were parched, my bonesached and my tongue felt as though it was swollenout of shape. I started to lie down again, after thenoise from the passing train had died out, but therebeing an ugly looking black cloud in the north,which indicated a norther, I concluded to brace upand ride to the next section house, a distance ofabout five miles.

Arriving there, just as a cold norther was springingup, and riding up to the fence I called: "Hello!"in a feeble voice. A gentleman came out, and oninforming him that I was sick, he told me to go inthe house, that he would unsaddle and take care ofmy horses.

I walked into a large room where a nice blazingfire greeted my eyes. There was a lady sitting bythe fire sewing. On looking up at me, as I steppedinto the door, she gave a scream, which brought herhusband in on the double quick. "Small-pox, small-pox,"was all she could say. The gentleman looked[290]at me and asked: "Are you from Colorado City?""Yes," was my answer. "Well, you have got it, andI am sorry we can't keep you here to-night. I hateto turn a sick man out such a night as this, but Ihave got a wife and three little children here whoselives are at stake."

I had never thought of small-pox since leavingColorado City, until the good lady put me in mindof it.

Oh, how my heart did ache at the thoughts ofthat dreadful disease, and having to go out into thecold night air. It was pitch dark and beginning tosleet when I mounted and struck out, west, aimingto go on to the next section house, ten miles, andtry my luck there.

About half an hour after the light over my shoulderhad disappeared I began to grow weaker, somuch so that I could hardly sit on my saddle.So finally, dismounting, I unsaddled and staking thetwo hungry ponies out to a telegraph pole, rolledmyself up in my blankets, my saddle for a pillow,and went to sleep.

I awakened just as day was breaking. Theground was covered with snow, and I was almostfrozen. I felt as though I had been sent for and[291]couldn't go. My mouth, I could tell by feeling it,was covered with sores, in fact it was one solid scab,and so were my shoulders and back. Strange tosay there wasn't a sore on any other part of mybody. Those sores on my mouth was what attractedthe lady's attention the evening before, althoughthey had just began to show themselves then.

With great difficulty I saddled up and continuedon towards the section house. This time I madeup my mind not to let the folks know where I wasfrom, and if they had cheek enough to ask I intendedto say Ft. Concho. To avoid the sores onmy mouth being seen I tied a silk handkerchiefaround it. And should they ask any questions aboutthat, I intended telling them I had some fever blisterson my mouth, etc.

I found only one man, the cook, at the Sectionhouse this time, the section hands having gone towork. I was treated like a white head by the cook,who no doubt took me for a desperado or horse-thief,by my looks. He thought no doubt thehandkerchief was tied over my face to keep frombeing recognized.

I informed him that I was feeling bad and wouldlike to lie down a few moments, etc. He led the[292]way up stairs where the section hands slept andtold me to occupy any of the dirty looking bedsthere. I laid down and told him to bring me up acup of coffee. He brought up a good breakfastand after he left I undone the handkerchief andtried to eat, but couldn't, on account of my tonguebeing so badly swollen.

I found a looking glass in the room and took asquint at myself, and must say that I was indeed afrightful looking aspect, my face from nose to chinbeing a solid scab and terribly swollen. No wonderI frightened the lady so badly, I thought.

After drinking the hot cup of coffee I went downstairs, gave the cook a silver dollar for his kindnessand pulled out. I was very anxious to get to adoctor, and Toyah was the nearest place to find oneunless I turned back to Colorado City, which Ihated to do on account of having to attend court inMesilla, soon.

I arrived in Toyah about noon of the sixth dayout from Big Springs. I headed straight for theAlverado House and who do you suppose wasstanding in the door when I rode up? Miss Bulah.The small pox had scared her and her mother awayfrom Colorado City. The first thing she said was:[293]"Hello, what's the matter with your face?" "Nothingbut fever blisters." was my answer.

I didn't dismount, for fear of giving the prettylittle miss the small pox, but rode a few blocks toDoctor Roberson's office, telling her that I was goingafter some fever medicine and would be back ina few minutes, etc.

The Doctor informed me that the danger was allover with, and that, if I hadn't been made of goodstuff, I would have surely died, being exposed tobad weather, etc. He gave me some salve to dryup the sores, that being all there was to do at thatstage of the disease, he said, and advised me toleave town, for said he: "If the citizens discoverthat you have had the small pox, they will have youtaken to the pest house, where there are alreadythree occupants, although the danger of it beingcatching from you is past." I assured him that Iwould fix it so they wouldn't find it out.

On arriving back to the Alverado House, my facestill tied up, I hired a boy to take care of my poniesand then telling Miss Bulah that I wanted a roomto myself, I went to bed.

Bulah would bring my meals into the room andsometimes sit down to wait until I got through[294]eating, but I would never commence until she left.I would generally let her stay until she got readyto go, telling her that I wasn't hungry just then, butwould try and eat it after awhile, etc. She wouldfinally get tired and go, then I would lock thedoor and undo the handkerchief from my face. Ikept this up a week, before eating my meals at thetable with the rest of the boarders.

I finally struck out for El Paso, two hundredmiles over a dry, waterless plain, and another hundredup the Rio Grande valley, making threehundred miles in all.

I hove in sight of the Rio Grande River onemorning, but never got there until sundown.

When I arrived within a few miles of the riverI noticed a covered wagon and what I supposed tobe a camp, down the valley, about three miles outof my way. I finally concluded to turn off and goand stop with whoever they were for the night.

I found it to be a mexican camp, an old man,two boys and a grown girl. They had come fromLarado and were on their way to El Paso. Theygave me a hearty welcome.

Next morning about daylight I got up and wentout to change Croppy, he having been staked and[295]Buckshot hobbled the evening before, in a freshplace, but lo, and behold! there was nothing therebut the stake.

I circled around and found both of the poniestracks leading towards the river, a few hundredyards west, I followed, and found they had crossedover. After standing on the bank a few seconds,dreading to get wet, I went over too. The waterwas only about waist deep.

Near the water's edge on the other side I foundsome mocassin tracks in the soft sand. I could seethrough the whole thing then, from indications, etc:two footmen, who wore mocassins, had stolen myhorses and pulled into Old Mexico for safety. Wherethe tracks were visible in the sand, there was nodoubt, they had dismounted and taken a farewelldrink, or maybe filled a canteen, before leavingthe river.

After following the trail, there being just thetracks of two horses, a few hundred yards out fromthe river I turned and went back to camp, to tryand hire the old mexican's horse to follow them on.

The old fellow only had one pony, his team beingoxen and I had to talk like a Dutch uncle to get it,as he argued that I was liable to get killed and he[296]lose the pony by the operation. I finally thoughput up the price of the horse as security and promisedthe old fellow ten dollars a day for the use ofhim, when I returned. This seemed to give satisfaction,even with the two boys who would have tohoof it after the oxen every morning, in case thepony never returned.

Just about sundown as I turned a sharp curve,near the top of the long chain of high mountainswhich run parallel with the river, I came in sight ofboth of my ponies staked to a pinyon tree, grazing.

I immediately rode out of sight, dismounted, tiedmy tired pony to a tree and crawled to the top of aknoll, where I could see the surrounding countryfor half a mile around. But I couldn't see a livingthing except the two horses, and the one I had justleft.

Finally, bang! went a shot, which sounded to beat least half a mile away, on the opposite side ofthe mountains.

Thinks I now there's either a ranch over thereand the two thieves have walked to it, to keep frombeing seen with the horses, or else they have goneout hunting to kill something for supper. At anyrate I took advantage of their absence and stole my[297]ponies back. Near where they were tied was asmall spring of cool water; the first water I hadseen since leaving the river.

After taking a hasty drink myself, and letting thepony I was on, fill up, the other two not being dry,I took a straight shoot down grade, for the "easternshores of the Rio Grande," a distance of aboutthirty-five miles. It was then nearly dark.

I arrived in camp next morning just as the bigyellow sun was peeping over the top of the SierraBlanco mountains; and the old mexican, who wasawaiting my return, was glad to see me back.

That night I stopped with an old fat fellow by thename of Chas. Willson, in the little town of CampRice, and the next night I put up in the beautifultown of San Elizario, which is situated in the centreof the garden spot of the whole Rio Grande valley.

The next morning I crossed the river into OldMexico and took a three day's hunt through themountains in search of a herd which had come fromthe north, and had crossed the river at San Elizarioabout a week before. I found it, but was unacquaintedwith any of the brands that the cattle wore.The herd had been stolen though, I think, from theway the men acted.[298]

I finally landed in El Paso and found a letter inthe Post Office from John Poe, written at Lincoln,New Mexico, advising me not to go to Mesilla untilthe day that Court set, as Cohglin, who was out onbond, was there and might have my light blownout, I being one of the main witnesses against him.Also, it had been reported that he had said he wouldgive five thousand dollars to get me out of the way.He furthermore advised me in the letter to takethe train from El Paso, as the old fellow might havesome mexicans watching along the road for me.

Chapter XXIX.

I found El Paso, to be a red-hot town of aboutthree thousand inhabitants. There were alsoabout that number of people in Paso Del Norte,across the river in Old Mexico. I spent severaldays in each place.

I finally, after leaving my ponies in good hands,boarded one of the Atchison, Topeka and SantaFe trains for Las Cruces, two and a half miles fromMesilla, the county seat.

There being better accommodations, in the wayof Hotels, in "Cruces," nearly every one who wasattending court would stop there and ride to thecounty seat in one of the "hacks" which madehourly trips between the two places. ConsequentlyI put up at the Montezuma House, in Las Cruces.

There were several Lincoln County boys therewhen I arrived. Poe and Garrett came down nextday. Mr. and Mrs. Nesbeth also came as witnessesagainst Cohglin. Mrs. Nesbeth had heard Mr.Cohglin make the contract with, "Billy the Kid," to[300]buy all the stolen cattle he would bring to his ranch.But the good lady didn't live long afterwards, forshe, her husband, a stranger, who was going from"Cruces" to Tulerosa with them, and a little girlwhom they had adopted were all murdered by unknownparties. Cohglin was accused of having thecrime committed, but after fighting the case throughthe courts, he finally came clear.

A few days after my arrival in Las Cruces I wentback to El Paso after my ponies. I ate dinnerthere and rode into Las Cruces about sundown. Apretty quick fifty-five mile ride, considering part ofit being over a rough mountain road. The cause ofmy hurry was, we couldn't tell what minute theCohglin case would be called up for trial.

I had a little love scrape while loafing in LasCruces. I don't mention it because my love scrapeswere so scarce, but because it was with a Mexicangirl, and under curious circumstances, that is, thecircumstances were curious from the fact that webecame personally acquainted and never spoke toone another, except by signs, and through letters.

Her name was Magdalena Ochoa, niece to therich Bankers Ochoa's in El Paso, Tucson, Arizona,and Chihuahua, Old Mexico, and she was sweet sixteen.[301]She lived with her grandmother, whoseresidence was right straight across the street fromthe Montezuma Hotel, and who wouldn't let a youngman, unless he was a Peon, come inside of herhouse. And she wouldn't let Magdalena go out ofher sight, for fear she would let some of the young"Gringoes" make love to her.

I first saw her one Sunday morning when sheand her grandmother were going to church. Iwas standing out in front of the Hotel hugging anawning post, and wishing that I had somethingmore human-like to hug, when they passed withina few feet of me. The girl looked up, our eyesmet, and such a pair of eyes I had never seen.They sparkled like diamonds, and were imbeddedin as pretty a face as was ever moulded. Her formwas perfection itself; she had only one drawbackthat I didn't like and that was her grandmother. Iimmediately unwound my arms from around thepost and started to church too.

The church house was a very large building, andthe altar was in one end. The couple I was followingwalked up near the altar and took a seat on theright hand side—on the dirt floor, there being nosuch thing as seats in the building—which was reserved[302]for ladies, while the left hand side, of thenarrow passage way, was for the men. I squattedmyself down opposite the two, and every now andthen the pretty little miss would cast sparks fromher coal black eyes over towards me which wouldchill my very soul with delight.

When church was over I followed, to find outwhere she lived. I was exceedingly happy when Ifound she was a near neighbor to me, being only afew steps across the street.

I spent the rest of that day setting out under theawning in front of the Hotel, straining my eyes inhopes of getting a glimpse of her beautiful formthrough the large bay window which opened outfrom the nicely furnished parlor onto the street.But not a glimpse did I get. I retired that nightwith the vision of a lovely sunburnt angel floatingbefore my eyes.

The next morning I went to Mesilla and answeredto my name when it was called, by the Judge, andthen told Poe that I had some very important businessto attend to in "Cruces" and for him, in casethe Cohglin case was called, to hire a man at myexpense and send him after me.[303]

On arriving back to the Hotel I took a seat in anold arm-chair under the awning. I was all alone,nearly every one being in Mesilla.

Finally Magdalena brought her sewing and satdown among the flowers in the bay window. It wasindeed a lovely picture, and would have been a caseof "love among the roses" if it hadn't been for herold grandparent, who every now and then appearedin the parlor.

At last I, having a good chance, no one being insight but her and I, threw a kiss, to see how I stoodin her estimation. She immediately darted out ofsight, but soon re-appeared and peeping around acluster of roses, returned the compliment. Shethen left the room and I never seen her again tillafter dinner.

I then started into the Hotel, but was detained bya voice calling, through the closed blinds of a windownear by: "Me ketch you! Me ketch you!"Come to find out it was the proprietor's wife, Mrs.Duper, an old mexican lady, who had been watchingour maneuvers. She then opened the blindsand asked me in broken English, what I was tryingto do?[304]

The old lady then broke out in one of her jovialfits and said: "You ketch on? Me bet you tentousand dollars you no ketch him!" She then wenton and told me how closely the old lady "GrandmaOchoa" watched her young niece. In fact, she gaveme the girl's history from the time of her birth: Herfather and mother were both dead and she, beingthe only child, was worth over a million dollars, allin her own name. This of course was good newsto me, as it gave my love a solid foundation, andspread a kind of gold-like lining over the younglady's beauty.

Finally, after court had been in session two weeksthe Cohglin case was called up. His lawyers wereCol. Rynerson and Thornton, while the Territorywas represented by Newcomb, District Attorney,and A. J. Fountain whose services Poe had secured.

Mr. Cohglin began to grow restless, for the "Pen"stared him in the face. There were eight indictmentsagainst him, but the worst one was where hehad butchered the cattle after being notified by menot to.[305]

His only hopes now was to "sugar" the prosecutingAttorney, and that no doubt was easily done,or at least it would have looked easy to a man up atree. You see Cohglin was worth at least a hundredthousand dollars, and therefore could wellafford to do a little sugaring, especially to keep outof the Penitentiary. At any rate whether the Attorneywas bought off or not, the trial was put off,on account of illness on said Attorney's part, untilthe last days of court.

When the case came up again Mr. ProsecutingAttorney was confined to his room on account ofa severe attack of cramp-colic. Judge Bristol wasmad, and so was Poe. They could see through thewhole thing now.

That night Cohglin made a proposition that hewould plead guilty to buying stolen cattle knowingthey were stolen, if the one case in which he hadkilled cattle after being notified not to, would bedismissed, or thrown entirely out of court.

It was finally decided to do that, as then he couldbe sued for damages, so the next day he pleadguilty to the above charge, and was fined one hundredand fifty dollars besides costs.[306]

Fountain, our lawyer then entered suit againsthim for ten thousand dollars damage.

I was then relieved. My mileage and witnessfees amounted to something over a hundred dollars,this time. Of course that was appreciated as it wasmy own, over and above my wages. It came handytoo as I was almost broke and needed it to take mehome. I had spent all of my own money, besidesnearly one hundred and fifty dollars borrowed fromPoe.

It was the first day of May, I think, when Imounted Croppy in front of the Hotel, threw a farewellkiss at Miss Magdalena, who was standing inthe bay-window, and started east, in company withChas. Wall—the young man I mentioned as beinga prisoner in Lincoln at the time of "Kid's" escape.I hated to part with the pleasant smiles of my littlemexican sweetheart, but then it had to be done. Istill hold a rose and a bundle of beautifully writtenletters to remember her by.

We stopped at San Augustine the first night outfrom "Cruces," and from there we struck south-eastacross the white sands for the mouth of Dog canyon—thenoted rendezvous of old Victoria and hisband of blood-thirsty Apache's.[307]

I had heard so much about this beautiful Dogcanyon that I concluded to see it before going home,so that if it proved to be as represented I couldsecure it for a cattle ranch.

It was a ticklish job going there by ourselves, asa telegram was received in Las Cruces, the morningwe left, that a band of Apache's had crossedthe Rio Grande at Colorow, killing three men there,and were headed toward Dog canyon. But I hadfaith in Croppy and Buckshot, they being well restedand hog fat, carrying us out of danger should wecome in contact with them.

We arrived at the noted canyon after being awayfrom water nearly two days. It was a lovely place,at the foot of Gandalupe mountains.

After leaving there we went through the followingtowns: La Luz, Tulerosa, South Fork and Ft.Stanton.

I remained in White Oaks a few days, lookingover my town property, I having bought some lotsand built cabins thereon, and examining the 'OldPanhandle Tiger' gold mine, the one Stone, Chambersand I owned. I had some of the rock assayed[308]and it run twelve dollars in gold to the ton, besidesa few ounces in silver and about two million dollarsworth of hopes.

From White Oaks I went through Anton Chico,San Lorenzo, Liberty and Tascosa, and arrived atthe "L. X." ranch after an absence of nearly eightmonths, and about a three thousand mile ride.

Chapter XXX.

About the first of July, shortly after my return,Hollicott sent me to Kansas with a herd ofeight hundred fat steers. My outfit consisted of acook, chuck wagon, five riders, and six horses tothe rider.

We arrived in Caldwell, Kansas, near the northernline of the Indian Territory, about Septemberthe first.

After putting the cattle aboard of the cars, andgiving them a send-off towards Chicago, we allproceeded to take in the "Queen City of the Border,"as Caldwell is called. I immediately fell in lovewith the town, also with a couple of young ladies,and therefore concluded to locate. I bought somelots and contracted a house built, with a view ofgoing after mother.

I then struck out with my outfit to attend the fallround-ups in the vicinity of Camp Supply, Indian[310]Territory. Returning to Caldwell the latter part ofNovember, I boarded a train for Southern Texas,after mother, by way of Saint Louis to visit mysister whom I hadn't seen for thirteen long years.

I arrived in Saint Louis one evening—just in timeto let an old flop-eared Jew take me in to the extentof a hundred dollars for a lot of snide jewelry anda Jim-Crow suit of clothes.

Not caring to hunt sister until morning I went tothe Planter's House to put up for the night, and tonote the change of twelve years.

After taking a bath and getting into my new rigging,I took a straight shoot for the office to makeinquiries about the old boys. I found a long-leggedyouth behind the counter who, on asking how manyof the old hands of twelve years ago were stillthere, pointed out Jimmy Byron, the kid I had thefight with, behind the cigar and news stand, acrossthe hall. He was very busy at the time dishing outcigars, etc. to the scores of old fat roosters and leandudes who were hurrying out after having eatentheir supper.

The rush was finally over and then I made myselfknown. He was terribly glad, as well as surprisedto see me. We had parted as enemies but now met[311]as friends. He informed me that there wasn't butthree, besides himself, of the old outfit left, andthose were the old steward, who was now proprietor,"Old" Mike, who was still acting as night watchman,and Cunningham, the fellow who had slapped meand who was still clerk. The latter gentleman Ididn't get to shake hands with as he failed to putin an appearance during my stay.

The next morning I struck out to hunt sister. Iwas armed with an old letter which gave the address,therefore had no trouble in finding her.

She was alone with her three pretty little girls,her husband having gone up town to his place ofbusiness—a drug store—when I found her.

She then became frantic and wanted to knowwhy in the world I didn't go to Humphry's and getthem?

She took me up town to this great establishmentof Humphry's that evening and there I learnt howbadly I had been bitten by the Jew.

I remained in the city about a week and mybrother-in-law spent most of his time showing methe sights.

Before taking the train for Texas I bought mothera trunk full of clothes, knowing that she would bein need of them after having "roughed it" fornearly eight years.

I stopped in Houston one day looking for AuntMary, but learnt finally that she had moved tothe country.

I then took in Galveston and spent two days visitingUncle Nick and Aunt Julia. From there I wentto Indianola on a Morgan Steamship and becamesea sick; Oh, Lord! I concluded I would prefer thehurricane deck of a Spanish pony to that of a ship,every time.

In the town of Indianola I met a lot of my oldPeninsula playmates, who were there from Matagorda,in their sail boats, with freight.

There being no boats down from Tresspalacious,I left my trunk to be shipped up the first chance andwent to Matagorda with the two Williams' boys,[313]Johnny and Jimmy. Nearly all the Peninsula folkslived in the vicinity of Matagorda now since thegreat storm of 1875, washed everything they hadout into the Gulf, besides drowning about half oftheir number. Hence me going to Matagorda tovisit them.

There were three Tresspalacious boys in Matagorda,and one of them, Jim Keller, loaned mehis horse and saddle to ride home on.

Mother was happy when I told her to get readyand go to Kansas with me. There was only onething she hated to leave behind, and that was herwood pile. She had spent the past two years luggingwood from along the creek and piling it upagainst her old shanty for "old age," she said. Isuppose her idea in piling it against the house, onall sides, was to keep it from blowing over, shouldsome kind of an animal accidently blow its breathagainst it.

After spending about a week, visiting friends andwaiting for my trunk to arrive from Indianola, Istruck out with mother for the enterprising State ofKansas.

I hired a neighbor, Mr. Cornelious, to take us tothe Railroad, fifty miles north. He hauled us in[314]an old go cart—one that had been sent from Germanyin 1712—drawn by two brindle oxen.

We arrived in Caldwell a few days before Christmasand after getting mother established in hernew house, I went to work for the "L. X." companyagain.

I had secured a winter's job from Mr. Beals beforeleaving therefore it was all ready for me to takecharge of on my return. The job was feeding andtaking care of about two hundred head of horses,at the company's ranch on the Territory line, nearCaldwell.

Having lots of fat ponies to ride, I used to takea dash up town nearly every night to see howmother was getting along and to see my sweethearts.Thus the winter passed off pleasantly.

About the first of March I received orders fromMr. Beals, who was then at his home in Boston,Mass. to get everything in shape to start for thePanhandle at a moment's notice.

That very night, after those orders were received,I fell head over heels in love with a pretty littlefifteen-year old, black-eyed miss, whom I accidentlymet. It was a genuine case of love at first sight.I wanted her, and wanted her badly, therefore I[315]went to work with a brave heart and my face linedwith brass. It required lots of brass too, as I hadto do considerable figuring with the old gent, shebeing his only daughter.

Just three days after meeting we were engagedand at the end of the next three days we weremade one. And three days later I was on my wayto the Panhandle with an outfit of twenty-five men,one hundred horses and six wagons.

An eighteen day's drive, southwest, brought usto the "L. X." ranch. After laying there about aweek, resting up, Hollicott sent me and my outfitsouth to attend the round ups in the Red Rivercountry.

We arrived back at the ranch about July the first,with three thousand head of "L. X." cattle whichhad drifted south during the past winter.

As I was anxious to get back to Kansas to seemy wife and mother, Hollicott immediately gatheredeight hundred fat shipping steers and started me.

I arrived in Caldwell September the first, andafter shipping the herd, Mr. Beals ordered me totake the outfit back to the Panhandle and get anotherdrove. This of course didn't suit, as I hadonly been at home a few days. But then what could[316]I do? I hated to give up a good job, with no prospectsof making a living by remaining in town.

I finally concluded to obey orders, so startedthe men and horses up the Territory line, while Iand Sprague went to town with the wagon toload it with chuck. Mr. Beals had taken the trainthe day before to be absent quite a while. Aftergetting the wagon loaded and ready to start, Isuddenly swore off cow-punching and turned everythingover to Mr. Sprague, who bossed the outfitback to the Panhandle.

The next day I rented a vacant room on Mainstreet and, rolling up my sleeves and putting on apair of suspenders, the first I had ever worn, startedout as a merchant—on a six-bit scale. Thus onecow-puncher takes a sensible tumble and drops outof the ranks.

Now, dear reader in bidding you adieu, will say:should you not be pleased with the substance of thisbook, I've got nothing to say in defence, as I gaveyou the best I had in my little shop, but before youcriticise it from a literary standpoint, bear in mindthat the writer had fits until he was ten years ofage, and hasn't fully recovered from the effects.

Words with various spellings interchangeably used inthe book have been retained as written.

page 292: made up my mind not to let the folk's know where ...author perhaps intended folks? left as written.

page 271, 307 the spelling Gandalupe mountains is used in thisbook twice and is found in a few other sources at the time. Althoughspelled Guadalupe mountains in most other sources, it is left aswritten: Gandalupe mountains.

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Chapter.		Page.
I.	My Boyhood Days	13
II.	My Introduction to the late war	20
III.	My First Lesson in Cow Punching	31
IV.	My second experience in St. Louis	43
V.	A New experience	53
VI.	Adopted and sent to school	61
VII.	Back at last to the Lone Star State	68
VIII.	Learning to rope wild steers	75
IX.	Owning my first cattle	84
X.	A start up the Chisholm trail	95
XI.	Buys a boat and becomes a sailor	103
XII.	Back to my favorite occupation, that of a wild and woolly Cow Boy	112
XIII.	Mother and I meet at last	119
XIV.	On a tare in Wichita, Kansas	129
XV.	A lonely trip down the Cimeron	141
XVI.	My first experience roping a Buffalo	150
XVII.	An exciting trip after thieves	158
XVIII.	Seven weeks among Indians	164
XIX.	A lonely ride of eleven hundred miles	176
XX.	Another start up the Chisholm trail	186
XXI.	A trip which terminated in the capture of "Billy the Kid"	196
XXII.	Billy the Kid's capture	215
XXIII.	A trip to the Rio Grande on a mule	223
XXIV.	Waylaid by unknown parties	231
XXV.	Lost on the Staked Plains	239
XXVI.	A trip down the Reo Pecos	255
XXVII.	A true sketch of "Billy the Kid's" life	269
XXVIII.	Wrestling with a dose of Small Pox on the Llano Esticado	285
XXIX.	In love with a Mexican girl	299
XXX.	A sudden leap from Cow Boy to Merchant	309