Title: The Life and Adventures of Nat Love - Better Known in the Cattle Country as "Deadwood Dick"
Author: Love, Nat
Language: English
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  The Life and Adventures

  OF

  NAT LOVE

  BETTER KNOWN IN THE CATTLE COUNTRY AS

  "DEADWOOD DICK"

  --BY HIMSELF--

  A TRUE HISTORY OF SLAVERY DAYS, LIFE ON THE
  GREAT CATTLE RANGES AND ON THE PLAINS
  OF THE "WILD AND WOOLLY" WEST,
  BASED ON FACTS, AND PERSONAL
  EXPERIENCES
  OF THE AUTHOR


  Published: Los Angeles: Wayside Press, 1907.



  [Illustration: Nat Love, Better Known as Deadwood Dick, and His Family]



       *       *       *       *       *



       This book is dedicated to my wife,
                 MRS. ALICE LOVE



       *       *       *       *       *



PREFACE


Having passed the half century mark in life's journey, and yielding to
persistent requests of many old and valued friends of the past and
present, I have decided to write the record of slave, cowboy and pullman
porter will prove of interest to the reading public generally and
particularly to those who prefer facts to fiction, (and in this case
again facts will prove stranger than fiction). I assure my readers that
every event chronicled in this history is based on facts, and my
personal experiences, of more than fifty years of an unusually
adventurous life.

While many things contained in this record happened many years ago, they
are as fresh in my memory as if they happened but yesterday. I have
tried to record events simply as they are, without attempting to varnish
over the bad spots or draw on my imagination to fill out a chapter at
the cost of the truth. It has been my aim to record things just as they
happened, believing they will prove of greater interest thereby; and if
I am able to add to the interest and enjoyment of a single reader I will
consider myself well repaid for the time and labor of preparing this
history.

To my playmates of my boyhood, who may chance to read this I send
greetings and wish them well. To the few friends, who assisted myself
and widowed mother in our early struggles, I tender my sincerest thanks,
and hope they have prospered as they deserve. For those who proved our
enemies, I have no word of censure. They have reaped their reward.

To that noble but ever decreasing band of men under whose blue and
buckskin shirts there lives a soul as great and beats a heart as true as
ever human breast contained--to the cowboys, rangers, scouts, hunters
and trappers and cattle-men of the "GREAT WESTERN PLAINS," I extend the
hand of greeting acknowledging the FATHER-HOOD of GOD and the
BROTHERHOOD of men; and to my mother's Sainted name this book is
reverently dedicated.

                                                      THE AUTHOR.



  CONTENTS


  CHAPTER I.

  Slavery Days; the Old Plantation; My Early Foraging; the Stolen
  Demijohn; My First Drunk.                                            7


  CHAPTER II.

  The War; the Rebels and the Yankees; I Raise a Regiment; Difficulty
  in Finding an Enemy; Ash Cake; Freedom.                             14


  CHAPTER III.

  Raising Tobacco; Our First Year of Freedom; More Privations;
  Father Dies; "It Never Rains but It Pours;" I Become the
  Head of the Family; I Start to Work at One Dollar and Fifty
  Cents a Month.                                                      19


  CHAPTER IV.

  Boyhood Sports; More Devilment; the Rock Battles; I Hunt
  Rabbits in My Shirt Tail; My First Experience in Rough Riding;
  a Question of Breaking the Horse or Breaking My Neck.               29


  CHAPTER V.

  Home Life; Picking Berries; the Pigs Commit Larceny; Nutting;
  We Go to Market; My First Desire to See the World; I win a
  Horse in a Raffle; the Last of Home.                                36


  CHAPTER VI.

  The World is Before Me; I Join the Texas Cowboys; Red River
  Dick; My First Outfit; My First Indian Fight; I Learn to
  Use My Gun.                                                         40


  CHAPTER VII.

  I Learn to Speak Spanish; I Am Made Chief Brand Reader; the
  Big Round-up; the 7-Y-L Steer; Long Rides; Hunting Strays.          46


  CHAPTER VIII.

  On the Trail; a Texas Storm; Battle with the Elements; After
  Business Comes Pleasure.                                            52


  CHAPTER IX.

  Enroute to Wyoming; the Indians Demand Toll; the Fight; a
  Buffalo Stampede; Tragic Death of Cal Surcey; An Eventful
  Trip.                                                               58


  CHAPTER X.

  We Make a Trip to Nebraska; the "Hole in the Wall Country;"
  a Little Shooting Scrape; Cattle on the Trail and the Way to
  Handle Them; a Bit of Moralization.                                 66


  CHAPTER XI

  A Buffalo Hunt; I Lose My Lariat and Saddle; I Order a Drink for
  Myself and My Horse; a Close Place in Old Mexico.                   72


  CHAPTER XII.

  A Big Mustang Hunt; We Tire Them Out; the Indians Capture
  Mess Wagon and Cook; Our Bill of Fare Buffalo Meat without
  Salt.                                                               82


  CHAPTER XIII

  On the Trail with Three Thousand Head of Texas Steers; Rumors
  of Trouble with the Indians; at Deadwood, S. D.; the Roping
  Contest; I Win the Name of "Deadwood Dick;" the Shooting
  Match; the Custer Massacre; We View the Battlefield; Government
  Scouts; at Home Again.                                              88


  CHAPTER XIV.

  Riding the Range; the Fight with Yellow Dog's Tribe; I am Captured
  by the Indians and Adopted into the Tribe; My Escape;
  I ride a Hundred Miles in Twelve Hours without a Saddle;
  My Indian Pony; "Yellow Dog Chief;" the Boys Present Me
  with a New Outfit; in the Saddle and on the Trail Again.            98


  CHAPTER XV.

  On a Trip to Dodge City, Kan.; I Rope One of Uncle Sam's
  Cannon; Captured by the Soldiers; Bat Masterson to My
  Rescue; Lost on the Prairie; the Buffalo Hunter Cater; My
  Horse Gets Away and Leaves Me Alone on the Prairie; the
  Blizzard; Frozen Stiff.                                            106


  CHAPTER XVI.

  The Old Haze and Elsworth Trail; Our Trip to Cheyenne;
  Ex-Sheriff Pat F. Garret; the Death of Billy the "Kid;" the
  Lincoln County Cattle War.                                         116


  CHAPTER XVII.

  Another Trip to Old Mexico; I Rope an Engine; I Fall in Love;
  My Courtship; Death of My Sweetheart; My Promised Wife;
  I Must Bear a Charmed Life; the Advent of Progress; the
  Last of the Range.                                                 123


  CHAPTER XVIII.

  The Pullman Service; Life on the Rail; My First Trip; a Slump
  in Tips; I Become Disgusted and Quit; a Period of Husking;
  My Next Trip on the Pullman; Tips and the People Who
  Give Them.                                                         131


  CHAPTER XIX.

  The Pullman Palace Sleeping Car; Long Trips on the Rail; the
  Wreck; One Touch of Nature Makes the Whole World Kin;
  a Few of the Railroads Over Which I Have Traveled; the
  Invalids and the Care We Give Them.                                137


  CHAPTER XX.

  The Tourist Sleeping Car; the Chair Car; the Safeguards of
  Modern Railroading; See America, Then Let Your Chest
  Swell with Pride that You are an American.                         142


  CHAPTER XXI.

  A Few of the Railroad Men Under Whom I Have Served; George
  M. Pullman; the Town of Pullman, Ill.; American Railroads
  Lead the World; a Few Figures.                                     148


  CHAPTER XXII.

  A Few Reminiscences of the Range: Some Men I Have Met;
  Buffalo Bill; the James Brothers; Yellowstone Kelly; the
  Murder of Buck Cannon by Bill Woods; the Suicide of Jack
  Zimick.                                                            155



CHAPTER I.

SLAVERY DAYS. THE OLD PLANTATION. MY EARLY FORAGING. THE STOLEN
DEMIJOHN. MY FIRST DRINK. THE CURSE OF SLAVERY.


In an old log cabin, on my Master's plantation in Davidson County in
Tennessee in June, 1854, I first saw the light of day. The exact date of
my birth I never knew, because in those days no count was kept of such
trivial matters as the birth of a slave baby. They were born and died
and the account was balanced in the gains and losses of the Master's
chattels, and one more or less did not matter much one way or another.
My father and mother were owned by Robert Love, an extensive planter and
the owner of many slaves. He was in his way and in comparison with many
other slave owners of those days a kind and indulgent Master.

My father was a sort of foreman of the slaves on the plantation, and my
mother presided over the kitchen at the big house and my Master's table,
and among her other duties were to milk the cows and run the loom,
weaving clothing for the other slaves. This left her scant time to look
after me, so I early acquired the habit of looking out for myself. The
other members of father's family were my sister Sally, about eight years
old, and my brother Jordan, about five. My sister Sally was supposed to
look after me when my mother was otherwise occupied; but between my
sister's duties of helping mother and chasing the flies from Master's
table, I received very little looking after from any of the family,
therefore necessity compelled me at an early age to look after myself
and rustle my own grub. My earliest recollections are of pushing a chair
in front of me and toddling from one to the other of my Master's family
to get a mouthful to eat like a pet dog, and later on as I became older,
making raids on the garden to satisfy my hunger, much to the damage of
the young onions, watermelons, turnips, sweet potatoes, and other
things I could find to eat. We had to use much caution during these
raids on the garden, because we well knew what we would catch if someone
caught us, but much practice made us experts in escaping undetected.

[Illustration: My Old Plantation Home]

One day when Master and the family went to town mother decided to make
some wine of which she was very fond, accordingly she gathered some
grapes and after pressing them she made some fairly good wine. This she
placed in a demijohn, and this for better security she hid in the
garden, as she thought unknown to anyone, but my brother, sister and
myself had been watching the process with considerable curiosity, which
finally reached such a pitch that there was nothing to it; we must
sample a liquid that looked so good. So Jordan went to the hay loft from
where a good view could be obtained all around, while myself and Sally
busied ourselves in the vineyard. Presently Mother thinking all secure
left the house with the demijohn and proceeded to hide it. Jordan, from
the hay loft, noted that mother never left the garden until she returned
to the house, empty handed, but he was unable to see the exact hiding
place.

It was several days later while passing through the garden that we ran
across the lost demijohn. It did not take us long to discover that its
contents suited our tastes. Sally and Jordan dragged it into a sweet
corn patch, where we were safe from observation. An oyster can was
secured to serve as a glass and the way we attacked that wine was a
caution to the Temperance Workers. And I can assure you we enjoyed
ourselves for a while, but for how long I am unable to tell exactly.
Mother soon missed us but being very busy she could not look for us
until evening, when she started out to look us up, after searching and
calling in vain. She decided to take the dogs to help find us. With
their aid we were soon located, lying in the sweet corn, "dead drunk,"
while the demijohn quite empty, bottom side up, stared at mother with a
reproachful stare, and the oyster can which had served up and took me to
the house, and let Sally and Jordan lie in near by, bearing mute witness
against us. Mother picked me up and took me to the house, and let Sally
and Jordan lie in the sweet corn all night, to dwell on the events.
Immediately preceding our return to consciousness is a painful subject
to me as it was exceedingly painful then. I was most feverish the next
day with a head on my shoulders several sizes larger than the one I was
used to wearing. Sally and Jordan were enjoying about the same health as
myself, but the state of our health did not exempt us from mother's
wrath. We all received a good sound old-fashioned thrashing. A fitting
prelude to my first "drunk."

[Illustration: Mother Ran the Loom]

I suppose I acquired the taste for strong drink on this occasion; be
that as it may, the fact remains that I could out-drink any man I ever
met in the cattle country. I could drink large quantities of the fiery
stuff they called whiskey on the range without it affecting me in any
way, but I have never been downright drunk since that time in the sweet
corn patch. Our plantation was situated in the heart of the black belt
of the south, and on the plantations all around us were thousands of
slaves, all engaged in garnering the dollars that kept up the so-called
aristocracy of the south, and many of the proud old families owe their
standing and wealth to the toil and sweat of the black man's brow, where
if they had to pay the regular rate of wages to hire laborers to
cultivate their large estates, their wealth would not have amounted to a
third of what it was. Wealth was created, commerce carried on, cities
built, and the new world well started on the career that has led to its
present greatness and standing in the world of nations. All this was
accomplished by the sweat of the black man's brow. By black man I do not
mean to say only the black men, but the black woman and black child all
helped to make the proud south what it was, the boast of every white man
and woman, with a drop of southern blood in their veins, and what did
the black man get in return? His keep and care you say? Ye gods and
little fishes! Is there a man living today who would be willing to do
the work performed by the slaves of that time for the same returns, his
care and keep? No, my friends, we did it because we were forced to do it
by the dominant race. We had as task masters, in many instances, perfect
devils in human form, men who delighted in torturing the black human
beings, over whom chance and the accident of birth had placed them. I
have seen men beaten to the ground with the butts of the long whips
carried by these brutal overseers, and for no other reason than that
they could not raise to their shoulders a load sufficient for four men
to carry. I have seen the long, cruel lash curl around the shoulders of
women who refused to comply with the licentious wishes of the men who
owned them, body and soul--did I say soul? No, they did not own their
soul; that belonged to God alone, and many are the souls that have
returned to him who gave them, rather than submit to the desires of
their masters, desires to which submission was worse than death. I have
seen the snake-like lash draw blood from the tender limbs of mere
babies, hardly more than able to toddle, their only offense being that
their skin was black. And young as I was my blood often boiled as I
witnessed these cruel sights, knowing that they were allowed by the laws
of the land in which I was born. I used to think it was not the
country's fault, but the fault of the men who made the laws. Of all the
curses of this fair land, the greatest curse of all was the slave
auction block of the south, where human flesh was bought and sold.
Husbands were torn from their wives, the baby from its mother's breast,
and the most sacred commands of God were violated under the guise of
modern law, or the law of the land, which for more than two hundred
years has boasted of its freedom, and the freedom of its people.

[Illustration: My First Drunk]

Some of the slaves, like us, had kind and indulgent masters. These were
lucky indeed, as their lot was somewhat improved over their less
fortunate brothers, but even their lot was the same as that of the horse
or cow of the present day. They were never allowed to get anything in
the nature of education, as smart negroes were not in much demand at
that time, and the reason was too apparent, education meant the death of
the institution of slavery in this country, and so the slave owners took
good care that their slaves got none of it.

Go and see the play of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and you will see the black
man's life as I saw it when a child. And Harriett Beecher Stowe, the
black man's Saviour, well deserves the sacred shrine she holds, along
with the great Lincoln, in the black man's heart.



CHAPTER II.

WAR. "THE REBELS AND YANKEES." I RAISE A REGIMENT TO FIGHT. DIFFICULTY
IN FINDING AN ENEMY. ASH SAKE. FREEDOM.


When I was ten years old the war broke out between the "North and the
South." And there was little else talked about, among the slaves as well
as the slave owners of the neighborhood. And naturally the many
different stories we heard worked us children to a high state of
excitement. So much so that we wanted to go to war, and fight for the
Union, because among us slave children there was no difference of
opinion, as to which side was right.

The Union was "IT," and we were all "Yankees." Not being able to go to
war as our masters did, we concluded to play war, accordingly I gathered
all the boys of the neighborhood together, into a regiment, which it was
my intention to divide into two parties of Rebels and Yankees, but in
this I met an insurmountable obstacle. Not one of the boys wanted to be
a rebel, consequently we had to look elsewhere for an enemy to give us
battle, and serve as a vent for our growing enthusiasm. The next Sunday
preceding the organization of our regiment, we started out over the
surrounding country in quest of trouble, which we were not long in
finding, as we soon ran across a nest of yellow jackets. These we
proceeded to exterminate, in which we were successful after a short but
destructive battle. We suffered considerably in wounded but lost none of
our soldiers. This engagement we called the capture of fort "Hell." For
some time thereafter we made regular raids into the surrounding country
in quest of an enemy. We were eventually successful in our quest, as in
quick order we ran across and captured a company of bumble bees. This we
called the "Battle of the Wilderness." Victory over a nest of hornets we
called the capture of "Fort Sumter." A large nest of wasps gave us
perhaps the hardest fight of our campaigning. This we ran across in the
fields not far from home. There was an unusually large number of them,
and as is usually the case with these insects, they proved very
ferocious. Nothing loth, however, we attacked with cheers, only to be
driven back time and again and finally we were compelled to make a very
undignified retreat, at full speed in the direction of home. Not to be
beaten, however, we secured reinforcements and more ammunition, in the
shape of old rags, brooms and so forth, and returned to the charge, and
although we were driven back several times we stayed until we won out,
and the last insect lay a quivering mass on the ground. There was not
one among us, not wounded in some manner, as for myself I had enough of
it. My nose looked like a dutch slipper, and it was several days before
my eyes were able to perform the duties for which they were made.
However, the Union forces were victorious and we were happy. Our masters
told us if the soldiers caught us, they would hang us all, which had the
effect of keeping most of us close around home. Master had gone to join
Lee's forces, taking with him father, who was engaged in building forts,
which work kept him with the Confederate army until General Grant
arrived in the country, when he was allowed to come home. From then on
Union soldiers passed the neighborhood most every day on their way
south, to join the fighting regiments.

We soon found out they would not hurt us and they were the wonderment
and pride of our youthful minds. They would take everything they could
find to eat for themselves and horses, leaving the plantation stripped
clean of provisions and food, which entailed considerable misery and
hardships on those left at home, especially the colored people who were
not used to such a state of affairs, and were not accustomed to
providing for their own wants. Finally Lee surrendered and master
returned home. But in common with other masters of those days he did not
tell us we were free. And instead of letting us go he made us work for
him the same as before, but in all other respects he was kind. He moved
our log cabin on a piece of ground on a hill owned by him, and in most
respects things went on the same as before the war. It was quite a
while after this that we found out we were free and good news, like bad
news, sometimes travels fast. It was not long before all the slaves in
the surrounding country were celebrating their freedom. And "Massa
Lincoln" was the hero of us all.

[Illustration: Mother Making Ashcake]

While a great many slaves rejoiced at the altered state of affairs;
still many were content to remain as before, and work for their old
masters in return for their keep. My father, however, decided to start
out for himself, to that end he rented twenty acres of land, including
that on which our cabin stood, from our late master.

We were at this time in a most destitute condition, and father had a
very hard time to get a start, without food or money and almost naked,
we existed for a time on the only food procurable, bran and cracklins.
The limited supply of provisions made the culinary duties most simple,
much to the disgust of mother, who was one of the best cooks in the
country, but beggars cannot be choosers, and she very cheerfully
proceeded to make the best of what we had. She would make a great fire
in the large fire place in the cabin. The fire when hot enough, was
raked from the hearth and a small place cleaned away, in the center of
this clean space, mother would lay a cabbage leaf, on which she would
pour some batter made from bran and water or buttermilk and a little
salt. Then on top another cabbage leaf was laid and hot coals raked over
the whole, and in a short time it would be baked nicely. This we called
ash cake.

This, with occasional cracklins made up our entire bill of fare for many
months. Father would make brooms and mats from straw and chair bottoms
from cane and reeds, in which my brother and I would help him, after he
had taught us how. During the week a large load was made and Friday
night father would take the load on his shoulders and walk to town, a
dozen miles, where he would sell them and bring seed and food home. When
the weather would permit we worked in the field, preparing for our first
crop.

The twenty acres, being mostly uncultivated, had to be cleared, plowed
and thoroughly harrowed. Our first crop consisted of corn, tobacco and a
few vegetables.

Father would lay off the corn rows. Jordan and I would drop the corn
while father came behind and covered the rows.

In this manner we soon had in a considerable crop of corn and some
vegetables for our own use. During the winter which was sometimes
severe, during which time nothing, of course, could be done in the
farming line, and when not otherwise engaged, we started to try and
learn ourselves something in the educational line. Father could read a
little, and he helped us all with our A B C's, but it is hard work
learning to read and write without a teacher, and there was no school a
black child could attend at that time. However, we managed to make some
headway, then spring came and with it the routine of farm work. Father
was a man of strong determination, not easily discouraged, and always
pushing forward and upward, quick to learn things and slow to forget
them, a keen observer and a loving husband and father. Had he lived this
history would not have been written.



CHAPTER III.

RAISING TOBACCO, OUR FIRST YEAR OF FREEDOM. MORE PRIVATIONS. FATHER
DIES. IT NEVER RAINS--BUT IT POURS. I BECOME THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY AND
START TO WORK AT $1.50 PER MONTH.


As soon as the corn crop was in the ground we commenced to plant
tobacco. Before the seed was sown, it was necessary to gather large
piles of brush and wood and burn it to ashes on the ground to destroy
the seeds of the weeds. The ground was then spaded and raked thoroughly,
and the seed sown. After it had come up and got a fair start, it was
transplanted in rows about three feet apart. When the plants become
large enough it is necessary to pull the suckers off, also the worms off
the leaves. This task fell upon Jordan and myself.

In picking the worms off the plants it is necessary to use the greatest
care that the plants are not damaged, but Jordan and I were afraid to
touch the worms with our fingers, so we took sticks and knocked them
off, also a few leaves with each worm. This fact called forth some
rather strong language from father, who said we were doing more harm
than good. But our aversion to the worms was so strong that we took
several thrashings before we could bring ourselves to use our fingers
instead of a stick. When the tobacco was ripe there would be yellow
spots on the leaves. It was then cut, let lie for one day, then hung on
a scaffold to be sun cured. It was allowed to remain on the scaffold for
perhaps a week, then it was hung up in the barn to be smoked, after
which it was made into a big bulk and a weight placed on it to press it
out, then it was stripped, and put into hands and then it was ready for
the market. Our crop the first year was not large and the most of it
went to pay the rent and the following winter proved a hard one, and
entailed considerable privation and suffering among the many
ex-slaves, who had so recently been thrown on their own resources,
without money or clothing or food, and only those who have had the
experience can appreciate the condition of things or rather lack of
things, at the close of the war, and these conditions did not only
affect the ex-slaves and colored people, but covered the entire south,
and many former well-to-do slave owners now found themselves without a
penny they could call their own, having been stripped of everything and
compelled to start all over again. Surely "war is hell"--but slavery is
worse. Early in the spring father went to work for a neighboring planter
a couple of weeks in order to get his plows and horses again to plow his
land. A somewhat larger crop was put in this year, but unfortunately for
us when everything was planted father took sick and died shortly after.
This was a stunning loss to us just at a time when we most needed a
father and husband's help, counsel and protection. But we did not lose
courage for long.

[Illustration: Raising Tobacco]

The crop must be looked after and the coming winter provided against. My
sister Sally had been married about three years at this time and was
with her husband and two little girls on a small farm some distance
away, which my brother-in-law rented. That left mother, Jordan and I to
look after things. Although I was the youngest, I was the most
courageous, always leading in mischief, play and work. So I now took the
leadership, and became the head of the family. Things were beginning to
take on a more hopeful look, when my brother-in-law died, leaving my
sister sick with two small children and in about the same circumstances
as ourselves. Everything, indeed, looked hopeless now, as our late
master and his brother had left the old place and gone north. So
remembering I was the only man on the place now, though only fifteen
years old, I said to mother and sister who were weeping bitterly, "brace
up, and don't lose your heads. I will look after you all." I said this
with a bravado I was far from feeling, but I could not see the use of
weeping now there was work to be done, if we were to keep from starving
the coming winter. We all turned in to help one another and in this
manner. The crop was gathered and we were in fairly good condition for
the coming winter, but the work was too much for Sally who lingered
through the winter and early in the spring we laid her beside her father
and husband, and her two little orphans were left to us. It now became
very apparent to me that something must be done, because the crop raised
the year before was barely enough to last us through the winter and we
would soon be in actual need again. We needed clothing, especially the
little girls of my sister, and we had no money to buy seed for this
season's crop or food to last us out. So I concluded to go to work for
some one if I could find anything to do. With that resolve, I put on my
best rags and to mother's inquiry as to where I was going I told her I
did not know myself. It fairly made my heart ache to see my little
nieces going around almost naked, bare footed, and have them always
asking for things I was powerless to give them. I determined to go from
place to place until I secured employment of some kind that would in a
measure, permit me to feed, and as far as I was able, clothe mother and
the children, now dependent on me.

[Illustration: Raising Tobacco--We Knock the Worms Off]

The fact that I was now free, gave me new born courage to face the world
and what the future might hold in store for me. After tramping around
the country for two days, I finally secured work with a Mr. Brooks,
about six miles from home at one dollar and fifty cents a month.
Notwithstanding the smallness of my prospective wages, I was happy and
returned home in a jubilant frame of mind, to impart the news to mother.
I was to commence the next morning. Mother said it was not much, but
better than nothing. I told mother that I thought I could bring some
food and clothing home for the children before the month was out. The
little ones hearing this, were overjoyed and looked on me as a rich man
indeed. Jordan was to remain at home and attend to what little there was
to do, and the next day I started work for Mr. Brooks. In less than a
week I made my first visit home, taking with me some potatoes, bacon,
cornmeal, and some molasses, which I had rustled in various ways. I also
had a bundle of old clothing given to me by the neighbors, which mother
could make over for the children, and to say the children were happy is
but a mild expression.

For the second month I received a raise of fifty cents, and the third
month of my employment, so good did I work, that I received three
dollars. With so many at home to provide for, my wages did not last
long, but out of my three dollars I bought each of the children a book.
The rest went for provisions and clothing. One day while passing the
store of Mr. Graves, near our home I saw a checked sunbonnet and a red
calico dress which struck my fancy as just what I wanted for mother. On
asking the price Mr. Graves told me I could have the sunbonnet for
twenty-five cents and the dress for four bits. That seemed to be within
my means, and quite reasonable. I asked him to keep them for me until I
got my wages at the end of the month. This Mr. Graves promised to do if
I would pay him something down. I only had fifteen cents of which I paid
five cents on the bonnet and ten cents on the dress and went on my way,
filled with happy thoughts as the result of my bargain. I resolved to be
very saving this month and I became very impatient for my month to end
and was continually asking Mr. Brooks if my month was not soon over. He
would laugh and say "yes, soon." But it seemed to me that was the
longest month I ever knew. When at last the month was over he gave me
fifty cents, claiming I had drawn my wages during the month. I knew that
was not so. I also knew I had a balance coming to me and told him so.
But he denied it and the result was that we had a fight. I hit him in
the head with a rock and nearly killed him after which I felt better.
Then going to Mr. Graves the storekeeper, I told him the whole trouble.
He expressed sympathy for me and said to give him the fifty cents and
take the bonnet and dress, and we will call it square. And you can
imagine my feelings as I took the things home to mother, and she was
more pleased with them than any queen with her silks and satins. There
being plenty of work to do at home, I did not again look for other
work. The only thing that worried me was that the little ones were still
without shoes, but on my promise to soon get them some they were
satisfied. It was here I got my first lessons in self-dependence and
life's struggles. I learned true usefulness and acquired the habit of
helping others which I carried with me all through my after life and
that trait perhaps more than any other endeared me to my companions on
the range and all with whom I have had dealings.



CHAPTER IV.

BOYHOOD SPORTS. MORE DEVILMENT. THE ROCK BATTLES. I HUNT RABBITS IN MY
SHIRT TAIL. MY FIRST EXPERIENCE IN ROUGH RIDING. A QUESTION OF BREAKING
THE HORSE OR, BREAKING MY NECK.


In those days it was more the custom, than now, to work six days and
rest on the seventh, accordingly us boys always had our Sundays free.
And we never lost an opportunity to put in motion some devilment to make
the time pass in what we thought was the most pleasant way. Anything to
have a great time. Our chief means of having fun for a while was the
rock battles. We boys of the entire neighborhood would get together,
then divide in equal numbers on a side, then after gathering all the
available rocks from the landscape, we would proceed to have a pitched
battle, throwing the rocks at each other as hard as we could, and with a
grim intent to commit battery. As a rational consequence the bravest
would force the weaker side to retreat. It then became a question of
running or being rocked to death. After these battles we were all
usually in very bad condition, having received very hard knocks on
sundry and various parts of our anatomy, but for all that we have never
bore malice toward each other. We were careful to keep these escapades
from the knowledge of our elders. In this way we were quite successful
until one time we had a boy nearly killed, then we thought the old folks
would whip us all to death. This incident ended the rock battles. But we
soon had something else doing to furnish ourselves fun and excitement.

[Illustration: I Hunt Rabbits in My Shirt Tail]

About this time we planned a rabbit hunt, after the small cotton tail
rabbits, which were plentiful in the surrounding country. Getting all
the boys together and securing the track hounds of the neighborhood we
were off. It was not long before the dogs caught track of something and
away they went with all the boys behind. Now at that time it was not
customary for us boys of the plantation to wear shoes and pants, the
principal reason being that we did not have either shoes or pants to
wear. So you can perhaps imagine the sight presented by a score or more
of boys of all ages chasing behind the hounds, with our shirt tails
flying through bushes, thorns and brambles, up hill and down hill, many
of us bleeding like stabbed pigs, but we were too much interested to pay
any attention to a little blood. We wanted the rabbits, and everything
else was of secondary importance, even the calls of the younger boys who
got tired and fell behind. Onward we went over rocks, through fields,
over fences, until we could hear the dogs no more, then tired out we had
to stop. I told the boys to sit down, that I thought the dogs would come
this way again. It was not long before I thought I heard something and
told the boys to hush and have their rocks ready to kill the rabbit. It
never occurred to me that it would be anything but a rabbit. The bay of
the dogs came nearer, then over the fence jumped a big red fox right in
front of me. He stopped and we looked in each others eyes. It was hard
to tell which of us was the most surprised, however, I was the first to
run away, and run I did. I ran like a black tailed deer. Many times I
thought I felt him nibble at my shirt tails, and his eyes grew in my
imagination as large as wagon wheels and Mr. Fox, himself, seemed to
grow as big as an elephant. When at last I dropped from sheer exhaustion
and could summon courage to look behind me, I could see nothing. It was
then I realized I was not so game as I thought I was and the knowledge
was not pleasant by any means. Not far from our house there was a horse
ranch, owned by a Mr. Williams. He had two sons about my own age and I
would often go and see them on Sundays. As I was very fond of riding
horses most of the horses on the ranch were very wild. So one day the
oldest boy and I made a plan to break the young colts. The only chance
we had of doing so was on Sunday, when the family went to church, as we
did not think Mr. Williams would approve of our plan. Mr. Williams' boy
said he would give me ten cents for every colt I broke. That was
perfectly satisfactory to me. The money was made of shin plaster those
days (paper). The next Sunday I started to break horses. We did not dare
to put the bridle on them as we were afraid the boss might surprise us
and we would not be quick enough to get it off. Our mode of procedure
was to drive one at a time in the barn, get it in a stall, then after
much difficulty I would manage to get on its back. Then the door was
opened and the pole removed and the horse liberated with me on its back,
then the fun would commence. The colt would run, jump, kick and pitch
around the barn yard in his efforts to throw me off. But he might as
well tried to jump out of his skin because I held on to his mane and
stuck to him like a leech. The colt would usually keep up his bucking
until he could buck no more, and then I would get my ten cents. Ten
cents is a small amount of money these days, but in those days that
amount was worth more to me than ten dollars now.

[Illustration: A Case of Breaking the Horse or Breaking My Neck]

Well, we went on Sunday after Sunday and I broke about a dozen colts in
this way, and also managed to do it without the boss discovering the
favor I was undoubtedly doing him, in breaking all his wild horses. Only
his boys were aware of the doings and they paid me. So I had no scruples
about what I was doing, especially as it afforded me great fun. Finally
the boys wanted me to break a big handsome black horse called Black
Highwayman. Knowing the horse's uncertain temper and wild disposition
and taking into consideration its size, I refused to break him for ten
cents, as the fact was I was rather scared of him. After considerable
bargaining, in which I held out for fifty cents, we finally compromised
on twenty-five cents. But I can assure you it was more for the money
than the fun of the thing, that I finally consented to ride him. With
great difficulty we managed to get him in a stall as we did the others,
but I no sooner landed on his back than he jumped in the manger with me
hanging to his mane. Finally the door was opened and the pole removed
and out of the barn we shot like a black cloud, around the yard we flew,
then over the garden fence. At this juncture the track hounds became
interested and promptly followed us. Over the fields we went, the horse
clearing the highest fences and other obstacles in his way with the
greatest ease. My seat on his back was not the most comfortable place in
the world, but as the horse did not evince any disposition to stop and
let me get off, I concluded to remain where I was. All the dogs of the
neighborhood were fast joining in the race and I had quite a respectable
following. After running about two miles we cleared a fence into a
pasture where there was a large number of other horses and young colts,
who promptly stampeded as we joined them, Highwayman taking the lead
with me on his back, looking very much like a toad. And all the dogs in
the country strung out in the rear. Naturally we formed a spectacle that
could not fail to attract the attention of the neighbors, who soon as
possible mounted horses and started in pursuit and vainly tried to catch
my black mount but could get nowhere near him, while I without bridle or
anything to control him could do nothing but let him run as all the
other horses bunched around us and the dogs kept up a continual din. I
simply held on and let him go. It was a question of breaking the horse
or breaking my neck. We went over everything, through everything, until
finally the killing pace told and Black Highwayman fell, a thoroughly
exhausted and completely conquered and well broken horse. As for myself,
I was none the worse for my exciting ride. But on looking for my
twenty-five cents, I found it gone. The boys had paid me in advance, as
I insisted, and I had tied the money up in a corner of my shirt tail and
during my wild ride it had come untied and worked out. This was a great
misfortune to me and for a while I was inconsolable. I asked the boys if
they would make it right, but no, they had paid me once and they refused
to give me another quarter. This riled me considerable and I told them
all right, to come again when they wanted a horse broken. That settled
us and the horse breaking. The experiences I gained in riding during
these times, often stood me in good stead in after years during my wild
life on the western plains. Mr. Williams of course, heard of my last
wild ride, but instead of being angry, he seemed to see the funny side
of it, which I could not.

[Illustration: Black Highwayman]

The spectators wondered how in the world I ever escaped a broken neck
and I have often wondered how I escaped in after years from situations
that seemed to be sure death. But escape I did and am now hale and
hearty, without pain, with muscles like iron and able at any time to run
a hundred yards in eleven seconds or jump a six foot fence.



CHAPTER V.

HOME LIFE. PICKING BERRIES. THE PIGS COMMIT LARCENY. NUTTING. WE GO TO
MARKET. MY FIRST DESIRE TO SEE THE WORLD. I WIN A HORSE IN A RAFFLE. THE
LAST OF HOME.


I now settled down to the work around the farm and the problem of making
a living for those dependent on me. The crop was all in and after
attending to such work around home as had to be done, we found a source
of revenue in gathering berries for market. Large quantities of black
berries and others grew wild in the woods near by. And they always found
a ready market. With small pails and a big basket mother and I would
start out after the work at home was done. Reaching the woods we would
sit under the bushes and fill the pails, then empty them into the big
basket until that was full which usually comprised our day's work.

One day, wishing to secure a large quantity of berries for market, we
went early in the morning and on reaching the woods we placed the big
basket in what we thought a safe place, and after some hours of
industrious work, the big basket was full of nice ripe blackberries. We
then proceeded to fill our pails again which would be sufficient for the
day. This accomplished, we prepared to start for home. But when mother
went to take the big basket it was empty.

The stray pigs had found them and committed larceny. Mother felt so bad
she cried. We had put in a hard day's work for nothing. It had been our
intention to take them to town on the morrow and buy something for
Sunday, but now the fruit of our labor was gone and the disappointment
was great. I looked at mother, then at the empty basket and did not know
for which to feel most sorry. So I said, "Well, there is no use grieving
over spilt milk. If we had not had them we could not have lost them, and
there are plenty more of the same kind for the picking." Mother turned
toward me, and said, with a look I will always remember, "My boy,
whatever happens, you never get discouraged." I did not see the use of
losing courage and I think the only time I weakened was when father
died, as he could not be replaced.

[Illustration: The Pigs Commit Larceny]

We went on talking and picking berries, and before we knew it the basket
was full again and the pails. It was now night so mother took the bushel
basket on her head and I took the pails and we were soon home. That
night mother took my clothing, as was customary, and washed and pressed
it so I would look nice and clean to go to market the next day. As I
only had one outfit of clothes I had necessarily to go without them
during the washing process, however, mother always kept me clean, at
considerable labor on her part. The next morning, early, mother and I
started for town, five miles distant, walking along the hot, dusty road,
each of us with a basket of berries on our heads and bunches of
cucumbers in our hands, mother having much the larger load, but she was
a very strong woman. As it chanced we had a lucky day and sold our stock
of berries and cucumbers in a short time. We then bought what we needed
and had a little money left but for all that, I was not quite satisfied.
I wanted mother to buy something that was not necessary, but she said,
"My son, if we don't save a few cents now what will it be later on? We
will have to go to the poorhouse." I said, "Dear mother if there is a
house poorer than ours I don't want to see it." I will always remember
the sight of mother's face as she turned to me, the tears running down
her cheeks as she answered, "Yes, my son, you are right there are few
houses poorer than ours now." The same year when fall came mother and I
thought we had the bull by the horns. There were several fine groves of
walnut, hickory nut, chestnut and shirly bark nut trees in the woods and
I made a sleigh on which I nailed a big box. I tied a rope for a tongue
and with a stick on the end, mother and I working as a sort of double
team would draw through the woods among the trees gathering the
different kinds of nuts and as the box was big, large quantities could
be gathered in this manner. During the nut season we worked every day
from morning to night, gathering large quantities of nuts for which we
always found a ready market. As we worked we talked of what we would buy
with the money and making plans for the future. The nuts we sold usually
brought us: chestnuts one dollar a bushel; walnuts fifty cents, and
hickory nuts fifty cents a bushel. This money added to the proceeds of
the crop netted us quite a nice sum and made our condition much better,
but I assure you, dear readers, it took hard work from morning to night
to make both ends meet but with the help of God we made them meet, and
during this time we were always healthy and the knowledge that we were
free and working for ourselves gave us courage to continue the struggle.
It was about this time that I commenced thinking about going west.

[Illustration: We Go to Market]

[Illustration: I Win a Horse in a Raffle]

I wanted to see more of the world and as I began to realize there was so
much more of the world than what I had seen, the desire to go grew on me
from day to day. It was hard to think of leaving mother and the
children, but freedom is sweet and I wanted to make more of the
opportunity and my life than I could see possible around home. Besides I
suppose, I was a little selfish as mortals are prone to be. Finally the
desire to go out in the world grew so strong that I mentioned it to
mother, but she did not give me much encouragement, and I don't think
she thought I had the courage to go, and besides I had neither clothing
or money and to tell the truth, the outlook was discouraging even to me,
but I continued to look for an opportunity which happened in a very
unexpected manner shortly after. One day a man by the name of Johnson
announced that he would raffle a fine beautiful horse at fifty cents a
chance. I heard of it at once, but had no money with which to get a
chance. However, when there's a will there's a way, so I went to the
barn and caught two chickens which I sold for fifty cents and at once
got a chance. My chance won the horse. Mr. Johnson said he would give me
fifty dollars for the horse and as I needed the money more than the
horse I sold the horse back. Mr. Johnson at once raffled him off again
and again I won the horse, which I again sold for fifty dollars. With
nearly a hundred dollars I went home and told mother of what I had done
and gave her half of the money, telling her I would take the other
half and go out in the world and try and better my condition. I then
went to town and bought some underwear and other needful articles,
intending to leave at once, but mother pleaded with me so hard to stay
home, that I finally consented to remain one more month, but at the end
of that time she pleaded for one more and I could not refuse her. During
this time my uncle came to live with us and I asked him to take my place
at home. This he consented to do gladly. Things were going on fairly
well at home now. The farm was yielding a fair living and the children
having grown much larger they were a source of help instead of an
hindrance and now that my uncle and my brother Jordan were home to look
after mother, I felt I could better leave them now, because I was not
really needed at home. After gathering what few things I wanted to take
with me and providing myself with some needed clothes, I bade mother and
the old home farewell, and started out for the first time alone in a
world I knew very little about.



CHAPTER VI.

THE WORLD IS BEFORE ME. I JOIN THE TEXAS COWBOYS. RED RIVER DICK. MY
FIRST OUTFIT. MY FIRST INDIAN FIGHT. I LEARN TO USE MY GUN.


It was on the tenth day of February, 1869, that I left the old home,
near Nashville, Tennessee. I was at that time about fifteen years old,
and though while young in years the hard work and farm life had made me
strong and hearty, much beyond my years, and I had full confidence in
myself as being able to take care of myself and making my way.

I at once struck out for Kansas of which I had heard something. And
believing it was a good place in which to seek employment. It was in the
west, and it was the great west I wanted to see, and so by walking and
occasional lifts from farmers going my way and taking advantage of every
thing that promised to assist me on my way, I eventually brought up at
Dodge City, Kansas, which at that time was a typical frontier city, with
a great many saloons, dance halls, and gambling houses, and very little
of anything else. When I arrived the town was full of cow boys from the
surrounding ranches, and from Texas and other parts of the west. As
Kansas was a great cattle center and market, the wild cow boy, prancing
horses of which I was very fond, and the wild life generally, all had
their attractions for me, and I decided to try for a place with them.
Although it seemed to me I had met with a bad outfit, at least some of
them, going around among them I watched my chances to get to speak with
them, as I wanted to find some one whom I thought would give me a civil
answer to the questions I wanted to ask, but they all seemed too wild
around town, so the next day I went out where they were in camp.

Approaching a party who were eating their breakfast, I got to speak with
them. They asked me to have some breakfast with them, which invitation
I gladly accepted. During the meal I got a chance to ask them many
questions. They proved to be a Texas outfit, who had just come up with a
herd of cattle and having delivered them they were preparing to return.
There were several colored cow boys among them, and good ones too. After
breakfast I asked the camp boss for a job as cow boy. He asked me if I
could ride a wild horse. I said "yes sir." He said if you can I will
give you a job. So he spoke to one of the colored cow boys called Bronko
Jim, and told him to go out and rope old Good Eye, saddle him and put me
on his back. Bronko Jim gave me a few pointers and told me to look out
for the horse was especially bad on pitching. I told Jim I was a good
rider and not afraid of him. I thought I had rode pitching horses
before, but from the time I mounted old Good Eye I knew I had not
learned what pitching was. This proved the worst horse to ride I had
ever mounted in my life, but I stayed with him and the cow boys were the
most surprised outfit you ever saw, as they had taken me for a
tenderfoot, pure and simple. After the horse got tired and I dismounted
the boss said he would give me a job and pay me $30.00 per month and
more later on. He asked what my name was and I answered Nat Love, he
said to the boys we will call him Red River Dick. I went by this name
for a long time.

The boss took me to the city and got my outfit, which consisted of a new
saddle, bridle and spurs, chaps, a pair of blankets and a fine 45 Colt
revolver. Now that the business which brought them to Dodge City was
concluded, preparations were made to start out for the Pan Handle
country in Texas to the home ranch. The outfit of which I was now a
member was called the Duval outfit, and their brand was known as the Pig
Pen brand. I worked with this outfit for over three years. On this trip
there were only about fifteen of us riders, all excepting myself were
hardy, experienced men, always ready for anything that might turn up,
but they were as jolly a set of fellows as one could find in a long
journey. There now being nothing to keep us longer in Dodge City, we
prepared for the return journey, and left the next day over the old
Dodge and Sun City lonesome trail, on a journey which was to prove the
most eventful of my life up to now.

A few miles out we encountered some of the hardest hail storms I ever
saw, causing discomfort to man and beast, but I had no notion of getting
discouraged but I resolved to be always ready for any call that might be
made on me, of whatever nature it might be, and those with whom I have
lived and worked will tell you I have kept that resolve. Not far from
Dodge City on our way home we encountered a band of the old Victoria
tribe of Indians and had a sharp fight.

These Indians were nearly always harrassing travelers and traders and
the stock men of that part of the country, and were very troublesome. In
this band we encountered there were about a hundred painted bucks all
well mounted. When we saw the Indians they were coming after us yelling
like demons. As we were not expecting Indians at this particular time,
we were taken somewhat by surprise.

We only had fifteen men in our outfit, but nothing daunted we stood our
ground and fought the Indians to a stand. One of the boys was shot off
his horse and killed near me. The Indians got his horse, bridle and
saddle. During this fight we lost all but six of our horses, our entire
packing outfit and our extra saddle horses, which the Indians stampeded,
then rounded them up after the fight and drove them off. And as we only
had six horses left us, we were unable to follow them, although we had
the satisfaction of knowing we had made several good Indians out of bad
ones.

This was my first Indian fight and likewise the first Indians I had ever
seen. When I saw them coming after us and heard their blood curdling
yell, I lost all courage and thought my time had come to die. I was too
badly scared to run, some of the boys told me to use my gun and shoot
for all I was worth. Now I had just got my outfit and had never shot off
a gun in my life, but their words brought me back to earth and seeing
they were all using their guns in a way that showed they were used to
it, I unlimbered my artillery and after the first shot I lost all fear
and fought like a veteran.

We soon routed the Indians and they left, taking with them nearly all
we had, and we were powerless to pursue them. We were compelled to
finish our journey home almost on foot, as there were only six horses
left to fourteen of us. Our friend and companion who was shot in the
fight, we buried on the plains, wrapped in his blanket with stones piled
over his grave. After this engagement with the Indians I seemed to lose
all sense as to what fear was and thereafter during my whole life on the
range I never experienced the least feeling of fear, no matter how
trying the ordeal or how desperate my position.

The home ranch was located on the Palo Duro river in the western part of
the Pan Handle, Texas, which we reached in the latter part of May, it
taking us considerably over a month to make the return journey home from
Dodge City. I remained in the employ of the Duval outfit for three
years, making regular trips to Dodge City every season and to many other
places in the surrounding states with herds of horses and cattle for
market and to be delivered to other ranch owners all over Texas, Wyoming
and the Dakotas. By strict attention to business, born of a genuine love
of the free and wild life of the range, and absolute fearlessness, I
became known throughout the country as a good all around cow boy and a
splendid hand in a stampede.

After returning from one of our trips north with a bunch of cattle in
the fall of 1872, I received and accepted a better position with the
Pete Gallinger company, whose immense range was located on the Gila
River in southern Arizona. So after drawing the balance of my pay from
the Duval company and bidding good bye to the true and tried companions
of the past three years, who had learned me the business and been with
me in many a trying situation, it was with genuine regret that I left
them for my new position, one that meant more to me in pay and
experience. I stayed with Pete Gallinger company for several years and
soon became one of their most trusted men, taking an important part in
all the big round-ups and cuttings throughout western Texas, Arizona and
other states where the company had interests to be looked after,
sometimes riding eighty miles a day for days at a time over the trails
of Texas and the surrounding country and naturally I soon became well
known among the cowboys, rangers, scouts and guides it was my pleasure
to meet in my wanderings over the country, in the wake of immense herds
of the long horned Texas cattle and large bands of range horses. Many of
these men who were my companions on the trail and in camp, have since
become famous in story and history, and a braver, truer set of men never
lived than these wild sons of the plains whose home was in the saddle
and their couch, mother earth, with the sky for a covering. They were
always ready to share their blanket and their last ration with a less
fortunate fellow companion and always assisted each other in the many
trying situations that were continually coming up in a cowboy's life.

When we were not on the trail taking large herds of cattle or horses to
market or to be delivered to other ranches we were engaged in range
riding, moving large numbers of cattle from one grazing range to
another, keeping them together, and hunting up strays which, despite the
most earnest efforts of the range riders would get away from the main
herd and wander for miles over the plains before they could be found,
overtaken and returned to the main herd.

Then the Indians and the white outlaws who infested the country gave us
no end of trouble, as they lost no opportunity to cut out and run off
the choicest part of a herd of long horns, or the best of a band of
horses, causing the cowboys a ride of many a long mile over the dusty
plains in pursuit, and many are the fierce engagements we had, when
after a long chase of perhaps hundreds of miles over the ranges we
overtook the thieves. It then became a case of "to the victor belongs
the spoils," as there was no law respected in this wild country, except
the law of might and the persuasive qualities of the 45 Colt pistol.

Accordingly it became absolutely necessary for a cowboy to understand
his gun and know how to place its contents where it would do the most
good, therefore I in common with my other companions never lost an
opportunity to practice with my 45 Colts and the opportunities were not
lacking by any means and so in time I became fairly proficient and able
in most cases to hit a barn door providing the door was not too far
away, and was steadily improving in this as I was in experience and
knowledge of the other branches of the business which I had chosen as my
life's work and which I had begun to like so well, because while the
life was hard and in some ways exacting, yet it was free and wild and
contained the elements of danger which my nature craved and which began
to manifest itself when I was a pugnacious youngster on the old
plantation in our rock battles and the breaking of the wild horses. I
gloried in the danger, and the wild and free life of the plains, the new
country I was continually traversing, and the many new scenes and
incidents continually arising in the life of a rough rider.



CHAPTER VII.

I LEARN TO SPEAK SPANISH AND AM MADE CHIEF BRAND READER. THE BIG
ROUND-UPS. RIDING THE 7-Y-L STEER. LONG RIDES. HUNTING STRAYS.


Having now fairly begun my life as a cowboy, I was fast learning the
many ins and outs of the business, while my many roamings over the range
country gave me a knowledge of it not possessed by many at that time.
Being of a naturally observant disposition, I noticed many things to
which others attached no significance. This quality of observance proved
of incalculable benefit to me in many ways during my life as a range
rider in the western country. My employment with the Pete Gallinger
company took me all over the Pan Handle country, Texas, Arizona, and New
Mexico with herds of horses and cattle for market and to be delivered to
other ranch owners and large cattle breeders. Naturally I became very
well acquainted with all the many different trails and grazing ranges
located in the stretch of country between the north of Montana and the
Gulf of Mexico, and between the Missouri state line and the Pacific
ocean. This whole territory I have covered many times in the saddle,
sometimes at the rate of eighty or one hundred miles a day. These long
rides and much traveling over the country were of great benefit to me,
as it enabled me to meet so many different people connected with the
cattle business and also to learn the different trails and the lay of
the country generally.

Among the other things that I picked up on my wanderings, was a
knowledge of the Spanish language, which I learned to speak like a
native. I also became very well acquainted with the many different
brands scattered over this stretch of country, consequently it was not
long before the cattle men began to recognize my worth and the
Gallinger company made me their chief brand reader, which duties I
performed for several years with honor to myself and satisfaction to my
employers. In the cattle country, all the large cattle raisers had their
squad of brand readers whose duty it was to attend all the big round-ups
and cuttings throughout the country, and to pick out their own brands
and to see that the different brands were not altered or counterfeited.
They also had to look to the branding of the young stock.

During the big round-ups it was our duty to pick out our brand, and then
send them home under the charge of our cowboys, likewise the newly
branded stock. After each brand was cut out and started homeward, we had
to stay with the round up to see that strays from the different herds
from the surrounding country did not again get mixed up, until the
different home ranges were reached. This work employed a large number of
cowboys, who lived, ate and often slept in the saddle, as they covered
many hundreds of miles in a very short space of time. This was made
possible as every large cattleman had relays of horses sent out over the
country where we might be expected to touch, and so we could always
count on finding a fresh horse awaiting us at the end of a twenty-five
or a fifty mile ride. But for us brand readers there was no rest, we
merely changed our saddles and outfit to a fresh horse and were again on
the go. After the general round up was over, cowboy sports and a good
time generally was in order for those engaged in it. The interest of
nearly all of us centered in the riding of what was known as the 7 Y-L
steer. A big long horn wild steer, generally the worst in the herd, was
cut out and turned loose on the open prairie. The cow boy who could rope
and ride him would get the steer as his reward, and let me assure you
dear reader, that it was not so easy as it sounds, as the steer
separated from its fellows would become extremely ferocious and wild,
and the man who attempted to rope and ride him would be in momentary
danger of losing his life, if he relaxed in the least his vigilance and
caution, because a wild steer is naturally ferocious. Even in cutting
them out of the round up I have known them to get mad and attack the
cowboys who only saved themselves by the quickness of their horses, or
the friendly intervention of a comrade who happened to be near to rope
the maddened long horn, and thus divert his attention to other things.
But in the case of the 7 Y-L steer such intervention is against the
rules, and the cowboy who attempts to rope and ride the steer must at
all times look out for himself. I have seen two horses and their riders
gored to death in this sport, and I have had to shoot more than one
steer to save myself and horse after my horse had fallen with me and
placed himself as well as me at the maddened beast's mercy. At such
times it takes a cool head and a steady hand as no random shot will stop
a wild steer. The bullet must be placed in a certain spot, the center of
the forehead, to accomplish its mission. The last time I had a horse
fall with me in roping the 7 Y-L steer, he fell as the steer was but a
few feet away, falling in such a way that my leg caught under the
saddle, holding me fast. Quick as I could I gave the steer a bullet in
the head and he stumbled and fell dead on top of my horse and me, so
that the boys had to interfere to the extent of dragging the steer and
horse off of my leg.

[Illustration: Riding the 7-Y-L Steer]

The cowboy who is successful in roping the steer must then mount and
ride him. If he does that successfully the steer becomes his personal
property to do with as he will, only a slight reward for the risking of
his life and the trouble of accomplishing the feat. But it is done more
for sport's sake than anything else, and the love of showing off, a
weakness of all cow boys more or less. But really it takes a high class
of horsemanship to ride a long horn, to get on his back and stay there
as he runs, jumps, pitches side ways, backwards, forward, up and down,
then over the prairie like a streak of lightning. I have had the
experience and I can assure you it is no child's play. More than one 7
Y-L steer has fallen to my lot, but I had to work for it, and work hard.
After all it was only part of the general routine of the cow boy's life,
in which danger plays so important a part. It is seldom thought of being
merely a matter of course, and none of us would have foregone the sport,
had we known that sure death awaited us as the result, because above
all things, the test of a cow boy's worth is his gameness and his nerve.
He is not supposed to know what fear means, and I assure you there are
very few who know the meaning of that word.

Most of my readers no doubt have heard of the great round ups and
cuttings, connected with the cattle raiser's life. But not one in a
hundred has any idea as to how an immense herd of wild cattle are
handled in a big round up. My many years of experience has given me
unusual knowledge on the subject, and you may bring any cattleman or
boss to me, and I will guarantee to answer any question he can ask me
about the cattle business. The first general round up occurs about the
first of April. This round up is to run in all the near cattle belonging
to each man, and head them toward our respective ranges. If we find any
other brand mixed up with ours we head them toward their own range, and
keep our own together. Every cow boy does the same and in this way every
cattleman is enable to get his own brand together on his own range, so
that when the next general round up occurs he will have most of his near
cattle together on the home range. In order to get the cattle together
in the first general round up, we would have to ride for hundreds of
miles over the country in search of the long horn steers and old cows
that had drifted from the home range during the winter and were now
scattered to the four winds of heaven. As soon as they were found they
were started off under the care of cow boys for the place agreed upon
for the general round up, whether they belonged to us or not, while the
rest of us continued the search. All the cow boys from the many
different outfits working this way enabled us to soon get all the strays
rounded up in one great herd in which the cattle of a dozen different
owners were mixed up together. It then became our duty to cut out our
different herds and start them homewards. Then we had to brand the young
stock that had escaped that ordeal at the hands of the range riders. On
finding the strays and starting them homewards, we had to keep up the
search, because notwithstanding the fact that we had done range riding
or line riding all winter, a large number of cattle would manage to
evade the vigilance of the cow boys and get away. These must all be
accounted for at the great round up, as they stood for dollars and
cents, profit and loss to the great cattle kings of the west. In going
after these strayed and perhaps stolen cattle we boys always provided
ourselves with everything we needed, including plenty of grub, as
sometimes we would be gone for nearly two months and sometimes much
longer. It was not an uncommon occurrence for us to have shooting
trouble over our different brands. In such disputes the boys would kill
each other if others did not interfere in time to prevent it, because in
those days on the great cattle ranges there was no law but the law of
might, and all disputes were settled with a forty-five Colt pistol. In
such cases the man who was quickest on the draw and whose eye was the
best, pretty generally got the decision. Therefore it was of the
greatest importance that the cow boy should understand his gun, its
capabilities and its shooting qualities. A cow boy would never carry
anything but the very best gun obtainable, as his life depended on it
often. After securing a good gun the cow boy had to learn how to use it,
if he did not already know how. In doing so no trouble or expense was
spared, and I know there were very few poor shots on the ranges over
which we rode and they used the accomplishment to protect themselves and
their employer's cattle from the Indian thiefs and the white desperadoes
who infested the cattle country, and who lost no opportunity to stampede
the herds and run off large numbers of them. Whenever this happened it
generally resulted in a long chase and a fierce fight in which someone
was sure to get hurt, and hurt badly. But that fact did not bother us in
the least. It was all simply our duty and our business for which we were
paid and paid good, and so we accepted things as they came, always ready
for it whatever it might be, and always taking pride in our work in
which we always tried to excel.

Christmas, Dec. 25, 1872, is a day in my memory which time cannot blot
out. I and a number of friends were in a place called Holbrook, Ariz. A
dispute started over a saddle horse with the following result. Arizona
Bob drew his forty-five Colt revolver, but before he had time to fire he
was instantly killed by A. Jack. Then a general fight ensued in which
five horses and three men were killed.

It was a sad thing for me to see my friends dead in a corral on a
Christmas morning, but I helped bury the dead and took care of the
wounded. The names were A. Jack, Wild Horse Pete and Arizona Bill.



CHAPTER VIII.

ON THE TRAIL. A TEXAS STORM. A CATTLE STAMPEDE. BATTLE WITH THE
ELEMENTS. AFTER BUSINESS COMES PLEASURE.


After the round ups and on returning from our long rides after strayed
cattle we would have to prepare to take the trail with herds of cattle
and horses for market and to be delivered to other large ranch owners.
The party of cow boys to make these trips were all selected men. We
would spend several days at the home ranch resting up and preparing our
outfit, in which our guns, saddles, blankets and horses were given a
thorough overhauling and placed in first class condition, as they would
be called on to do good hard service on these trips on the trail. The
nature of our journey would depend very much on the kind of cattle we
were called upon to handle. Sometimes it would be all classes together;
on other occasions the herd would consist of a certain kind, such as
long yearlings, short yearlings, tail end and scabs. The larger demand
however, seemed to be for straight three and four year old steers. These
latter kind were the easiest to handle on the trail. It is no doubt
necessary that I explain the difference between the different kinds I
mention here. Short yearlings were those over one year old and short of
two years, long yearlings those two years and short of three years, tail
end and scabs mean nearly the same thing, and comprise all the very
young stock of all classes not yet reached the dignity of yearlings.
These latter were in demand from the cattle men, who took them to feed
until they got their growth or to raise from, as stock cattle three or
four years old were generally the market or beef cattle. These latter
were by all odds the easiest to handle on the trail. Sometimes we would
have an order for five or six hundred head of all classes of cattle,
then again we would have to start out with fifteen hundred head of
shipping steers, or several hundred head of horses.

Shortly after I entered the employ of the Pete Gallinger company, and
after the round-ups of the early season, we received an order for two
thousand five hundred head of three year old steers to be delivered at
Dodge City, Kansas. This was the largest herd I had up to the present
time followed good rest at the home ranch, we strung the large herd out
with two months provisions, and the camp wagon. After a and one hundred
extra saddle horses and several pack horses, on the trail. Our outfit
consisted of forty picked cow boys, along the old Chillers trail en
route for Kansas, and we started on what proved to be an eventful
journey. The herd behaved splendidly and gave us very little trouble
until we crossed the Red river and struck the Old Dog and Sun City
trail, here they became restless, and stampeded nearly every night, and
whenever they got half a chance. This made it very hard on us cowboys,
as it is no easy matter to ride the lines of such a large herd, let
alone having to chase them back in line from many miles over the prairie
where they had stampeded in their wild career. After crossing the Kansas
line at a place known as the South Forks, while making for the head of
the Cimarron river on the twenty-seventh of June, we experienced one of
the hardest rain and hail storms I had ever seen, in the western
country, the rain came down in torrents only to cease and give place to
hail stones the size of walnuts. While the thunder and lightning was
incessant. It was shortly after dark when the storm commenced. The
twenty-five hundred head of cattle strung out along the trail became
panic stricken and stampeded, and despite our utmost efforts, we were
unable to keep them in line.

Imagine, my dear reader, riding your horse at the top of his speed
through torrents of rain and hail, and darkness so black that we could
not see our horses heads, chasing an immense herd of maddened cattle
which we could hear but could not see, except during the vivid flashes
of lightning which furnished our only light. It was the worst night's
ride I ever experienced. Late the next morning we had the herd rounded
up thirty miles from where they started from the night before. On going
back over the country to our camp of the night before, we saw the great
danger we had been in during our mad ride. There were holes, cliffs,
gulleys and big rocks scattered all around, some of the cliffs going
down a sheer fifty feet or more, where if we had fallen over we would
have been dashed to pieces on the rocks below, but we never thought of
our personal danger that night, and we did not think particularly of it
when we saw it further than to make a few joking remarks about what
would have happened if some one of us had gone over. One of the boys
offered to bet that a horse and rider going over one of those cliffs
would bring up in China, while others thought he would bring up in Utah.
It was our duty to save the cattle, and every thing else was of
secondary importance. We never lost a single steer during this wild
night--something we were justly proud of. This proved the last trouble
we were to have with the herd, and we soon reached the five mile divide,
five miles from Dodge City without further incident, and with our herd
intact. Here we were to hold them until turned over to their new owners.
This accomplished, our work was done and done well for this trip. Then
we all headed for Dodge City to have a good time, and I assure you we
had it. It was our intention and ambition to paint the town a deep red
color and drink up all the bad whiskey in the city. Our nearly two
months journey over the dusty plains and ranges had made us all
inordinately thirsty and wild, and here is where we had our turn,
accordingly we started out to do the town in true western style, in
which we were perfectly successful until the town had done us, and we
were dead broke. This fact slowed us up, because being broke we could
not get up any more steam and we had to cool down right there. We then
started out to find our boss, but that gentleman being wise in his time
and generation, and knowing we would soon all be broke, and would be
wanting more money, and that he would let us have it if we asked him for
it only to be thrown away, he made himself scarce, and he kept out of
our sight until we cooled off. For my part I would not spend all my
money. I would draw about fifty dollars, then I would get what things I
wanted and then would let the other go free, but while our money lasted
we would certainly enjoy ourselves, in dancing, drinking and shooting
up the town. It was our delight to give exhibitions of rough riding
roping and everything else we could think of to make things go fast
enough to suit our ideas of speed. After several days spent in this
manner we would begin to make ready to start on the return journey home
to Texas. We left Dodge City on the first of July and on the fifteenth
of August we were back on the old home ranch, where we rested up a few
days before again starting out to ride the range after the long horns
again. As I was a brand reader I had little time to rest as my services
were in demand from many of the large cattle kings of Texas and Arizona,
and when ever a dispute arose over brands, I was generally sent for to
straighten matters out. This with the numerous round ups which I had to
attend and the many transfers of cattle throughout the pan handle
country kept me continually on the go. When my services were not needed
as a brand reader I rode the range along with the other cow boys. This
kept us almost continually in the saddle, and away from the home ranch
for days at a time; when this was the case our food consisted of biscuit
and cakes which we made ourselves from meal which we carried with us,
and such meat and game as we could knock over with our guns. We camped
wherever it suited and where there was feed for our horses. A cow boy's
first care is always after his gun and his horse, that animal often
meaning life and liberty to the cow boy in a tight place and the cow boy
without a horse is like a chicken without its head, completely lost. My
faithful horse has times without number carried me out of danger and
preserved my life. We were not destined to have much rest this season as
shortly after we returned from the trip to Dodge City, the boss bought a
large herd of cattle down on the Rio Grande, just over the line in
Mexico, which we had orders for, so we had to start out and round them
up. This was no easy matter as they were scattered over a large range of
territory and many strays had to be rounded up and got with the main
herd. This we finally accomplished, after a great deal of hard riding
over the rough Rio Grande country, and both men and horses were
completely tired out, so we went into camp, only holding the herd
together and getting rested up. This opportunity we improved by getting
acquainted and fraternizing with the cow boys of one of the oldest
cattle countries this side of the herring pond--Old Mexico. These men
were for the most part typical greasers, but they proved to us that they
knew a thing or two about the cattle business, and all things considered
they were a jolly companionable sort of an outfit. From them we learned
a few pointers and also gave them a few very much to our mutual benefit.
We remained here a few days before starting northward with our herd, but
these few days proved very pleasant ones to us boys who, on account of
the monotony of the life we led always welcomed new experiences or
events that would give us something to think and talk about while on our
long rides behind the slow moving herd of long-horn steers, or around
our camp fires when in camp on the plains, and it gave us especial
pleasure to meet men of the same calling from other states over the
west. It not only gave us pleasure, but it added to our cow knowledge,
and of the country over which we might at any time be called on to drive
cattle, and in such cases a knowledge of the country was most valuable
to us. Then a cow boy's life contains many things in which he is
continually trying to improve and excel, such as roping, shooting,
riding and branding and many other things connected with the cattle
business. We, in common with other trades, did not know it all, and we
were always ready to learn anything new when we met any one who was
capable of teaching us.

[Illustration: After Business Comes Pleasure]



CHAPTER IX.

EN ROUTE TO WYOMING. THE INDIANS DEMAND TOLL. THE FIGHT. A BUFFALO
STAMPEDE. TRAGIC DEATH OF CAL. SURCEY. AN EVENTFUL TRIP.


[Illustration: A Buffalo Stampede--On They Came, a Maddened, Plunging
Snorting, Bellowing Mass of Horns and Hoofs]

After getting the cattle together down on the Rio Grande and both man
and beast had got somewhat rested up, we started the herd north. They
were to be delivered to a man by the name of Mitchell, whose ranch was
located along the Powder river, up in northern Wyoming. It was a long
distance to drive cattle from Old Mexico to northern Wyoming, but to us
it was nothing extraordinary as we were often called on to make even
greater distances, as the railroads were not so common then as now, and
transportation by rail was very little resorted to and except when beef
cattle were sent to the far east, they were always transported on the
hoof overland. Our route lay through southern Texas, Indian Territory,
Kansas and Nebraska, to the Shoshone mountains in northern Wyoming. We
had on this trip five hundred head of mostly four year old long horn
steers. We did not have much trouble with them until we struck Indian
Territory. On nearing the first Indian reservation, we were stopped by a
large body of Indian bucks who said we could not pass through their
country unless we gave them a steer for the privilege. Now as we were
following the regular government trail which was a free public highway,
it did not strike us as justifiable to pay our way, accordingly our boss
flatly refused to give the Indians a steer, remarking that we needed all
the cattle we had and proposed to keep them, but he would not mind
giving them something much warmer if they interfered with us. This
ultimatum of our boss had the effect of starting trouble right there. We
went into camp at the edge of the Indian country. All around us was the
tall blue grass of that region which in places was higher than a horse,
affording an ideal hiding place for the Indians. As we expected an
attack from the Indians, the boss arranged strong watches to keep a keen
lookout. We had no sooner finished making camp when the Indians showed
up, and charged us with a yell or rather a series of yells, I for one
had got well used to the blood curdling yells of the Indians and they
did not scare us in the least. We were all ready for them and after a
short but sharp fight the Indians withdrew and every thing became quiet,
but us cow boys were not such guys as to be fooled by the seeming
quietness. We knew it was only the calm before the storm, and we
prepared ourselves accordingly, but we were all dead tired and it was
necessary that we secure as much rest as possible, so the low watch
turned in to rest until midnight, when they were to relieve the upper
watch, in whose hands the safety of the camp was placed till that time.
Every man slept with his boots on and his gun near his hand. We had been
sleeping several hours, but it seemed to me only a few minutes when the
danger signal was given. Immediately every man was on his feet, gun in
hand and ready for business. The Indians had secured reinforcements and
after dividing in two bands, one band hid in the tall grass in order to
pick us off and shoot us as we attempted to hold our cattle, while the
other band proceeded to stampede the herd, but fortunately there were
enough of us to prevent the herd from stringing out on us, as we gave
our first attention to the cattle we got them to merling. Back and
forward, through the tall grass, the large herd charged, the Indians
being kept too busy keeping out of their way to have much time to bother
with us. This kept up until daylight, but long before that time we came
to the conclusion that this was the worst herd of cattle to stampede we
ever struck, they seemed perfectly crazy even after the last Indian had
disappeared. We were unable to account for the strange actions of the
cattle until daylight, when the mystery was a mystery no longer. The
Indians in large numbers had hid in the tall grass for the purpose of
shooting us from ambush and being on foot they were unable to get out of
the way of the herd as it stampeded through the grass, the result was
that scores of the painted savages were trampled under the hoofs of the
maddened cattle, and in the early gray dawn of the approaching day we
witnessed a horrible sight, the Indians were all cut to pieces, their
heads, limbs, trunk and blankets all being ground up in an inseparable
mass, as if they had been through a sausage machine. The sight was all
the more horrible as we did not know the Indians were hidden in the
grass during the night, but their presence there accounted for the
strange actions of the herd during the night. We suffered no loss or
damage except the loss of our rest, which we sorely needed as we were
all pretty well played out. However, we thought it advisable to move our
herd on to a more desirable and safe camping place, not that we greatly
feared any more trouble from the Indians, not soon at any rate, but only
to be better prepared and in better shape to put up a fight if attacked.
The second night we camped on the open plain where the grass was not so
high and where the camp could be better guarded. After eating our supper
and placing the usual watch the men again turned in, expecting this time
to get a good night's rest. It was my turn to take the first watch and
with the other boys, who were to watch with me, we took up advantageous
positions on the lookout. Everything soon became still, the night was
dark and sultry. It was getting along toward midnight when all at once
we became aware of a roaring noise in the north like thunder, slowly
growing louder as it approached, and I said to the boys that it must be
a buffalo stampede. We immediately gave the alarm and started for our
herd to get them out of the way of the buffalo, but we soon found that
despite our utmost efforts we would be unable to get them out of the
way, so we came to the conclusion to meet them with our guns and try and
turn the buffalo from our direction if possible, and prevent them from
going through our herd. Accordingly all hands rode to meet the oncoming
stampede, pouring volley after volley into the almost solid mass of
rushing beasts, but they paid no more attention to us than they would
have paid to a lot of boys with pea shooters. On they came, a maddened,
plunging, snorting, bellowing mass of horns and hoofs. One of our
companions, a young fellow by the name of Cal Surcey, who was riding a
young horse, here began to have trouble in controlling his mount and
before any of us could reach him his horse bolted right in front of the
herd of buffalo and in a trice the horse and rider went down and the
whole herd passed over them. After the herd had passed we could only
find a few scraps of poor Cal's clothing, and the horse he had been
riding was reduced to the size of a jack rabbit. The buffalo went
through our herd killing five head and crippling many others, and
scattering them all over the plain. This was the year that the great
buffalo slaughter commenced and such stampedes were common then. It
seemed to me that as soon as we got out of one trouble we got into
another on this trip. But we did not get discouraged, but only wondered
what would happen next. We did not care much for ourselves, as we were
always ready and in most cases anxious for a brush with the Indians, or
for the other dangers of the trail, as they only went to relieve the
dull monotony of life behind the herd. But these cattle were entrusted
to our care and every one represented money, good hard cash. So we did
not relish in the least having them stampeded by the Indians or run over
by the buffaloes. If casualties kept up at this rate, there would not be
very many cattle to deliver in Wyoming by the time we got there. After
the buffalo stampede we rounded up our scattered herd and went into camp
for a couple of days' rest before proceeding on our journey north. The
tragic death of Cal Surcey had a very depressing effect on all of us as
he was a boy well liked by us all, and it was hard to think that we
could not even give him a Christian burial. We left his remains trampled
into the dust of the prairie and his fate caused even the most hardened
of us to shudder as we contemplated it. After getting fairly rested we
proceeded on our journey north and were soon out of the Indian
Territory, though we often met small bands of roving bucks, but aside
from exchanging a few shots at each other they caused us no trouble. We
crossed Kansas and Nebraska and reached the end of our long journey
without further incident worthy of note, and we delivered our herd only
five head short which was not bad considering the distance we had
travelled and the events that had happened. It was a wonder that we had
been able to get through with half of our herd or men. Consequently it
was with genuine relief that we turned the cattle over to their new
owners and received our receipt therefor. We remained at the Mitchell
ranch in Wyoming several days, fraternizing with our northern brothers,
swapping yarns and having a good time generally. On the return journey
to Arizona we were of course, able to make better time and we returned
more direct by way of Colorado and Utah, taking note of the cattle
trails and the country over which we passed. In that way we secured
valuable information of the trails and the country that stood us in good
stead in future trips north. Arriving home at the Pete Gallinger ranch,
in Arizona, we became the heroes of the range, and we received unstinted
praise from our boss, but the loss of Cal Surcey was universally
regretted.

[Illustration: Tragic Death of Cal Surcey]

We were relieved of all duty until we got thoroughly rested up, while
our horses had the best the ranch afforded. But at a large cattle ranch
there is always something doing and it was not long before we were again
in the saddle and preparing for another trip on the trail. To the cow
boy accustomed to riding long distances, life in the saddle ceases to be
tiresome. It is only the dull monotony of following a large herd of
cattle on the trail day after day that tires the rider and makes him
long for something to turn up in the way of excitement. It does not
matter what it is just so it is excitement of some kind. This the cow
boy finds in dare-devil riding, shooting, roping and such sports when he
is not engaged in fighting Indians or protecting his herds from the
organized bands of white cattle thieves that infested the cattle country
in those days. It was about this time that I hired to Bill Montgomery
for a time to assist in taking a band of nine hundred head of horses to
Dodge City. The journey out was without incident, on arriving at Dodge
City we sold the horses for a good price returning to the old ranch in
Arizona by the way of the old lone and lonesome Dodge City trail. While
en route home on this trail we had a sharp fight with the Indians. When
I saw them coming I shouted to my companions, "We will battle them to
hell!" Soon we heard their yells as they charged us at full speed. We
met them with a hot fire from our Winchesters, but as they were in such
large numbers we saw that we could not stop them that way and it soon
developed into a hand to hand fight. My saddle horse was shot from under
me; at about the same time my partner James Holley was killed, shot
through the heart. I caught Holley's horse and continued the fight until
it became evident that the Indians were too much for us, then it became
a question of running or being scalped. We thought it best to run as we
did not think we could very well spare any hair at that particular time,
any way we mostly preferred to have our hair cut in the regular way by a
competent barber, not that the Indians would charge us too much, they
would have probably done the job for nothing, but we didn't want to
trouble them, and we did not grudge the price of a hair cut any way, so
we put spurs to our horses and they soon carried us out of danger.
Nearly every one of us were wounded in this fight but Holley was the
only man killed on our side though a few of the Indians were made better
as the result of it. We heard afterwards that Holley was scalped and his
body filled with arrows by the red devils. This was only one of the many
similar fights we were constantly having with the Indians and the cattle
thieves of that part of the country. They were so common that it was not
considered worth mentioning except when we lost a man, as on this
occasion. This was the only trouble we had on this trip of any
importance and we soon arrived at the Montgomery ranch in Texas where
after a few days rest with the boys, resting up, I made tracks in the
direction of my own crib in Arizona.



CHAPTER X.

WE MAKE A TRIP TO NEBRASKA. THE HOLE IN THE WALL COUNTRY. A LITTLE
SHOOTING SCRAPE. CATTLE ON THE TRAIL AND THE WAY TO HANDLE THEM. A BIT
OF MORALIZATION.


The ranch boss's voice rang out sharply, but kindly as he entered our
quarters where we were engaged in all sorts of occupations, some of the
boys playing cards, others smoking and swapping stories, while those
more industrious were diligently engaged in cleaning their forty-fives.
I glanced up from my long barreled rifle I was just putting the
finishing touches to, wondering what was up now. The boss informed us
that we were to take another herd of cattle north, away up in the
northwestern part of Nebraska, and that all of us who were on the last
trip had been selected for the duty again this trip. This announcement
was met with exclamations of approval from the boys who had now got
thoroughly rested up and were anxious for regular duty again. Since our
return from Wyoming we had not been doing much, but taking it easy with
occasional range riding and were becoming rusty in consequence. We were
to start on our second journey north this season as soon as possible, so
we lost no time in getting ready. We were to take the same size herd as
before. It did not take us long to round the herd up and the second day
from the time we received the order we were off. Our route was different
this time, starting from the home ranch in Arizona we went by way of New
Mexico, Colorado and into Nebraska, by way of the Platte river, which we
crossed near where the forks of the North and South Platte unite. It was
now late in the season and we had to hurry in order to get through in
good weather, therefore we put the cattle to the limit of their
traveling powers. Beef cattle, that is, four year old long horns differ
greatly from other cattle in their travel. The first day after being put
out on the trail they will travel twenty-five miles without any trouble
then as the pace begins to tell on them they fall back to fifteen or
twenty miles a day, and there also seems to be an understanding among
the cattle themselves that each must take a turn at leading the herd,
those that start in the lead in the morning will be away back in the
center of the herd at noon, and those that started in the center are now
leading. This they keep up until all have had their turn at leading and
as a rule if they are not scared by something they will stay pretty well
bunched. We allowed the herd to graze and rest during the night, only
traveling during the day, as a herd of cattle should never be moved off
their grazing ground until the dew is off the grass because their feet
are made soft by the wet grass and if they are moved onto the hard trail
while in that condition sore heels are sure to result, and a steer with
sore heels cannot travel and will have to be left behind on the trail or
the herd held until those affected have recovered. Our saddle horses
travel several times the distance that a herd of cattle does on the
trail, as it is necessary to ride from one end of the herd to the other
to keep them in line and headed in the right direction. This work is
hard on the horses but that is always provided for by having a small
herd of horses along under the charge of a horse rustler as we called
him and any of the boys could change his tired horse for a fresh one at
any time he chose, but he would have no one to help him make the change.
He would have to rope, throw, saddle and bridle the horse himself
without any assistance whatever from his companions, and this was no
easy matter as most of the horses were wild Texas mustangs and had never
had the saddle on more than once or twice and so as often happened the
cow boy would be led a hard life before he finally made the change of
mounts. On such occasions he always received the unwelcome and unasked
advice of the other boys, but as most of the boys were expert at that
business there was slight chance for railing and chaff. But if for any
reason he should get the laugh from his companions he always took it in
the same spirit in which it was given, only waiting his chance to get
even, and such a chance was not long in coming. This particular herd
acted very well and gave us no trouble to speak of. Our route lay over
the old Hays' and Elsworth trail, one of the best known cattle trails in
the west, then by way of Olga, Nebraska, at that time a very small and
also a very tough place. It was a rendezvous of the tough element and
the bad men of the cow country. There were a large number of cow boys
there from the surrounding ranges and the place looked very enticing to
our tired and thirsty crowd, but we had our herd to look after and
deliver so we could not stop, but pushed on north crossing the Platte
river, then up the trail that led by the hole in the wall country, near
which place we went into camp. Then as now this hole in the wall country
was the refuge of the train robbers, cattle thieves and bandits of the
western country, and when we arrived the place was unusually full of
them, and it was not long before trouble was brewing between our men and
the natives which culminated in one of our men shooting and killing one
of the bad men of the hole. Fearing more trouble and not being in the
best possible shape to meet it, burdened as we were with five hundred
head of cattle we broke camp at once and proceeded on our journey north.
We arrived at the ranch where our herd were to be delivered without
further incident and with all our cattle intact and after turning the
herd over to their new owners and spending several days in getting
acquainted with our northern neighbors, the Nebraska cowboys whom we
found hot numbers and a jolly all round crowd of cattle men, we left for
Arizona on the return journey by way of Wyoming, Colorado and New
Mexico, arriving home in good shape late in the fall without further
incident, and were soon engaged in range riding over our own ranges
again, and getting everything in shape for the winter, but we had to be
out on the range off and on all winter. Then in the spring came the
usual round ups, cuttings and brandings, during which time all our men
were needed at the home ranch. I had long since developed into a first
class cow boy and besides being chief brand reader in Arizona and the
pan handle country. My expertness in riding, roping and in the general
routine of the cow boy's life, including my wide knowledge of the
surrounding country, gained in many long trips with herds of cattle and
horses, made my services in great demand and my wages increased
accordingly. To see me now you would not recognize the bronze hardened
dare devil cow boy, the slave boy who a few years ago hunted rabbits in
his shirt tail on the old plantation in Tennessee, or the tenderfoot who
shrank shaking all over at the sight of a band of painted Indians. I had
long since felt the hot sting of the leaden bullet as it plowed its way
through some portion of my anatomy. Likewise I had lost all sense of
fear, and while I was not the wild blood thirsty savage and all around
bad man many writers have pictured me in their romances, yet I was wild,
reckless and free, afraid of nothing, that is nothing that I ever saw,
with a wide knowledge of the cattle country and the cattle business and
of my guns with which I was getting better acquainted with every day,
and not above taking my whiskey straight or returning bullet for bullet
in a scrimmage. I always had been reckless, as evidenced by my riding of
Black Highwayman on the old home plantation and I never lost courage or
my nerve under the most trying circumstances, always cool, observant and
ready for what might turn up, made me liked and respected by my
employers and those of the cattle kings of the western country it was my
good fortune to meet and know. On our own ranch, among my own companions
my position was as high as a king, enjoying the trust and confidence of
my employers and the homage of the men many of whom were indebted to me
on occasions when my long rope or ever ready forty-five colt pistol had
saved them from serious injury or death. But I thought nothing of those
things then, my only ambition was to learn the business and excel in all
things connected with the cow boy's life that I was leading and for
which I had genuine liking. Mounted on my favorite horse, my long
horsehide lariat near my hand, and my trusty guns in my belt and the
broad plains stretching away for miles and miles, every foot of which I
was familiar with, I felt I could defy the world. What man with the fire
of life and youth and health in his veins could not rejoice in such a
life? The fall and winter of 1874 passed on the Arizona ranch without
any unusual occurrence, the cattle wintered well and prospects were
bright for the coming year. In the early spring we again began
preparing for the big round up, the brandings and the cuttings. There
had been hundreds of calves and colts added to the vast herds, these all
had to be cut out and branded, while all the cattle that had strayed
during the winter had to be rounded up and accounted for. This work kept
us in the saddle the greater part of the time. Sometimes we would be
absent for days and weeks at a time on the trail of a bunch of strayed
cattle. On these trips we often encountered big herds of buffalo and
these supplied us with meat, and such meat! A buffalo steak fresh from a
still quivering buffalo broiled over coals is a dish fit for the Gods.
Coming back from one of these trips after strays early in 1875 we were
notified to get ready to take a herd of five hundred head of horses up
in South Dakota, the trip was a long one but horses can travel much
faster than cattle and on the whole are much easier to handle. On the
trails we were all happy at the prospect of the trip and were not long
in getting ready and getting the horses started out on the trail, we
took them by way of New Mexico, Colorado and Nebraska. They gave us very
little trouble on the way up, and we reached our destination and
delivered them without incident worthy of note, returning by way of
Wyoming, Colorado and New Mexico. On starting out on the return journey
we came down Pold creek and stopped at the old log saloon to get a
drink, that being the first place where we could get any whiskey. Here
in moving around among the large number of cow boys and tough
characters, generally, another fuss was started between our men and some
cattle rustlers resulting in some shooting, but fortunately without
serious consequences. As we were not looking for trouble, and not
wishing to kill any one we left at once for home. It was our policy to
always avoid trouble if possible while on these trips, but to always
defend ourselves and our rights against all comers, be they white men or
Indians and then it would look bad for us to have to report the loss of
a man or so in a saloon fight when we were sent out to attend to
business, for that reason we did not stop to give an exhibition of our
fighting qualities, although we were very anxious to have matters out
with them. We arrived home safely with all well and in time to assist in
the round ups and the other ranch work in which we were needed.

[Illustration: A Little Scrap--Hole-in-the-Wall Country]



CHAPTER XI.

A BUFFALO HUNT. I LOSE MY LARIAT AND SADDLE. I ORDER A DRINK FOR MYSELF
AND MY HORSE. A CLOSE PLACE IN OLD MEXICO.


When there was not much doing around the ranch, we boys would get up a
buffalo hunt. Buffaloes were plentiful in those days and one did not
have to ride far before striking a herd. Going out on the open plain we
were not long in sighting a herd, peacefully grazing on the luxuriant
grass, and it would have been an easy task to shoot them but that was
not our idea of sport. In the first place it was too easy. Then to shoot
them would rob the hunt of all element of danger and excitement, for
that reason we prepared to rope them and then dispatch them with the
knife or revolver. As soon as the herd caught sight of us they promptly
proceeded to stampede and were off like the wind. We all had pretty good
mounts and we started in pursuit. It is a grand sight to see a large
herd of several thousand buffalo on a stampede, all running with their
heads down and their tongues hanging out like a yard of red flannel,
snorting and bellowing they crowd along, shaking the ground for yards
around. We soon reached the rear of the herd and began operations. I had
roped and dispatched several, when my attention was attracted by a
magnificent bull buffalo, which I made up my mind to get, running free
behind the herd. My buffalo soon came within range and my rope settled
squarely over his horns and my horse braced himself for the strain but
the bull proved too much for us. My horse was knocked down, the saddle
snatched from under me and off my horse's back and my neck nearly broken
as I struck the hardest spot in that part of Texas After I got through
counting the stars not to mention the moons that I could see quite
plainly, I jumped to my feet and after assuring myself that I was all
there I looked for my horse, he was close by just getting up while in
the distance and fast growing more distant each moment was my favorite
saddle flying in the breeze, hanging to the head of the infuriated
buffalo.

Now I did not think I could very well lose that saddle so I sprang on my
horse's bare back and started in pursuit. My horse could run like a deer
and his hard fall did not seem to affect him much, so it did not take us
long to overtake the plunging herd. Running my horse close up by the
side of the thief who stole my saddle, I placed the muzzle of my
forty-five close against his side and right there I took charge of Mr.
Buffalo and my outfit.

It was no trouble to get all the buffalo meat we wanted in those days,
all that was necessary was to ride out on the prairie and knock them
over with a bullet, a feat that any cow boy can accomplish without
useless waste of ammunition, and a running buffalo furnishes perhaps the
best kind of a moving target for practice shooting. And the man that can
drop his buffalo at two hundred yards the first shot can hit pretty much
anything he shoots at.

I never missed anything I shot at within this distance and many a time
when I thought the distance of an object was too great, the boys have
encouraged me by saying, shoot, you never miss, and as much to my
surprise as theirs, my old stand by placed the bullet where I aimed.

I early in my career recognized the fact that a cow boy must know how to
use his guns, and therefore I never lost an opportunity to improve my
shooting abilities, until I was able to hit anything within range of my
forty-five or my winchester. This ability has times without number
proved of incalculable value to me, when in tight places. It has often
saved the life of myself and companions and so by constant practice I
soon became known as the best shot in the Arizona and pan handle
country.

After the buffalo hunt we were sent down in Old Mexico to get a herd of
horses, that our boss had bought from the Mexicans in the southwestern
part of Old Mexico. We made the journey out all right without special
incident, but after we had got the horses out on the trail, headed north
I was possessed with a desire to show off and I thought surprise the
staid old greasers on whom we of the northern cattle country looked with
contempt. So accordingly I left the boys to continue with the herd,
while I made for the nearest saloon, which happened to be located in one
of the low mud houses of that country, with a wide door and clay floor.
As the door was standing open, and looked so inviting I did not want to
go to the trouble of dismounting so urging my horse forward, I rode in
the saloon, first however, scattering with a few random shots the
respectable sized crowd of dirty Mexicans hanging around as I was in no
humor to pay for the drinks for such a motley gathering. Riding up to
the bar, I ordered keller for myself and a generous measure of pulky for
my horse, both popular Mexican drinks.

[Illustration: I Lose My Lariat and Saddle--I Hit the Hardest Spot in
that Part of Texas]

The fat wobbling greaser who was behind the bar looked scared, but he
proceeded to serve us with as much grace as he could command. My
forty-five colt which I proceeded to reload, acting as a persuader.
Hearing a commotion outside I realized that I was surrounded. The crowd
of Mexican bums had not appreciated my kindly greeting as I rode up and
it seems did not take kindly to being scattered by bullets. And not
realizing that I could have killed them all, just as easy as I scattered
them, and seeing there was but two of us--I and my horse--they had
summoned sufficient courage to come back and seek revenge. There was a
good sized crowd of them, every one with some kind of shooting iron, and
I saw at once that they meant business. I hated to have to hurt some of
them but I could see I would have to or be taken myself, and perhaps
strung up to ornament a telegraph pole. This pleasant experience I had
no especial wish to try, so putting spurs to my horse I dashed out of
the saloon, then knocking a man over with every bullet from my Colts I
cut for the open country, followed by several volleys from the angry
Mexicans' pop guns.

[Illustration: I Take Charge of My Buffalo and Outfit]

The only harm their bullets did, however, was to wound my horse in the
hip, not seriously, however, and he carried me quickly out of range. I
expected to be pursued, however, as I had no doubt I had done for some
of those whom I knocked over, so made straight for the Rio Grande
river riding day and night until I sighted that welcome stream and on
the other side I knew I was safe. Crossing the Rio Grande and entering
Texas at the Eagle pass, I rode straight to the old home ranch where I
stayed resting up until the boys got the horses out of Mexico into
Texas, then I joined them and assisted in driving the horses into the
ranch. I congratulated myself that I escaped so easily and with such
little damage. It was certainly a close place but I have been in even
closer places numbers of times and always managed to escape. Either
through trick, the fleetness of my horse or my shooting and sometimes
through all combined. At this time I was known all over the cattle
country as "Red River Dick," the name given to me by the boss of the
Duval outfit, when I first joined the cow boys at Dodge City, Kansas.

And many of the cattle kings of the west as well as the Indians and
scores of bad men all over the western country have at some time or
other had good reason to remember the name of "Red River Dick."

This was in 1875. It was not till the next year that I won the name of
"Deadwood Dick," a name I made even better known than "Red River Dick."
And a name I was proud to carry and defend, if necessary, with my life.
This season we made several trips North. The horses we brought up from
Texas now had to be driven to old man Keith's in Nebraska, on the North
Platte river. On this trip we had no trouble to speak of. Several bands
of Indians showed up at different times but a shot or so from one of the
boys would send them scurrying off at full speed, without stopping to
sample further our fighting abilities.

This was in some ways disappointing to us as we were spoiling for a
fight or excitement of some kind. However, nothing turned up, so after
delivering the horses to their new owners, we made tracks for home
again. It was the same round of duties, season after season, but all our
trips on the trail were not by any means alike, we were continually
visiting new country and new scenes, traveling over trails new to us,
but old in history. Many of these old trails are now famous in history.

[Illustration: I Order a Drink for Myself and Horse]

Each trip gave us new experiences, and traveling so much as we were,
there were few outfits in the cattle country that knew the trails and
the country as we did. And we were continually adding to this knowledge
and experience. After returning from old man Keith's in Nebraska we had
to take the trail again with a herd of cattle for the Spencer brothers,
whose ranch was located just north of the Red Light about sixty-five
miles north of the bad lands in South Dakota. This was one of the
largest cattle ranches in the West.

Their brand was known as the R Box Circle Brand. There we remained for
some time, adding to our knowledge of the cattle business such things as
can only be learned at a large cattle ranch. On our way home we passed
through Laramie, Wyoming. As fate would have it, we arrived at Laramie
City on July 4, 1875, just as the notorious Jack Watkins escaped from
the Albany county jail, and the excitement in the town was at fever
heat. Jack Watkins, who was probably the most desperate criminal that
was ever placed behind prison bars, had been arrested and placed in
close confinement, as the officers of the western states had long tried
to effect his capture. And they did not want to take any chances of
losing him, now they had him, but for all their caution he had escaped,
shooting Deputy Sheriff Lawrence in the leg, crippling him for life.

Ex-Conductor Brophy was at that time sheriff. The officers noting our
arrival at such time, at once ordered us out of the city, as they
suspected we knew something about the outbreak. We protested our
innocence of any knowledge of the trouble. But appearances were against
us, so we had to leave, going direct to Cheyenne, Wyoming. Here we
disposed of a small band of horses our boss had along, and which we did
not wish to take back home with us. They were sold to the Swarn Brothers
at a good price.

We remained in Cheyenne until the 18th of July, when we left for Texas,
arriving at the old Pali Dora range ranch on the 10th of August. We had
no more than got rested up before we were again called out on active
duty. The many large cattle owners of the panhandle country had got
together and come to the conclusion that the wild mustang horses,
large bands of which were running wild over the Arizona and Texas
plains, would make good cattle horses, and to that end a plan of
campaign was arranged, whereby they could be captured, and broken in and
put to some use, instead of causing damage to the range, as at present.

[Illustration: A Close Place in Old Mexico--Knocking a Man Over With
Every Bullet from My Colt's I Cut for the Open Country]



CHAPTER XII.

THE BIG WILD MUSTANG HUNT. WE TIRE THEM OUT. THE INDIANS CAPTURE OUR
MESS WAGON AND COOK. OUR BILL OF FARE BUFFALO MEAT WITHOUT SALT.


It was a bright clear morning in September as we were all gathered at
the old home ranch, prepared to start on the great mustang hunt. There
was one of the best men from each of the big cattle ranges in the
panhandle and Arizona country, making twenty of the best range riders
ever assembled together for a single purpose, while we were mounted on
the best and fastest horses the Texas and Arizona cattle country could
produce, while a horse rustler had left four days before with twenty
more equally as good horses, giving each of us two horses apiece. We
carried with us four days' rations, consisting of dried beef, crackers,
potatoes, coffee--we had no sugar. The mess wagon well stocked with
provisions for a two months' trip had also left four days before for a
place in the wild horse district, where we knew the mustangs were to be
found.

Many of the cattle men of Texas and Arizona were present to see us off,
and the boss gave us a little talk on what was expected of us, and said,
among other things, we were twenty of the best and gamest cow boys who
ever roamed the western plains, and that he knew we would make good on
hearing these words--we one and all resolved to do our best.

And swinging into the saddle we emptied our guns as a parting salutation
and started on a dead run across the plains towards the scene of our
duty. After a hard ride of ten days we sighted a band of about
seventy-five mustangs. We at once proceeded to run them down. It was
decided that twenty of us should surround the herd in a large circle,
ten or fifteen miles across, which would leave a space of several miles
between each rider, but not of a greater distance than he could easily
cover when he saw the band coming his way or heard our signals.

The horse rustler was to keep the extra horses at a place where they
would be safe and at the same time handy to the riders. Our plans
completed, each rider made preparations to start for his station. But
here another difficulty arose. We had not yet seen anything of our cook
and mess wagon. It had not arrived at the place agreed upon, although it
had had ample time to do so. Our provisions which we carried were quite
low, so after waiting as long as we could, and the mess wagon failing to
show up, we decided to start the hunt and take our chances on grub from
what we could knock over with our guns.

Accordingly the boys all started out for their several stations. After
waiting a reasonable length of time to give them an opportunity to reach
their positions, we made for the herd, which as near as we could judge
contained about seventy-five of the prettiest horses it was ever my
pleasure to see. The magnificent stallion who happened to be on guard
had no sooner seen us than he gave the danger signal to the herd, who
were off like the wind, led by a beautiful snow white stallion. To get
them going was our only duty at present, and we well knew the importance
of saving our saddle horses for the more serious work before us.
Therefore we only walked our horses, or went on a dog trot, keeping a
sharp lookout for the herd's return.

The band of wild horses would run ten or fifteen miles across the
prairie, where they would catch sight of the other boys, then off they
would go in another direction, only to repeat the performance, as they
struck the other side of the circle. In this way they would make from
fifty to sixty miles to our ten, and we were slowly working them down.
We kept them going this way day and night, not giving them a moment's
rest or time to eat. After keeping them on the go this way for ten days
we were able to get within a mile of them and could see some of the
stallions taking turns at leading the herd, while other stallions would
be in the rear fighting them on. In a few days more we were near
enough to begin shooting the stallions out of the herd. Then we could
handle them a great deal better. At this time our want of grub began to
tell on us. Our cook and mess wagon had not showed up, so we had long
since given them up as lost. We believed they had been captured by the
Indians and future events proved we were right.

[Illustration: The Big Wild Mustang Hunt--We Were Roping and Riding Them
in Fox Canyon]

Our only food consisted of buffalo meat of which we were able to secure
plenty, but buffalo meat for breakfast, dinner and supper every day
without bread or salt is not the most palatable bill of fare, especially
when it is all we had day after day, without any prospect of a change
until we got home. But we were game and resolved to stay with our work
until it was finished, especially as we only had twenty men and everyone
was badly needed in the work ahead of us, so we did not think we could
spare a man to return home after grub. So we swallowed our buffalo meat
day after day and kept the horses moving.

They were now pretty well worked down, and we proceeded to work them
toward a place where we could begin to rope them. There were now only a
few stallions left in the herd as we had shot nearly all of them, and
the others were too tired to cause us any trouble. We had now been out
of grub over three weeks except buffalo meat and such other game as we
could bring down with our guns. Our fears that the cook and mess wagon
had been captured by the Indians proved well founded, as we about this
time met an outfit who had seen the place where the cook was killed.
They said the surroundings indicated that quite a large band had
surprised the cook and driver, but that they had put up a brave fight as
evidenced by the large number of empty rifle and revolver shells
scattered around. Our first impulse after hearing this was to start in
pursuit of the red skins and get revenge, but calmer judgment showed
that such a course would be useless, because the Indians had a couple of
weeks start of us and we did not know what tribe had committed the
offense as there were so many Indians in that part of the country and in
the Indian territory, and besides our horses were in no shape to chase
Indians, so much to our regret our comrades had to go unrevenged at
least for the present, but we all swore to make the Indians pay dearly,
especially the guilty ones, if it were possible to discover who they
were. We continued to work the mustangs back and forth, and in thirty
days from the time we started out we had about sixty head hemmed up in
Yellow Fox Canyon and were roping and riding them. They were not hard to
handle as they were so poor some of them could hardly walk. This was not
to be wondered at, as we had kept them on the go for the past thirty
days, never once giving them a moment's rest day or night, and in that
time they had very little to eat and no sleep. After roping and riding
them all we got them together and headed for home.

Arriving at the ranch the mustangs were allowed to eat all they wanted
and were roped and ridden until they were fairly well broken, when they
were turned out with the other ranch horses. They proved good saddle
horses, but as soon as they were turned out with the ranch horses they
would start for their old feeding grounds, leading the other horses with
them. We found it impossible to thoroughly domesticate them, so for that
reason we gave them up as a bad proposition, and did not attempt to
capture any more, though at that time thousands of wild mustangs were on
the plains of Texas, Arizona, Wyoming and in fact all over the West.
They were large, fine and as pretty a lot of horses as one could wish to
see. They were seldom molested, though once in a while the Indians would
make a campaign against them and capture a few, but not often, as they
were so hard to capture. It was not worth the trouble, as it was almost
impossible to approach them nearer than two miles, and there was always
some stallions on the lookout while the others grazed over the plains,
so it was out of the question to surprise them. At the first sign of
danger the stallion sentinel would give his shrill neigh of warning and
the herd were off like the wind.

We received unstinted praise from our employers for bringing to a
successful conclusion the errand on which we were sent under such trying
circumstances. But now that we were where grub was plentiful we looked
on our experience as nothing to make a fuss over.

But we deeply regretted the loss of our cook and mess wagon, and we
resolved that if we ever found the guilty parties to make it rather warm
for them. This we never did, neither did we ever hear more of the fate
of the cook. Our work, so far as trips on the trail were concerned, was
over for this season, and we could count on a long rest until spring, as
aside from range riding and feeding there was nothing doing around the
home ranch. But sometimes the range riding kept us on the go pretty
lively, especially during and after a big storm, which sometimes
scattered the cattle all over the surrounding country, and it would take
some lively riding to get them all together again. Then the Indians and
the white cattle thieves would make raids on our herds, running them off
in great numbers and stampeding the balance of the herd.

This generally resulted in us chasing them sometimes for miles over the
prairies, and we generally were successful in recovering our cattle and
punishing the cattle thieves in a manner that they did not soon forget.
But then again sometimes they would stampede the herd in the night, and
under the cover of darkness and the excitement would manage to make off
with some of the best horses or the choicest cattle, and by the time we
missed them the thieves would have such a start that it was impossible
to overtake them, but if they were overtaken, vengeance was swift and
sure.



CHAPTER XIII.

ON THE TRAIL WITH THREE THOUSAND HEAD OF TEXAS STEERS. RUMORS OF TROUBLE
WITH THE INDIANS AT DEADWOOD. THE ROPING CONTEST. I WIN THE NAME OF
DEADWOOD DICK. THE SHOOTING MATCH. THE CUSTER MASSACRE. THE VIEW OF THE
BATTLE FIELD. GOVERNMENT SCOUTS. AT HOME AGAIN.


In the spring of 1876 orders were received at the home ranch for three
thousand head of three-year-old steers to be delivered near Deadwood,
South Dakota. This being one of the largest orders we had ever received
at one time, every man around the ranch was placed on his mettle to
execute the order in record time.

Cow boys mounted on swift horses were dispatched to the farthest limits
of the ranch with orders to round up and run in all the three-year-olds
on the place, and it was not long before the ranch corrals began to fill
up with the long horns as they were driven by the several parties of cow
boys; as fast as they came in we would cut out, under the bosses' orders
such cattle as were to make up our herd.

[Illustration: The Roping Contests at Deadwood, S. D.]

In the course of three days we had our herd ready for the trail and we
made our preparations to start on our long journey north. Our route lay
through New Mexico, Colorado and Wyoming, and as we had heard rumors
that the Indians were on the war path and were kicking up something of a
rumpus in Wyoming, Indian Territory and Kansas, we expected trouble
before we again had the pleasure of sitting around our fire at the home
ranch. Quite a large party was selected for this trip owing to the size
of the herd and the possibility of trouble on the trail from the
Indians. We, as usual, were all well armed and had as mounts the best
horses our ranch produced, and in taking the trail we were perfectly
confident that we could take care of our herd and ourselves through
anything we were liable to meet. We had not been on the trail long
before we met other outfits who told us that General Custer was out
after the Indians and that a big fight was expected when the Seventh U.
S. Cavalry, General Custer's command, met the Crow tribe and other
Indians under the leadership of Sitting Bull, Rain-in-the-Face, Old
Chief Joseph, and other chiefs of lesser prominence, who had for a long
time been terrorizing the settlers of that section and defying the
Government.

[Illustration: I Rope, Throw, Saddle, Bridle and Mount My Mustang in
Nine Minutes]

As we proceeded on our journey it became evident to us that we were only
a short distance behind the soldiers. When finally the Indians and
soldiers met in the memorable battle or rather massacre in the Little
Big Horn Basin on the Little Big Horn River in northern Wyoming, we were
only two days behind them, or within 60 miles, but we did not know that
at the time or we would have gone to Custer's assistance. We did not
know of the fight or the outcome until several days after it was over.
It was freely claimed at the time by cattle men who were in a position
to know and with whom I talked that if Reno had gone to Custer's aid as
he promised to do, Custer would not have lost his entire command and his
life.

It was claimed Reno did not obey his orders, however that may be, it was
one of the most bloody massacres in the history of this country. We went
on our way to Deadwood with our herd, where we arrived on the 3rd of
July, 1876, eight days after the Custer massacre took place.

The Custer Battle was June 25, '76, the battle commenced on Sunday
afternoon and lasted about two hours. That was the last of General
Custer and his Seventh Cavalry. How I know this so well is because we
had orders from one of the Government scouts to go in camp, that if we
went any farther North we were liable to be captured by the Indians.

We arrived in Deadwood in good condition without having had any trouble
with the Indians on the way up. We turned our cattle over to their new
owners at once, then proceeded to take in the town. The next morning,
July 4th, the gamblers and mining men made up a purse of $200 for a
roping contest between the cow boys that were then in town, and as it
was a holiday nearly all the cow boys for miles around were assembled
there that day. It did not take long to arrange the details for the
contest and contestants, six of them being colored cow boys, including
myself. Our trail boss was chosen to pick out the mustangs from a herd
of wild horses just off the range, and he picked out twelve of the most
wild and vicious horses that he could find.

[Illustration: My First Indian Fight]

The conditions of the contest were that each of us who were mounted was
to rope, throw, tie, bridle and saddle and mount the particular horse
picked for us in the shortest time possible. The man accomplishing the
feat in the quickest time to be declared the winner.

It seems to me that the horse chosen for me was the most vicious of the
lot. Everything being in readiness, the "45" cracked and we all sprang
forward together, each of us making for our particular mustang.

I roped, threw, tied, bridled, saddled and mounted my mustang in exactly
nine minutes from the crack of the gun. The time of the next nearest
competitor was twelve minutes and thirty seconds. This gave me the
record and championship of the West, which I held up to the time I quit
the business in 1890, and my record has never been beaten. It is worthy
of passing remark that I never had a horse pitch with me so much as that
mustang, but I never stopped sticking my spurs in him and using my quirt
on his flanks until I proved his master. Right there the assembled crowd
named me Deadwood Dick and proclaimed me champion roper of the western
cattle country.

The roping contest over, a dispute arose over the shooting question with
the result that a contest was arranged for the afternoon, as there
happened to be some of the best shots with rifle and revolver in the
West present that day. Among them were Stormy Jim, who claimed the
championship; Powder Horn Bill, who had the reputation of never missing
what he shot at; also White Head, a half breed, who generally hit what
he shot at, and many other men who knew how to handle a rifle or
45-colt.

The range was measured off 100 and 250 yards for the rifle and 150 for
the Colt 45. At this distance a bulls eye about the size of an apple was
put up. Each man was to have 14 shots at each range with the rifle and
12 shots with the Colts 45. I placed every one of my 14 shots with the
rifle in the bulls eye with ease, all shots being made from the hip; but
with the 45 Colts I missed it twice, only placing 10 shots in the small
circle, Stormy Jim being my nearest competitor, only placing 8 bullets
in the bulls eye clear, the rest being quite close, while with the 45 he
placed 5 bullets in the charmed circle. This gave me the championship of
rifle and revolver shooting as well as the roping contest, and for that
day I was the hero of Deadwood, and the purse of $200 which I had won on
the roping contest went toward keeping things moving, and they did move
as only a large crowd of cattle men can move things. This lasted for
several days when most of the cattle men had to return to their
respective ranches, as it was the busy season, accordingly our outfit
began to make preparations to return to Arizona.

[Illustration: Indian Fight in Yellow Horse Canyon]

In the meantime news had reached us of the Custer massacre, and the
indignation and sorrow was universal, as General Custer was personally
known to a large number of the cattle men of the West. But we could do
nothing now, as the Indians were out in such strong force. There was
nothing to do but let Uncle Sam revenge the loss of the General and his
brave command, but it is safe to say not one of us would have hesitated
a moment in taking the trail in pursuit of the blood thirsty red skins
had the opportunity offered.

[Illustration: Crippled But Not Conquered--The Fight with Yellow Dog's
Tribe]

Everything now being in readiness with us we took the trail homeward
bound, and left Deadwood in a blaze of glory. On our way home we visited
the Custer battle field in the Little Big Horn Basin.

There was ample evidence of the desperate and bloody fight that had
taken place a few days before. We arrived home in Arizona in a short
time without further incident, except that on the way back we met and
talked with many of the famous Government scouts of that region, among
them Buffalo Bill (William F. Cody), Yellow Stone Kelley, and many
others of that day, some of whom are now living, while others lost their
lives in the line of duty, and a finer or braver body of men never
lived than these scouts of the West. It was my pleasure to meet Buffalo
Bill often in the early 70s, and he was as fine a man as one could wish
to meet, kind, generous, true and brave.

[Illustration: The Roping Contest at Deadwood, S. D.]

Buffalo Bill got his name from the fact that in the early days he was
engaged in hunting buffalo for their hides and furnishing U. P. Railroad
graders with meat, hence the name Buffalo Bill. Buffalo Bill,
Yellowstone Kelley, with many others were at this time serving under
Gen. C. C. Miles.

The name of Deadwood Dick was given to me by the people of Deadwood,
South Dakota, July 4, 1876, after I had proven myself worthy to carry
it, and after I had defeated all comers in riding, roping, and shooting,
and I have always carried the name with honor since that time.

We arrived at the home ranch again on our return from the trip to
Deadwood about the middle of September, it taking us a little over two
months to make the return journey, as we stopped in Cheyenne for several
days and at other places, where we always found a hearty welcome,
especially so on this trip, as the news had preceded us, and I received
enough attention to have given me the big head, but my head had
constantly refused to get enlarged again ever since the time I sampled
the demijohn in the sweet corn patch at home.

Arriving at home, we received a send off from our boss and our comrades
of the home ranch, every man of whom on hearing the news turned loose
his voice and his artillery in a grand demonstration in my honor.

But they said it was no surprise to them, as they had long known of my
ability with the rope, rifle and 45 Colt, but just the same it was
gratifying to know I had defeated the best men of the West, and brought
the record home to the home ranch in Arizona. After a good rest we
proceeded to ride the range again, getting our herds in good condition
for the winter now at hand.



CHAPTER XIV.

RIDING THE RANGE. THE FIGHT WITH YELLOW DOG'S TRIBE. I AM CAPTURED AND
ADOPTED BY THE INDIANS. MY ESCAPE. I RIDE A HUNDRED MILES IN TWELVE
HOURS WITHOUT A SADDLE. MY INDIAN PONY. "YELLOW DOG CHIEF." THE BOYS
PRESENT ME WITH A NEW OUTFIT. IN THE SADDLE AND ON THE TRAIL AGAIN.


It was a bright, clear fall day, October 4, 1876, that quite a large
number of us boys started out over the range hunting strays which had
been lost for some time. We had scattered over the range and I was
riding along alone when all at once I heard the well known Indian war
whoop and noticed not far away a large party of Indians making straight
for me. They were all well mounted and they were in full war paint,
which showed me that they were on the war path, and as I was alone and
had no wish to be scalped by them I decided to run for it. So I headed
for Yellow Horse Canyon and gave my horse the rein, but as I had
considerable objection to being chased by a lot of painted savages
without some remonstrance, I turned in my saddle every once in a while
and gave them a shot by way of greeting, and I had the satisfaction of
seeing a painted brave tumble from his horse and go rolling in the dust
every time my rifle spoke, and the Indians were by no means idle all
this time, as their bullets were singing around me rather lively, one of
them passing through my thigh, but it did not amount to much. Reaching
Yellow Horse Canyon, I had about decided to stop and make a stand when
one of their bullets caught me in the leg, passing clear through it and
then through my horse, killing him. Quickly falling behind him I used
his dead body for a breast work and stood the Indians off for a long
time, as my aim was so deadly and they had lost so many that they were
careful to keep out of range.

But finally my ammunition gave out, and the Indians were quick to find
this out, and they at once closed in on me, but I was by no means
subdued, wounded as I was and almost out of my head, and I fought with
my empty gun until finally overpowered. When I came to my senses I was
in the Indians' camp.

My wounds had been dressed with some kind of herbs, the wound in my
breast just over the heart was covered thickly with herbs and bound up.
My nose had been nearly cut off, also one of my fingers had been nearly
cut off. These wounds I received when I was fighting my captors with my
empty gun. What caused them to spare my life I cannot tell, but it was I
think partly because I had proved, myself a brave man, and all savages
admire a brave man and when they captured a man whose fighting powers
were out of the ordinary they generally kept him if possible as he was
needed in the tribe.

Then again Yellow Dog's tribe was composed largely of half breeds, and
there was a large percentage of colored blood in the tribe, and as I was
a colored man they wanted to keep me, as they thought I was too good a
man to die. Be that as it may, they dressed my wounds and gave me plenty
to eat, but the only grub they had was buffalo meat which they cooked
over a fire of buffalo chips, but of this I had all I wanted to eat. For
the first two days after my capture they kept me tied hand and foot. At
the end of that time they untied my feet, but kept my hands tied for a
couple of days longer, when I was given my freedom, but was always
closely watched by members of the tribe. Three days after my capture my
ears were pierced and I was adopted into the tribe. The operation of
piercing my ears was quite painful, in the method used, as they had a
small bone secured from a deer's leg, a small thin bone, rounded at the
end and as sharp as a needle. This they used to make the holes, then
strings made from the tendons of a deer were inserted in place of
thread, of which the Indians had none. Then horn ear rings were placed
in my ears and the same kind of salve made from herbs which they placed
on my wounds was placed on my ears and they soon healed.

[Illustration: I am Adopted by Yellow Dog's Tribe--The War Dance]

The bullet holes in my leg and breast also healed in a surprisingly
short time. That was good salve all right. As soon as I was well enough
I took part in the Indian dances. One kind or another was in progress
all the time. The war dance and the medicine dance seemed the most
popular. When in the war dance the savages danced around me in a circle,
making gestures, chanting, with every now and then a blood curdling
yell, always keeping time to a sort of music provided by stretching
buffalo skins tightly over a hoop.

When I was well enough I joined the dances, and I think I soon made a
good dancer. The medicine dance varies from the war dance only that in
the medicine dance the Indians danced around a boiling pot, the pot
being filled with roots and water and they dance around it while it
boils. The medicine dance occurs about daylight.

I very soon learned their ways and to understand them, though our
conversation was mostly carried on by means of signs. They soon gave me
to understand that I was to marry the chief's daughter, promising me 100
ponies to do so, and she was literally thrown in my arms; as for the
lady she seemed perfectly willing if not anxious to become my bride. She
was a beautiful woman, or rather girl; in fact all the squaws of this
tribe were good looking, out of the ordinary, but I had other notions
just then and did not want to get married under such circumstances, but
for prudence sake I seemed to enter into their plans, but at the same
time keeping a sharp lookout for a chance to escape. I noted where the
Indians kept their horses at night, even picking out the handsome and
fleet Indian pony which I meant to use should opportunity occur, and I
seemed to fall in with the Indians' plans and seemed to them so
contented that they gave me more and more freedom and relaxed the strict
watch they had kept on me, and finally in about thirty days from the
time of my capture my opportunity arrived.

[Illustration: My Escape--I Ride a Hundred Miles in Twelve Hours Without
a Saddle]

My wounds were now nearly well, and gave me no trouble. It was a dark,
cloudy night, and the Indians, grown careless in their fancied security,
had relaxed their watchfulness. After they had all thrown themselves on
the ground and the quiet of the camp proclaimed them all asleep I got up
and crawling on my hands and knees, using the greatest caution for fear
of making a noise, I crawled about 250 yards to where the horses were
picketed, and going to the Indian pony I had already picked out I
slipped the skin thong in his mouth which the Indians use for a bridle,
one which I had secured and carried in my shirt for some time for this
particular purpose, then springing to his back I made for the open
prairie in the direction of the home ranch in Texas, one hundred miles
away. All that night I rode as fast as my horse could carry me and the
next morning, twelve hours after I left the Indians camp I was safe on
the home ranch again. And my joy was without bounds, and such a
reception as I received from the boys. They said they were just one day
late, and if it hadn't been for a fight they had with some of the same
tribe, they would have been to my relief. As it was they did not expect
to ever see me again alive. But that they know that if the Indians did
not kill me, and gave me only half a chance I would get away from them,
but now that I was safe home again, nothing mattered much and nothing
was too good for me.

It was a mystery to them how I managed to escape death with such wounds
as I had received, the marks of which I will carry to my grave and it is
as much a mystery to me as the bullet that struck me in the breast just
over the heart passed clear through, coming out my back just below the
shoulder: Likewise the bullet in my leg passed clear through, then
through my horse, killing him.

Those Indians are certainly wonderful doctors, and then I am naturally
tough as I carry the marks of fourteen bullet wounds on different part
of my body, most any one of which would be sufficient to kill an
ordinary man, but I am not even crippled. It seems to me that if ever a
man bore a charm I am the man, as I have had five horses shot from under
me and killed, have fought Indians and Mexicans in all sorts of
situations, and have been in more tight places than I can number. Yet I
have always managed to escape with only the mark of a bullet or knife as
a reminder. The fight with the Yellow Dog's tribe is probably the
closest call I ever had, and as close a call as I ever want.

The fleet Indian pony which carried me to safety on that memorable
hundred mile ride, I kept for about five years. I named him "The Yellow
Dog Chief." And he lived on the best the ranch afforded, until his death
which occurred in 1881, never having anything to do except an occasional
race, as he could run like a deer. I thought too much of him to use him
on the trail and he was the especial pet of every one on the home ranch,
and for miles around.

I heard afterwards that the Indians persued me that night for quite a
distance, but I had too much the start and besides I had the fastest
horse the Indians owned. I have never since met any of my captors of
that time. As they knew better than to venture in our neighborhood
again. My wound healed nicely, thanks to the good attention the Indians
gave me. My captors took everything of value I had on me when captured.
My rifle which I especially prized for old associations sake; also my
forty fives, saddle and bridle, in fact my whole outfit leaving me only
the few clothes I had on at the time.

My comrades did not propose to let this bother me long, however, because
they all chipped in and bought me a new outfit, including the best rifle
and revolvers that could be secured, and I had my pick of the ranch
horses for another mount. During my short stay with the Indians I
learned a great deal about them, their ways of living, sports, dances,
and mode of warfare which proved of great benefit to me in after years.
The oblong shields they carried were made from tanned buffalo skins and
so tough were they made that an arrow would not pierce them although I
have seen them shoot an arrow clean through a buffalo. Neither will a
bullet pierce them unless the ball hits the shield square on, otherwise
it glances off.

All of them were exceedingly expert with the bow and arrow, and they
are proud of their skill and are always practicing in an effort to excel
each other. This rivalry extends even to the children who are seldom
without their bows and arrows.

They named me Buffalo Papoose, and we managed to make our wants known by
means of signs. As I was not with them a sufficient length of time to
learn their language, I learned from them that I had killed five of
their number and wounded three while they were chasing me and in the
subsequent fight with my empty gun. The wounded men were hit in many
places, but they were brought around all right, the same as I was. After
my escape and after I arrived home it was some time before I was again
called to active duty, as the boys would not hear of me doing anything
resembling work, until I was thoroughly well and rested up. But I soon
began to long for my saddle and the range.

And when orders were received at the ranch for 2000 head of cattle, to
be delivered at Dodge City, Kansas, I insisted on taking the trail
again. It was not with any sense of pride or in bravado that I recount
here the fate of the men who have fallen at my hand.

It is a terrible thing to kill a man no matter what the cause. But as I
am writing a true history of my life, I cannot leave these facts out.
But every man who died at my hands was either seeking my life or died in
open warfare, when it was a case of killing of being killed.



CHAPTER XV.

ON A TRIP TO DODGE CITY, KAN. I ROPE ONE OF UNCLE SAM'S CANNON. CAPTURED
BY THE SOLDIERS. BAT MASTERSON TO MY RESCUE. LOST ON THE PRAIRIE. THE
BUFFALO HUNTER CATER. MY HORSE GETS AWAY AND LEAVES ME ALONE ON THE
PRAIRIE. THE BLIZZARD. FROZEN STIFF.


In the spring of 1877, now fully recovered from the effects of the very
serious wounds I had received at the hands of the Indians and feeling my
old self again, I joined the boys in their first trip of the season,
with a herd of cattle for Dodge City. The trip was uneventful until we
reached our destination. This was the first time I had been in Dodge
City since I had won the name of "DEADWOOD DICK", and many of the boys,
who knew me when I first joined the cow boys there in 1869, were there
to greet me now. After our herd had been delivered to their new owners,
we started out to properly celebrate the event, and for a space of
several days we kept the old town on the jump.

And so when we finally started for home all of us had more or less of
the bad whiskey of Dodge City under our belts and were feeling rather
spirited and ready for anything.

I probably had more of the bad whiskey of Dodge City than any one and
was in consequence feeling very reckless, but we had about exhausted our
resources of amusement in the town, and so were looking for trouble on
the trail home.

On our way back to Texas, our way led past old Fort Dodge. Seeing the
soldiers and the cannon in the fort, a bright idea struck me, but a fool
one just the same. It was no less than a desire to rope one of the
cannons. It seemed to me that it would be a good thing to rope a cannon
and take it back to Texas with us to fight Indians with.

The bad whiskey which I carried under my belt was responsible for the
fool idea, and gave me the nerve to attempt to execute the idea. Getting
my lariat rope ready I rode to a position just opposite the gate of the
fort, which was standing open. Before the gate paced a sentry with his
gun on his shoulder and his white gloves showing up clean and white
against the dusty grey surroundings. I waited until the sentry had
passed the gate, then putting spurs to my horse I dashed straight for
and through the gate into the yard. The surprised sentry called halt,
but I paid no attention to him. Making for the cannon at full speed my
rope left my hand and settled square over the cannon, then turning and
putting spurs to my horse I tried to drag the cannon after me, but
strain as he might my horse was unable to budge it an inch. In the
meantime the surprised sentry at the gate had given the alarm and now I
heard the bugle sound, boots and saddles, and glancing around I saw the
soldiers mounting to come after me, and finding I could not move the
cannon, I rode close up to it and got my lariat off then made for the
gate again at full speed. The guard jumped in front of me with his gun
up, calling halt, but I went by him like a shot, expecting to hear the
crack of his musket, but for some reason he failed to fire on me, and I
made for the open prairie with the cavalry in hot pursuit.

My horse could run like a wild deer, but he was no match for the big,
strong, fresh horses of the soldiers and they soon had me. Relieving me
of my arms they placed me in the guard house where the commanding
officer came to see me. He asked me who I was and what I was after at
the fort. I told him and then he asked me if I knew anyone in the city.
I told him I knew Bat Masterson. He ordered two guards to take me to the
city to see Masterson. As soon as Masterson saw me he asked me what the
trouble was, and before I could answer, the guards told him I rode into
the fort and roped one of the cannons and tried to pull it out. Bat
asked me what I wanted with a cannon and what I intended doing with it.
I told him I wanted to take it back to Texas with me to fight the
Indians with; then they all laughed. Then Bat told them that I was all
right, the only trouble being that I had too much bad whiskey under my
shirt. They said I would have to set the drinks for the house. They came
to $15.00, and when I started to pay for them, Bat said for me to keep
my money that he would pay for them himself, which he did. Bat said that
I was the only cowboy that he liked, and that his brother Jim also
thought very much of me. I was then let go and I joined the boys and we
continued on our way home, where we arrived safely on the 1st of June,
1877.

[Illustration: I Rope One of Uncle Sam's Cannon--Fort Dodge, Kan.]

We at once began preparing for the coming big round up. As usual this
kept us very busy during the months of July and August, and as we
received no more orders for cattle this season, we did not have to take
the trail again, but after the round up was over, we were kept busy in
range riding, and the general all around work of the big cattle ranch.
We had at this time on the ranch upwards of 30,000 head of cattle, our
own cattle, not to mention the cattle belonging to the many other
interests without the Pan Handle country, and as all these immense herds
used the range of the country, in common as there was no fences to
divide the ranches, consequently the cattle belonging to the different
herds often got mixed up and large numbers of them strayed.

At the round ups it was our duty to cut out and brand the young calves,
take a census of our stock, and then after the round up was over we
would start out to look for possible strays. Over the range we would
ride through canyons and gorges, and every place where it was possible
for cattle to stray, as it was important to get them with the main herd
before winter set in, as if left out in small bunches there was danger
of them perishing in the frequent hard storms of the winter. While range
riding or hunting for strays, we always carried with us on our saddle
the branding irons of our respective ranches, and whenever we ran across
a calf that had not been branded we had to rope the calf, tie it, then a
fire was made of buffalo chips, the only fuel besides grass to be found
on the prairie.

[Illustration: I am Captured by the Soldiers]

The irons were heated and the calf was branded with the brand of the
finder, no matter who it personally belonged to. It now became the
property of the finder. The lost cattle were then driven to the main
herd. After they were once gotten together it was our duty to keep them
together during the winter and early spring. It was while out hunting
strays that I got lost, the first and only time I was ever lost in my
life, and for four days I had an experience that few men ever went
through and lived, as it was a close pull for me.

I had been out for several days looking for lost cattle and becoming
separated from the other boys and being in a part of the country
unfamiliar to me. It was stormy when I started out from the home ranch
and when I had ridden about a hundred miles from home it began to storm
in earnest, rain, hail, sleet, and the clouds seemed to touch the earth
and gather in their inpenetrable embrace every thing thereon. For a long
time I rode on in the direction of home, but as I could not see fifty
yards ahead it was a case of going it blind. After riding for many weary
hours through the storm I came across a little log cabin on the Palidore
river. I rode up to within one hundred yards of it where I was motioned
to stop by an old long haired man who stepped out of the cabin door with
a long buffalo gun on his arm. It was with this he had motioned me to
stop.

I promptly pulled up and raised my hat, which, according to the custom
of the cowboy country, gave him to understand I was a cowboy from the
western cow ranges. He then motioned me to come on. Riding up to the
cabin he asked me to dismount and we shook hands.

He said, when I saw you coming I said to myself that must be a lost
cowboy from some of the western cow ranges. I told him I was lost all
right, and I told him who I was and where from. Again we shook hands, he
saying as we did so, that we were friends until we met again, and he
hoped forever. He then told me to picket out my horse and come in and
have some supper, which very welcome invitation I accepted.

His cabin was constructed of rough hewn logs, somewhat after the fashion
of a Spanish block house. One part of it was constructed under ground, a
sort of dug out, while the upper portion of the cabin proper was
provided with many loop holes, commanding every direction.

He later told me these loop holes had stood him in handy many a time
when he had been attacked by Indians, in their efforts to capture him.
On entering his cabin I was amazed to see the walls covered with all
kinds of skins, horns, and antlers. Buffalo skins in great numbers
covered the floor and bed, while the walls were completely hidden behind
the skins of every animal of that region, including large number of
rattle snakes skins and many of their rattles.

His bed, which was in one corner of the dug out, was of skins, and to
me, weary from my long ride through the storm, seemed to be the most
comfortable place on the globe just then. He soon set before me a
bounteous supper, consisting of buffalo meat and corn dodgers, and
seldom before have I enjoyed a meal as I did that one. During supper he
told me many of his experiences in the western country. His name was
Cater, and he was one of the oldest buffalo hunters in that part of
Texas, having hunted and trapped over the wild country ever since the
early thirties, and during that time he had many a thrilling adventure
with Indians and wild animals.

I stayed with him that night and slept soundly on a comfortable bed he
made for me. The next morning he gave me a good breakfast and I prepared
to take my departure as the storm had somewhat moderated, and I was
anxious to get home, as the boys knowing I was out would be looking for
me if I did not show up in a reasonable time.

[Illustration: In My Fighting Clothes]

My kind host told me to go directly northwest and I would strike the
Calones flats, a place with which I was perfectly familiar. He said it
was about 75 miles from his place. Once there I would have no difficulty
in finding my way home. Cater put me up a good lunch to last me on my
way, and with many expressions of gratitude to him, I left him with his
skins and comfortable, though solitary life. All that day and part of
the night I rode in the direction he told me, until about 11 o'clock
when I became so tired I decided to go into camp and give my tired horse
a rest and a chance to eat. Accordingly I dismounted and removed the
saddle and bridle from my horse I hobbled him and turned him loose to
graze on the luxuriant grass, while I, tired out, laid down with my head
on my saddle fully dressed as I was, not even removing my belt
containing my 45 pistol from my waist, laying my Winchester close by.
The rain had ceased to fall, but it was still cloudy and threatening. It
was my intention to rest a few hours then continue on my way; and as I
could not see the stars on account of the clouds and as it was important
that I keep my direction northwest in order to strike the Flats, I had
carefully taken my direction before sundown, and now on moving my saddle
I placed it on the ground pointing in the direction I was going when I
stopped so that it would enable me to keep my direction when I again
started out. I had been laying there for some time and my horse was
quietly grazing about 20 yards off, when I suddenly heard something
squeal. It sounded like a woman's voice. It frightened my horse and he
ran for me. I jumped to my feet with my Winchester in my hand. This
caused my horse to rear and wheel and I heard his hobbles break with a
sharp snap. Then I heard the sound of his galloping feet going across
the Pan Handle plains until the sound was lost in the distance. Then I
slowly began to realize that I was left alone on the plains on foot, how
many miles from home I did not know. Remembering I had my guns all
right, it was my impulse to go in pursuit of my horse as I thought I
could eventually catch him after he had got over his scare, but when I
thought of my 40 pound saddle, and I did not want to leave that, so
saying to myself that is the second saddle I ever owned, the other
having been taken by the Indians when I was captured, and this saddle
was part of the outfit presented to me by the boys, and so tired and as
hungry as a hawk, I shouldered my saddle and started out in the
direction I was going when I went into camp, saying to myself as I did
so, if my horse could pack me and my outfit day and night I can at least
pack my outfit. Keeping my direction as well as I could I started out
over the prairie through the dark, walking all that night and all the
next day without anything to eat or drink until just about sundown and
when I had begun to think I would have to spend another night on the
prairie without food or drink, when I emerged from a little draw on to
a raise on the prairie, then looking over on to a small flat I saw a
large herd of buffalo. These were the first I had seen since I became
lost and the sight of them put renewed life and hope in me as I was then
nearly famished, and when I saw them I knew I had something to eat.

Off to one side about 20 yards from the main herd and about 150 yards
from me was a young calf. Placing my Winchester to my shoulder I glanced
along the shining barrel, but my hands shook so much I lowered it again,
not that I was afraid of missing it as I knew I was a dead shot at that
distance, but my weakness caused by my long enforced fast and my great
thirst made my eyes dim and my hands shake in a way they had never done
before, so waiting a few moments I again placed the gun to my shoulder
and this time it spoke and the calf dropped where it had stood. Picking
up my outfit I went down to where my supper was laying. I took out my
jack knife and commenced on one of his hind quarters. I began to skin
and eat to my hearts content, but I was so very thirsty. I had heard of
people drinking blood to quench their thirst and that gave me an idea,
so cutting the calf's throat with my knife I eagerly drank the fresh
warm blood.

It tasted very much like warm sweet milk. It quenched my thirst and made
me feel strong, when I had eaten all I could, I cut off two large chunks
of the meat and tied them to my saddle, then again shouldering the whole
thing I started on my way feeling almost as satisfied as if I had my
horse with me. I was lost two days, and two nights, after my horse left
me and all that time I kept walking packing my 40 pounds saddle and my
Winchester and two cattle pistols.

On the second night about daylight the weather became more threatening
and I saw in the distance a long column which looked like smoke. It
seemed to be coming towards me at the rate of a mile a minute. It did
not take it long to reach me, and when it did I struggled on for a few
yards but it was no use, tired as I was from packing my heavy outfit for
more than 48 hours and my long tramp, I had not the strength to fight
against the storm so I had to come alone. When I again came to myself I
was covered up head and foot in the snow, in the camp of some of my
comrades from the ranch.

It seemed from what I was told afterwards that the boys knowing I was
out in the storm and failing to show up, they had started out to look
for me, they had gone in camp during the storm and when the blizzard had
passed they noticed an object out on the prairie in the snow, with one
hand frozen, clenched around my Winchester and the other around the horn
of my saddle, and they had hard work to get my hands loose, they picked
me up and placed me on one of the horses and took me to camp where they
stripped me of my clothes and wrapped me up in the snow, all the skin
came off my nose and mouth and my hands and feet had been so badly
frozen that the nails all came off. After I had got thawed out in the
mess wagon and took me home in 15 days I was again in the saddle ready
for business but I will never forget those few days I was lost and the
marks of that storm I will carry with me always.



CHAPTER XIV.

THE OLD HAZE AND ELSWORTH TRAIL. OUR TRIP TO CHEYENNE. EX-SHERIFF PAT A.
GARRET. THE DEATH OF "BILLY THE KID". THE LINCOLN COUNTY CATTLE WAR.


Early the next spring 1878 we went on a short trip to Junction City,
Kan., with a small herd of horses for Hokin and Herst. We started out
from the home ranch early in April, stringing the herd out along the old
Haze and Elsworth trail. Everything went well until we were several days
out and we had went in camp for the night. The herd had been rounded up
and were grazing in the open prairie under the usual watch. And all the
cowboys except the first watch had turned in for a good night's rest,
when it began to storm finally developing into a genuine old fashioned
Texas storm, with the usual result that the herd stampeded.

The watch at once gave the alarm and we awoke to find everything in
confusion. It was a very dark night and under such circumstances it is
hard to control a herd of horses in a stampede. In a few moments every
man was in the saddle, as we always kept our saddle horses picketed out,
so they could not join the other horses. And it was our custom when on
the trail with a herd of horses on going into camp to leave our saddle
horses, saddled and bridled, merely loosing the cinches of the saddles
though sometimes we removed the bridles, to enable them to graze better.
So when the alarm was given in this instance, it did not take us long to
get in the saddle and after the horses who were now going across the
prairie as only frightened horses can go in a stampede.

The storm continued with more or less fury all night and it was late the
next day before we got the herd rounded up and under any sort of
control. The next morning we found that one of the boys, Frank Smith,
had lost his horse and outfit during the night. While chasing the horses
over the prairie, his horse stepped in a prairie dog's hole and fell.
Throwing his rider and snatching the rope out of Smith's hand, the horse
made off over the prairie carrying with him bridle, saddle and outfit,
and we never saw or heard of him again. After getting our breakfast, we
continued north, and all went well with us until we struck the Wakeeny
river, near Junction City, when in fording the stream. It was high water
and we were forced to swim our horses across. All went well with the
herd and the boys were following when one of them came near being
drowned, and was only saved by my quick rope.

I had entered the river and my horse was swimming easily, when on
glancing around I saw one of the boys, Loyd Hoedin by name, go under the
water. Both man and horse completely disappeared. They soon came up only
to disappear again. I saw at once something was wrong so when they came
up the second time I threw my rope. It fell near Hoedin, who had the
presence of mind to grasp it, and hold on while I snaked both man and
horse out to safety. After reaching Junction City and turning the herd
over to their new owners we started out to have the usual good time.
This lasted for several days during which time we cleaned up pretty near
all the money there was in the Junction with our horses in a six hundred
yard race, between ourselves and cow boys from different outfits who
happened to be in the city.

Our horses without exception proved the fastest runners, accordingly we
pocketed considerable coin, and in consequence we were feeling first
rate when we struck the trail homeward bound. We arrived at the home
ranch all right in June. This was the last trip we were called to make
this season, and our time for the remainder of the year was taken up
with the general routine work of the large cattle ranch.

Late the next season we took the trail en route to Cheyenne, Wyoming,
with two thousand head of fine Texas steers for the Swan Brothers, 20
miles northwest of Cheyenne. Nothing of unusual importance happened on
this trip aside from the regular incidents pertaining to driving such a
large herd of cattle on the trail. We had a few stampedes and lost a
few cattle, arriving in Cheyenne we had a royal good time for a few
days as usual before starting home. On arriving at the home ranch again
we found considerable excitement, owing to the war between the cattle
men and cattle rustlers and every man was needed at home and few there
were who did not take part in one way or another in the most bitter and
furious cattle war of history and I being one of the leading cowboys of
the West, necessarily took an active part in the dispute and many were
the sharp clashes between the waring factions that I witnessed and
fought in and was wounded many times in these engagements. For years the
cattle rustlers had been invading the large cattle ranges belonging to
the large cattle kings of the West and running off and branding large
numbers of choice cattle and horses, this led to many a sharp fight
between the cowboys and the rustlers, but of late these thieves had
become so bold and the losses of the cattle men had become so great that
the latter determined to put a stop to it, and so open war was declared.

On one side was the large ranchmen and cattle men and on the other the
Indians, half breeds, Mexicans and white outlaws that made the cattle
country their rendezvous. The cattle men had now organized with the
given determination of either killing or running out of the country for
good these thieves, who had caused them so much loss. And during the war
many of them cashed in and the others for the most part left for
pastures new, having been virtually whipped out of the country. It was a
desperate and bloody war while it lasted.

But it was satisfactory to the cattle men who could now rest easier in
the security of their herds and their grazing grounds. It was at this
time that I saw considerable of William H. Bonney alias "Billie the
kid", the most noted desperado and all around bad man the world has
known.

The first time I met Billie the Kid was in Antonshico, New Mexico, in a
saloon, when he asked me to drink with him, that was in 1877. Later he
hired to Pete Galligan, the man in whose employ I was. Galligan hired
the Kid to drive his buck board between the White Oaks, the nearest
town, and Galligan's ranch with provisions for the boys, and the Kid
told me himself that one these trips he would drive the team, on a dead
run, the whole distance of 30 miles to the Oaks in order to get there
quick so he would have more time to stay around town before it was time
to start back, then when he would arrive home the team was nearly dead
from exhaustion. He remained in the employ of Galligan for about eleven
months, then he was hired by John Chisholm to rustle cattle for him.
Chisholm agreed to pay the Kid so much per head for all the cattle the
Kid rustled. When the time came for a settlement, Chisholm failed to
settle right or to the Kid's satisfaction, then the Kid told Chisholm he
would give him one day to make up his mind to settle right, but before
the Kid could see Chisholm again, Chisholm left the country going east
where his brother was. The Kid then swore vengeance, and said he would
take his revenge out of Chisholm's men, and he at once began killing all
the employ of John Chisholm. He would ride up to a bunch of cowboys and
enquire if they worked for Chisholm. If they replied in the affirmative,
he would shoot them dead on the spot, and few men were quicker with a 45
or a deadly shot than "Billie the Kid". The next time I met the Kid was
in Holbrook, Arizona, just after a big round up. The Kid, Buck Cannon,
and Billie Woods were together. I was on my way to Silver City, New
Mexico, in the fall of 1880 when I met them, and as they were going
there also, we rode on together The "Kid" showed me the little log cabin
where he said he was born. I went in the cabin with him, and he showed
me how it was arranged when he lived there, showing me where the bed sat
and the stove and table. He then pointed out the old postoffice which he
said he had been in lots of times.

He told me he was born and raised in Silver City, New Mexico, which is
near the Moggocilion Mountains, and at that time the Kid was badly
wanted by the sheriffs of several counties for numerous murders
committed by him mostly of John Chisholm's men in Texas and New Mexico.

The Kid bid me good bye. He said he was going to the mountains as he
knew them well, and once there he was all right as he could stand off a
regiment of soldiers. The three of them departed together. I never saw
him again until the spring of 1881. I was in the city of Elmorgo, New
Mexico, and saw him the morning he was forced to flee to the mountains
to escape arrest. We could see him up there behind the rocks. He was
well armed having with him two Winchesters and two 45 Colts revolvers
and plenty of ammunition, and although the officers wanted him badly, no
one dared go up after him as it was certain death to come with range of
the Kid's guns. Later on he escaped and the next time I saw him was in
Antonshico, New Mexico. It was in June, and we had come up from Colonas
after some saddle horses, and I met and talked with him.

The next time I saw him he was laying dead at Pete Maxwell's ranch in
Lincoln county, New Mexico, having been killed by Pat A. Garret at that
time sheriff of Lincoln county, New Mexico. We arrived in Lincoln county
the very night he was killed at Pete Maxwell's ranch and went into camp
a short distance from Maxwell's, and we saw the Kid a short time after
he had been killed. The Kid had been arrested by Pat Garret and his
posse a short time before at Stinking Springs, New Mexico, along with
Tom Pickett, Billy Wilson and Dave Rudebough, after arresting these men
which was only effected after a hard fight and after the Kid's
ammunition had given out. Garret took the men heavily ironed to Los
Vegas. When it became known that Billy the Kid had been captured a mob
formed for the purpose of lynching him. But Garret placed his prisoners
in a box car over which himself and deputies stood guard until the train
pulled out which was nearly two hours. During that time the mob was
furious to get at the men, but they well knew the temper of Sheriff
Garret so they kept their distance.

The men were tried and convicted. The Kid and Rudbough were sentenced to
be hanged. Rudbough for having killed a jailer at Los Vegas in 1880. The
judge on passing sentence on the Kid, said you are sentenced to be
hanged by the neck until you are dead-dead-dead. The Kid laughed in the
judge's face saying, and you can go to Hell, Hell, Hell. After the Kid
had been sentenced he was placed in jail at Los Vegas, ironed hand and
foot, and under heavy guard, but never lost confidence and was always
looking for a chance to escape. When the day of his execution was not
much more than a week off, the Kid saw his chance, while eating his
supper both handcuffs had been fastened to one wrist so the Kid could
better feed himself. He was only guarded by one deputy named Bell. The
other deputy, Ollinger, had gone to supper across the street from the
jail. Bell turned his head for a moment and the Kid noticing the
movement quick as a flash brought the handcuffs down on Bell's head,
stunning him. The Kid then snatched Bell's revolver, he shot the deputy
through the body. Bell staggered to the steps down which he fell and
into the yard below where he died. Ollinger hearing the shot rushed
across the street. As he entered the jail yard he looked up and saw the
Kid at a window. As he did so the Kid shot Ollinger dead with a shot gun
which was loaded with buck shot. The Kid then broke the gun across the
window sill, then going to the room where the weapons were kept the Kid
picked out what guns he wanted and broke the balance. Then he made the
first person he met break the irons from his legs and bring him a horse.
The Kid then took four revolvers and two Winchester rifles and rode
away. Sheriff Garret was at White Oaks at the time and as soon he as
heard of the escape he hurried home and organized a posse to recapture
the Kid, but the Kid was at liberty two months before he was finally
rounded up and killed at Pete Maxwell's ranch. At the time the Kid
escaped at Los Vegas myself and a party of our boys had our horses at
Menderhall and Hunter's livery stable, just a few doors from the jail
and I was standing on the street talking to a friend when the Kid rode
by. From Los Vegas he went to the borders of Lincoln county where his
ever ready revolver was always in evidence. Shortly after his escape he
shot and killed William Mathews and a companion whom he met on the
prairie without apparent cause, and several other murders were
attributed to him before he was finally located at Maxwell's ranch and
killed by Sheriff Garret.

The Kid was only 22 years of age when his wild career was ended by the
bullet from the sheriff's gun and it is safe to assert he had at lease
one murder to the credit of every year of his life. He was killed by
Sheriff Garret in a room of one of the old houses at Fort Sumner, known
at that time as Maxwell's ranch, July 12, 1881, about two months after
his escape from the Lincoln county jail, and Sheriff Pat A. Garret, one
of the nervest men of that country of nervy men and the only man who
ever pursued the Kid and lived to tell the tale, is at present at the
head of the Customs Service at El Paso, Texas, and to meet him and note
his pleasant smile and kindly disposition, one would not believe him the
man who sent Billie the Kid to his last account. But behind the pleasant
twinkle in his eye and the warm hand clasp there is a head as cool and a
nerve as steady as ever held a 45.



CHAPTER XVII.

ANOTHER TRIP TO OLD MEXICO. I ROPE AN ENGINE. I FALL IN LOVE. MY
COURTSHIP. DEATH OF MY SWEETHEART. MY PROMISED WIFE. I MUST BEAR A
CHARMED LIFE. THE ADVENT OF PROGRESS. THE LAST OF THE RANGE.


On one of these memorable trips after cattle, and with cattle on the
trail, one that I will most likely remember, the longest was a trip to
Old Mexico after a herd of horses. It was on this trip that I fell in
love, the first time in my life. During my wild career on the western
plains I had met many handsome women, and they often made much of me,
but somehow I had never experienced the feeling called love, until I met
my charming sweetheart in Old Mexico. I had perhaps been too much
absorbed in the wild life of the plains, in the horses, and cattle which
made up my world, to have the time or inclination to seek or enjoy the
company of the gentler sex. But now that I had met my fate, I suppose I
became as silly about it as any tenderfoot from the east could possibly
be, as evidence of how badly I was hit. While on the trail with the herd
our route lay along a narrow gauge railroad, and I was feeling up in the
air caused no doubt partly from the effects of love and partly from the
effects of Mexican whiskey, a generous measure I had under my belt,
however I was feeling fine, so when the little engine came puffing along
in the distance I said to the boys I have roped nearly everything that
could be roped, so now I am going to rope the engine. They tried to
persuade me not to make the attempt, but I was in no mood to listen to
reason or anything else, so when the engine came along I put my spurs to
my horse and when near enough I let fly my lariat. The rope settled
gracefully around the smoke stack, and as usual my trained horse set
himself back for the shock, but the engine set both myself and my horse
in the ditch, and might have continued to set us in places had not
something given way, as it was the rope parted, but the boys said
afterwards that they thought they would have to send for a wrecking
train to clean the track or rather the ditch.

[Illustration: I Rope a Narrow Gauge Engine, my Lariat Settled
Gracefully Around the Smokestack and my Trained Horse Set Himself for
the Shock, but the Engine Set Both Myself and my Horse in the Ditch]

Roping a live engine is by long odds worse than roping wild Buffalo on
the plains or Uncle Sam's cannon at the forts. This incident cleared the
atmosphere somewhat, but my love was as strong as ever and I thanked my
lucky start she did not see me as they dragged me out of the ditch.

I first saw my sweetheart as we were driving the herd along the dusty
road, passing a small adobe house near the city of Old Mexico. I saw a
handsome young Spanish girl standing in the yard and I suppose I fell in
love with her at first sight, anyway I pretended to be very thirsty and
rode up and asked her for a drink. She gave it to me and I exchanged a
few words with her before joining the boys and the herds.

After that I saw her quite often during my stay in Old Mexico before we
again returned home. One day shortly before I was to leave for the North
I went to see her and overheard a conversation between her and her
mother, in which her mother said to her: "My daughter will you leave
your mother for to go with the wild cowboy?" And she answered no mother
I will not leave you to go with any wild cowboy. On hearing this I bid
her goodbye and a long farewell, as I told her I did not expect to ever
see her again. Then leaping to the back of my faithful horse I rode like
mad across the Mexican plains, until I had somewhat cooled down, but it
was a hard blow to me, as I truly loved her. After that I joined the
boys and returned up the trail with them. Six or seven months later we
were again in Old Mexico with a herd of cattle and went in camp some
distance out from the city, and as soon as she heard our outfit had
returned she rode out to the camp and after looking around and not
seeing me, she said to the camp boss, "Where is the wild cowboy that was
here with you last time? Did he not come up the trail with you". The
boss told her I had come up the trail but that I had not been seen since
crossing the last mountains as of course he knew whom she meant as my
little love affair was pretty generally known among the boys. When the
boss told her that I had not been seen since they had crossed the last
mountains, she hung her head and looked completely heart broken. I was
lying in the mess wagon at the time an interested spectator of all that
took place, and seeing her looking so downhearted I could hardly
restrain myself from jumping out of the wagon and taking her in my arms.
After a time she slowly raised her head and looked long and wistfully up
the trail. Then turning to the camp boss again she said, "Camp boss tell
me truly if Nat Love works with you and did he come on this trip with
you". The boss answered her as before that I had not been seen since
crossing the last mountains, which was true as I had been riding in the
mess wagon. On hearing the boss' answer she took it as final and started
to ride away.

[Illustration: The First Glimpse of My Spanish Sweetheart]

I thought it high time to make my presence known, as with the sight of
her, all my old love returned, and I forgot every thing except that I
loved her. So I jumped out of the wagon exclaiming here I am, and in a
minute we were locked in each others arms and I believe I kissed her
before all the boys, but I didn't care, she was mine now. We became
engaged and were to be married in the fall and were to make our home in
the city of Mexico, but in the spring she took sick and died. Her death
broke me all up and after I buried her I became very wild and reckless,
not caring what happened to me and when you saw me in the saddle you saw
me at home, and while I saw many women since I could never care for any
as I did for her. And I vainly tried to forget her and my sorrow in the
wild life of the plains and every danger I could find courting death in
fights with Indians and Mexicans and dare devil riding on the range, but
it seemed to me that I bore a charmed life. Horses were shot from under
me, men were killed around me, but always I escaped with a trifling
wound at the worst. As time passed I began to recover from my
disappointment and to take my old interest in the work of the ranch, and
as my reputation had spread over the country I did not lack work, but
was kept on the go all the time, first with one large cattle owner, then
with another. Most of my working being in the round ups and brandings,
brand reading, and with large herds on the trail, as during my long
experience in the cattle country I had traveled every known trail, and
over immense stretches of country where there was no sign of a trail,
nothing but the wide expanse of prairie; bare except for the buffalo
grass, with here and there a lone tree or a giant cactus standing as a
lone sentinel in the wildest of long stretches of grazing land rolling
away in billows of hill and gully, like the waves of the ocean. Likewise
I could read, identify and place every brand or mark placed on a horse
or steer between the Gulf of Mexico and the borders of Canada, on the
North and from Missouri to California. Over this stretch of country I
have often traveled with herds of horses or cattle or in searching for
strays or hunting the noble buffalo on his own native feeding grounds.
The great buffalo slaughter commenced in the west in 1874, and in 1877
they had become so scarce that it was a rare occasion when you came
across a herd containing more than fifty animals where before you could
find thousands in a herd. Many things were responsible for the
slaughter, but the principal reason that they had now become so scarce
was that in 1875 and 1876 the Indians started to kill them in large
numbers for their skins. Thousands were killed by them, skinned and the
carcasses left as food for the wolves and vultures of the prairie. Many
were killed by the white hunters to furnish meat for the railroad
graders and the troups at the frontier forts.

[Illustration: "Does the Wild Cow Boy Work With You?"]

While the big cattle ranches were always kept well supplied with buffalo
meat, on the stock of my rifle is one hundred and twenty-six notches,
each one representing a fine buffalo that has fallen to my own hand,
while some I have killed with the knife and 45 colts, I forgot to cut a
notch for. Buffalo hunting, a sport for kings, thy time has passed.
Where once they roamed by the thousands now rises the chimney and the
spire, while across their once peaceful path now thunders the iron
horse, awakening the echoes far and near with bell and whistle, where
once could only be heard the sharp crack of the rifle or the long
doleful yelp of the coyote. At the present time the only buffalo to be
found are in the private parks of a few men who are preserving them for
pleasure or profit.

With the march of progress came the railroad and no longer were we
called upon to follow the long horned steers or mustangs on the trail,
while the immense cattle ranges, stretching away in the distance as far
as the eye could see, now began to be dotted with cities and towns and
the cattle industry which once held a monopoly in the west, now had to
give way to the industry of the farm and the mill. To us wild cowboys of
the range, used to the wild and unrestricted life of the boundless
plains, the new order of things did not appeal, and many of us became
disgusted and quit the wild life for the pursuits of our more civilized
brother. I was among that number and in 1890 I bid farewell to the life
which I had followed for over twenty years.

It was with genuine regret that I left the long horn Texas cattle and
the wild mustangs of the range, but the life had in a great measure lost
its attractions and so I decided to quit it and try something else for a
while. During my life so far I had no chance to secure an education,
except the education of the plains and the cattle business. In this I
recognize no superior being. Gifted with a splendid memory and quick
observation I learned and remembered things that others passed by and
forgot, and I have yet to meet the man who can give me instruction in
the phases of a life in which I spent so long. After quitting the cowboy
life I struck out for Denver. Here I met and married the present Mrs.
Love, my second love. We were married August 22, 1889, and she is with
me now a true and faithful partner, and says she is not one bit jealous
of my first love, who lies buried in the city of Old Mexico.

One year later, in 1890, I accepted a position in the Pullman service on
the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad, running between Denver and Salida,
Colorado. The Pullman service was then in its infancy, so to speak, as
there was as much difference between the Pullman sleeping cars of those
days and the present as there is between the ox team and the
automobile.

[Illustration: My First Experience as a Pullman Porter]



CHAPTER XVIII.

THE PULLMAN SERVICE. LIFE ON THE RAIL. MY FIRST TRIP. A SLUMP IN TIPS. I
BECOME DISGUSTED AND QUIT. A PERIOD OF HUSKING. MY NEXT TRIP ON THE
PULLMAN. TIPS AND THE PEOPLE WHO GIVE THEM.


After my marriage in Denver, I rented a small cottage which I
comfortably furnished and we, Mrs. Love and myself, started to
housekeeping in a modest way. Then I began to look around for a job, but
to a man who was used to the excitement and continual action of the
range and the cattle ranches, the civilized and quiet life of the city
is apt to prove stale and uninteresting. It was that way with me, and
after passing up several jobs offered to me I thought I would try
railroading for awhile, probably for the same reason that prompted me to
leave home twenty years before; I still wanted to see the world. With
that idea in mind, I went to the Pullman offices in Denver, and after
making some inquiries I was directed to the office of Superintendent
Rummels who was at that time superintendent of the Pullman service.

A Mr. Wright was his assistant. I found Superintendent Rummels in his
office, and I asked him if he wanted to hire any more porters. He asked
me if I had ever worked for the Pullman company. I told him no that I
had been a cowboy ever since I was 16 years old. He then asked me if I
had money enough to buy my pullman uniform. I asked him how much it
would cost and he said $22.00. I told him yes, I had the price. He asked
me if I knew any one in Denver. I told him yes and gave him the name of
Mr. Sprangler who had my money in his bank. Supt. Rummels told me to get
a letter from Mr. Sprangler and he would put me on. So I went and got
the letter and with it the money to pay for my uniform, after having my
measure taken and sending for my suit. I borrowed a uniform from one of
the other porters and the second day after I called on the
superintendent I was sent on the run between Denver and Salida. One of
the old men put me on to my duties and showed me how to make up my car
and the general run of things.

On my first trip I found a kind friend in the Pullman conductor, a Mr.
Keely, who helped me in many ways and I suppose I made many blunders as
the difference between a Pullman car and the back of a Texas mustang is
very great. However I managed to get around among the passengers in my
car, and attend to their needs in some sort of a way.

My first trouble commenced when I succeeded in getting the shoes of
passengers which had been given to me to polish, badly mixed up. The
shoes of a portly red faced man whose berth was in the forward end of
the car, I placed by the berth of a tall and slim western yankee at the
other end of the car, while a number 7 and a number 9 shoe were placed
decorously by the berth of a sour spinster from New York. This naturally
caused a good sized rumpus the next morning. And sundry blessings were
heaped on the head of yours truly. Nearly all the passengers were mad
and the tips were conspicuous by their absence. That made me mad and
thoroughly disgusted with the job. On returning to Denver I again called
on Superintendent Rummels and told him that I had enough of the Pullman
service, and would rather go back to the cattle and the range.
Superintendent Rummels tried to persuade me to stay with it saying I had
done all right, and would improve with experience but I was thoroughly
disgusted and wanted no more of it, so I turned in my keys, got my
uniform and walked out. So again I was without a job.

After going around Denver for several days, it struck me that there was
money to be made selling fruit, vegetables, honey and chickens around
the town. Accordingly I purchased a horse and wagon and an assorted
stock and started out on my new vocation. This proved profitable from
the start and I made good money which caused me to stay with it for
nearly a year, when my natural restfulness caused me to become
discontented and to yearn for more excitement and something a little
faster so I disposed of my stock, horse and wagon, and started out to
look for something else to do, but that something else was about as hard
to find as the proverbial needle in the straw stack, at that particular
time. Whether it was fate or the talk of the other porters whom I met I
finally concluded to give the Pullman service another try. Accordingly I
called on Mr. J. M. Smith who was now district superintendent of the
Pullman service and asked him for a job. He asked me if I had been in
the company's service before and I told him yes. He asked me how long
and I told him one trip, and I told him why I quit, and that the tips
were too slow for me. He asked me if I thought it was any better now,
and I said I did not know whether it was any better or not but that I
thought I could do better.

He told me the whole secret of success was in pleasing all my
passengers. I told him I thought it was all right about pleasing two or
three passengers but when it came to pleasing a whole car full of
passengers, that was another matter. He said to try anyway. He than
assigned me to a car running on the narrow gauge line between Denver and
Alamosa, Creed and Durango. This was the real beginning of my Pullman
service.

I ran on the Colorado roads under Superintendent Smith for a number of
years and always found him courteous and obliging, always ready and
willing to help us with advice and counsel, but what proved a mystery to
me for a long time was how the superintendent managed to find out things
that happened on my car when he was not present. Sometimes when I went
to report or met him he would question me about things that happened on
my run, such as pleasing the passengers and other things, which I did
not suppose he knew a thing about and inquiries among the other trainmen
only deepened the mystery.

I would ask the Pullman conductor if he told the superintendent such and
such a thing and he would say no. Then I would ask him how the
superintendent knew about them as he was not on the train. He would say
he did not know. This kept up until finally I made up my mind that if
there ever was a clairvoyant the superintendent certainly was one.

The fact that he was able to find out things that happened hundreds of
miles away without any one telling him, kept me worked up for a long
time until I finally tumbled to the special agents who are employed to
travel as common passengers and report how things are going to the
superintendent. That explained the whole mystery, but it did not in any
way make me move easy in my mind, because if a special agent was along
one trip, there was no reason to think that one was not along every
trip. At least I made up my mind there was, and governed myself
accordingly, but the increased attention given to my passengers as a
result caused an increase in the tips, that came my way. With the
increase in my earnings and the experience I was gaining I came to have
a liking for the service, which is in no wise diminished at this time. I
soon learned the knack of pleasing the greater number of my passengers,
and this reported to the superintendent by the special agents raised me
in the official's favor with the result that I was given more extensive
and more profitable runs and soon became one of the most popular porters
in Colorado. This brought with it increased responsibilities as well as
increased profits and favors enjoyed.

When I started to work it was for $15.00 per month this has been
increased from time to time until at present owing to my long service
and having gained a thorough knowledge of my business, I am often made
porter in charge. This position pays me as high as $40.00 per month. The
difference between a porter and a porter in charge is that a porter
generally has a car over which a Pullman conductor presides, which the
porter in charge owing to his long service and his knowledge of the
business is placed in full charge of a car, making the services of a
Pullman conductor unnecessary. A porter in the employ of the Pullman
company for ten years and giving good service for that time receives
from the company two suits of clothes per year, and other privileges not
enjoyed by the beginner.

A porter just beginning in the service has to purchase his own uniform,
the cost of which is never less than $20.00 for the summer suit or
$22.00 for the winter suit. After five years of good service a porter
is entitled to wear one white stripe on his coat sleeve to which one is
added for every succeeding five years of good service. Naturally the
porter that understands his business and gives his whole attention to
the passengers in his car and to his work, will make more money than the
porter who has not the patience to try and please his passengers. I have
had porters complain to me about the small amount they were able to earn
in the service and on questioning them I found it was wholly because
they did not think it necessary to try and make friends of the people in
their car. I early recognized the fact that if I expected to succeed in
the Pullman service I must make all the friends I could on my runs, and
the cases are very rare where I have failed to receive a tip of some
kind from my passengers, although as it happens sometimes I have people
in my car who are not very well blessed with this world's goods, and who
can ill afford to spend money in tips. To such people I always give the
same attention and care, as if I was sure to receive a $10 tip, and they
rarely failed to give me a kind thank you, on leaving my car. In the
course of our duties we naturally meet all manner of people, the
business man out for business or pleasure, the drummers who nearly
always give us a tip; the wife going to join her sick husband or the
husband hurrying home to the bedside of his sick child; the invalid in
search of health, or the family going home to attend the funeral of a
loved one; the young man going to be married, and the young couple on
their honeymoon; the capitalist, the miner, the sportsman and the vast
army of people that go to make up the traveling public, who like the
sands of the desert are forever shifting around from place to place, and
with whom we porters are brought in closer contact perhaps than any one
else on their travels. We must necessarily be good judges of human
nature to be able to please the majority of the people who travel under
our care. We nearly always receive a tip from those who ride with us for
any distance. The size of the tip often depends on the mode of the
passenger giving it. Even those who ride with us only a short distance
often give us a tip of more generous proportions than will the man who
has ridden with us several thousands of miles. The superintendent
himself when he rides in our car, we are sure to receive from him 25
cents or 50 cents for a day or a day's ride.

The smallest tip I have received from a passenger during my service was
2 cents. This amount I received from a rather cranky individual, who
when I went to brush him off handed me two copper cents and followed
them up with the remark that some of us porters needed calling down and
some needed knocking down. My opinion if what he needed caused me to
smile, wherein he wanted to know what I was smiling at. Needless to say
I did not feel like wasting any more breath on him so I bundled his
boxes and satchel out on the platform and left him to follow at his
leisure.

The largest tips I ever received from a single traveler was $25.00 given
me by one of the Rothschilds whom I brought from Chicago to Frisco, but
this has been largely surpassed several times in car tips or trips. The
Knights Templar one of whose cars I had charge of between Denver and
Boston made, up a purse of $150.00 and presented it to me with the
compliments of the passengers in recognition of the good service I had
rendered them. While in charge of the private car of General Manager
Fisher in a trip through California and Mexico, Mr. Fisher made up a
purse of $75.00 for me, in recognition of my attentions to the members
of his party. But the man who gave me 5 cents received as much attention
from me as the man who gives me $5.00. It is perhaps all he can afford
and the manner in which he gives it often makes up for the smallness of
the tip.



CHAPTER XIX.

THE PULLMAN SLEEPING CAR. LONG TRIPS ON THE RAIL. THE WRECK. ONE TOUCH
OF NATURE MAKES THE WHOLE WORLD KIN. A FEW OF THE RAILROADS OVER WHICH I
HAVE TRAVELED. THE INVALID AND THE CARE WE GIVE THEM.


The modern Pullman sleeping car is a veritable palace on wheels
furnished in the best materials, without regard to expense, comfort,
convenience and the safety of the passengers being the main object. To
say that the builders of the Pullman cars have succeeded in attaining
this object is but a mild expression. Fine carpets cover the floors, the
seats and chairs are upholstered in the best and softest of material,
while every convenience is provided for the use of the lucky mortal who
is called across the continent on business or pleasure, and whose
pleasure it is to travel and sleep in the Pullman sleeping car of the
present day. The traveler of today when he has to go from Chicago to San
Francisco, simply throws a few things in a grip, is driven to the Union
terminal station in Chicago, where he secures a through ticket and a
sleeping car berth. At the car steps he is met by the Pullman porter who
relieves him of his grip and assists him on the train if necessary. From
that time until four days later when he arrives in San Francisco, he has
no more care. If he wishes to write letters there is a handy writing
tablet with stationery and everything needful. He can write his letters
and hand them to the porter to mail and continue his perusal of the
morning paper. If he gets hungry he has but to step in the dining car,
where he will find viands fit for a king. If he wants a shave or a
haircut, the barber is in the next car. If he wants to view the scenery
en route, the observation car is but a few steps away. When he gets
sleepy and wishes to retire he presses the electric button at his elbow
and the porter will do the rest, but if he prefers to lay in his
luxurious bed and read, he has but to turn on the electric light at his
bedside and he can read as long as he pleases, and when he arrives at
San Francisco he will be cleanly shaven, nicely brushed, with his shoes
freshly shined, and on the outside of a good breakfast, ready to tackle
at once the business or the pleasure that brought him across the
continent. Or, if the traveler prefers, he may swing aboard the
magnificently equipped and royally appointed Los Angeles Limited, one of
the finest through trains that this mundane sphere can boast. Catch this
train in Chicago, which you may do any day in the year, and it will
carry you with safety, speed and comfort over the fertile farms, meadows
and plains; through the City of the Saints on the second day; then
around the Great Dead Sea of America, over the sage brush plains and
grazing ranges of southern Nevada, and into the Land of Sunshine and
Flowers and the City of the Angels on the third day after leaving your
home in Chicago.

What a contrast to the mode of travel our grandfathers were forced to
adopt, a decade ago, when the old ox team and the prairie schooner
wended its slow way over the mountains and plains, over trails in every
turn of which lurked danger and death. "Verily the sun do move." During
my service with the Pullman company I have traveled from the Atlantic to
the Pacific and from the Gulf of Mexico to the borders of Canada, over
nearly all the many different lines of railroad that makes the map of
North America look like a spider had been crawling over it in search of
a fly. I have visited all the principal cities and towns where the sound
of the bell and the whistle is heard, and I have in a great measure
satisfied my desire to see the country. Among the great lines of railway
over which I have traveled are the Union Pacific, whose overland
limited, the Atlantic Express and the Portland-Chicago Special, are the
acme of quick, safe and comfortable travel. The overland limited is
electric lighted, steam heated and contains every known luxury and
convenience of travel. The Denver and Rio Grande Railroad is noted the
world over for its quick time, fine scenery, comfort and safety. The
Southern Pacific, the Baltimore & Ohio Southwestern, the Missouri
Pacific between St. Louis and all points east all electric lighted
trains with observation, parlor, cafe dining cars and Pullman sleeping
cars; the Chicago & Northwestern, whose through train service to Chicago
and the East from San Francisco, Los Angeles, Portland, Salt Lake, Ogden
and Denver is not excelled in any land; the Illinois Central Railroad,
whose eight track entrance to Chicago from the south along the lake
front is one of the triumphs of Yankee railroading, and whose train
service is elegant in the extreme. The Pennsylvania lines which will
take you from Chicago to New York in eighteen hours and make you feel
thoroughly comfortable while doing it. The Louisville and Nashville
Railroad, whose lines reach every town and hamlet in the solid South.
The Nickel Plate road, the direct line from Chicago to New York, Boston
and all points east, all trains of the Nickel Plate road arrive and
depart from the new LaSalle Street station, one of the finest railroad
stations in the country. The Santa Fe, from whose trains you can view
some of the finest scenery in the Rocky Mountains, including the Grand
Canyon of Arizona, a mile deep, thirteen miles wide, two hundred and
seventeen miles long and painted like a flower. The Lehigh Valley
Railroad to Chicago, New York and Philadelphia, from whose car windows
one may view the world-famous Niagara Falls. The Colorado & Southern,
the Colorado road over which travel is one continuous delight. The San
Pedro, Los Angeles and Salt Lake Railroad, one of the youngest but by no
means the least of railroads, the road that lies as straight as the crow
flies, linking together the City of the "Saints" and the City of the
"Angels." The snow-capped Rocky Mountains and the sun-kissed shores of
the Pacific Ocean, the dead sea and the live sea; the railroad that
makes it possible to have a sleigh ride with your second wife in the
City of the "Saints" on Sunday and pick flowers and eat oranges with
your first wife in the City of the "Angels" on Tuesday. Over this line I
am running at present, and while it has only been in operation a short
time, yet the time and service equals and in some cases surpasses the
time and service of the great Trunk Lines of the east. We often make
ninety miles an hour over the standard gauge roadbed, that equals any in
this country. The cars are all new, the engines are the latest
up-to-date kind. The cars are built for comfort and convenience, the
trains are all electric lighted, steam heated and have every modern
convenience for the safety and comfort of the passengers. This road, in
common with some of the eastern roads employs chair car porters in
addition to the Pullman porters. On all trains from Salt Lake to Los
Angeles there are three or four Pullman porters and one chair car
porter.

All trains have dining cars, which are in reality magnificent dining
rooms, where three times a day the dainties of the season are prepared
by a competent chef to satisfy the most discriminating inner man. The
furnishings of these cars, the fine linen, the artistic glass, china and
silverware, are guaranteed to make you enjoy your meal, even if you have
got dyspepsia. Besides the dining car and the Pullman sleeping cars,
there is attached to all overland trains on the Salt Lake route, a
through tourist sleeper, which differs from the Pullman sleeper only in
a slight difference in the furnishings. The service is the same, but the
cost of a berth in them between Salt Lake and Los Angeles is just
one-half that of the standard sleeper. I have never run on a road where
better service, more courteous treatment or better time was made than on
the S. P., L. A. & S. L. Railroad.

In these latter years, when progress is the watchword of the railroads
in common with the other industries of the country, no expense or pains
are spared by the railroad people to add to the comfort, enjoyments,
safety and convenience of the traveling public, until now it is about as
safe to travel as it is to stay at home, and not much if any more
expensive. But in spite of all safeguards adopted by the railroads a
wreck occurs once in a while the same as accidents occur at home.

The first wreck I was in the train struck a split switch with the result
that the cars turned over and piled up in a ditch. That happened in
Colorado. We were forced to crawl out through the windows, like a
prairie dog out of his hole. No one was killed but the passengers were
all pretty well shaken up and somewhat scared. As soon as the cars got
comfortably piled up and the passengers were able to speak they all
commenced yelling for the porter. But at that particular moment the
porter was busy rubbing his shins and assuring himself there was nothing
to be scared about. The passengers at such times are apt to forget that
the porter is as scared as they are, and has forgotten all about tips
and such commonplace matters as that, but after he gets his wits about
him he loses no time in looking after his flock, and rendering
assistance to such of his passengers as need it, and most of them do
need assistance of some kind if for no other reason than to be assured
that they are not hurt. The Pullman porter of today must be a very
versatile sort of a person, he must have plenty of patience, be a good
judge of human nature, quick, kind and observant. Many are the times a
gouty and crusty passenger has traveled in my car, who was in such a bad
humor that it was next to impossible to please him, yet before he had
ridden a hundred miles with me, I had him in good humor and laughing
with the rest of the passengers. "Laugh and the whole world laughs with
you."

It is by no means an uncommon thing for us porters to be called upon to
turn nurse for sick or invalid passengers in our car, and often have I
watched by the bedside of a sick passenger, feeding him, giving him
medicine, bathing him and in fact becoming for the time being a hospital
nurse, and many are the blessings I have received from my sick
passengers, both men and women, whose pain I have eased, and their last
moments on earth I have cheered. And this, dear reader, we do in the
name of humanity and not in the name of tips.



CHAPTER XX.

THE TOURIST SLEEPING CAR. THE CHAIR CAR. THE SAFEGUARDS OF MODERN
RAILROADING. SEE AMERICA, THEN LET YOUR CHEST SWELL WITH PRIDE THAT YOU
ARE AN AMERICAN.


The Pullman tourist sleeping car, which you can find on all through
trains of the different railroads throughout the United States, are to
the traveler of moderate means what the Pullman car is to the
millionaire traveler. They are designed for the comfort and convenience
of the traveling public to whom the expenditure of a dollar more or less
is a matter of moment, and who cannot afford or do not care for the
small extra show and tinsel of the Pullman sleeping car, but whose only
desire is to make their journey pleasant, comfortable and safe. This
they can do as well in the tourist as in the standard sleeping car.

There is a difference in price that will amount to a tidy sum in a long
trip across the continent, but that fact does not always appeal to the
traveling public, as I have had the poorest of passengers in the palace
car and at other times a millionaire and his family would be my
passengers in the tourist cars. It seems to me a matter of fact and one
which my long experience seems to verify, that the American traveler
does not care so much about his comfort as his ability to get there, as
the average American traveler is always in a hurry and in nine cases out
of ten, he is thinking more about the speed of the train than he is
about his immediate surroundings or the price he had paid for his
ticket. The railroads, knowing this, have made and are continually
making every effort to add to the speed and safety of their trains, but
traveling long distances is a tiresome matter at the best and for that
reason the railroads are continually making improvements with a view to
add to the comfort, convenience and pleasure of the traveler, and in a
journey such as one from Chicago to Los Angeles, for instance, there is
no time to stop for meals and such trivial matters as a shave, as time
is money lost to most of the passengers and to the railroad company
also. For that reason the sleeping car is provided that you may sleep
with as much comfort as if you were in your own home, the dining car is
provided to furnish you a good meal on the fly and at a price that all
can afford. The library and drawing room cars are provided, where you
can make yourself as comfortable as you can in your own house. The
porter will get your morning paper, furnish you with writing materials
or your morning high ball, and look after you like a hen after her
brood.

But on all railroads there are rules governing the passengers as well as
the employees, the same as there are in all lines of business. A
passenger may not, for instance, smoke in the body of the Pullman car,
but must retire to the drawing room or his stateroom. As an instance in
point, I had J. J. Corbett for a passenger in my car between Ogden and
Chicago, a gentleman who was at that time in the height of his career
and naturally thought he owned the earth or a large part of it, at any
rate he came in the sleeper from the dining car, lit a cigar, propped
his feet upon the opposite seat and prepared for a comfortable smoke.
But it was against the rules to smoke in that part of the car, so I
approached him and politely requested him not to smoke in that part of
the car. He regarded me a few moments and with a sneer said, "So you are
Mr. Pullman, are you?" I told him I was not Mr. Pullman, but I was in
charge of one of Mr. Pullman's cars, and for that reason I was a
representative of Mr. Pullman, and that it was strictly against the
rules to smoke in that part of the car, and that if he wished to smoke
he would have to go to the drawing room. He went, but the sleeping car
conductor, who had watched the incident, told me I had better look out
or Corbett would have my scalp. I told the conductor I was not scared
and that if Corbett hadn't gotten out I would have thrown him out, all
of which I meant, but the conductor shook his head and said to look out.
Sure enough the matter was reported to the superintendent, but that
official on hearing the facts in the matter said I had done perfectly
right, and what I was paid to do.

It is necessary that all passengers as well as all employees shall
observe the rules of the company, for the benefit, safety and enjoyment
of all the passengers and employees alike.

All the railroad men I have met from the president down have all proved
themselves jolly good fellows, kind, considerate and always ready to
render assistance and service to those in need, but at the same time
they are strict about the rules and discipline. Thoroughly understanding
their business themselves, they insist on the beginner obeying
instructions and the laws of the road, because on that depends the lives
of hundreds of people, and the value of thousands of dollars worth of
property, and for the same reason they are expending thousands of
dollars annually in new appliances, inventions and equipment, that will
add to the saving of time or insure the safety of the traveler. Among
the new inventions adopted by the modern railroads are the "Block"
System, which makes collisions between two trains approaching each other
on the same track almost an impossibility if the engineer is awake and
attentive to business. Under this system when the trains approach a
certain distance of each other a bell is rung in the cab of each
locomotive simultaneously, and will continue to ring until the danger is
over. This with the powerful electric headlights now used, with which
the roadbed is lit up for a distance of five miles, makes a head-on
collision almost impossible, while the air brakes, heavy rails, solid
roadbed, doing away with the sharp curves and heavy grades, all add to
the safety of the passengers and the saving of many miles in travel and
many precious moments. It has always seemed strange to me that so many
Americans rush off to Europe and foreign countries every year in search
of health and pleasure, or to climb the Alps in Switzerland, and to view
the scenery of the old world, when our own North America, the new world,
offers so many better opportunities to study Dame Nature in all her
phases, and I always say to the traveling American, "See America." How
many of you have done so? Only those who have seen this grand country
of ours can justly appreciate the grandeur of our mountains and rivers,
valley and plain, canyon and gorge, lakes and springs, cities and towns,
the grand evidences of God's handiwork scattered all over this fair land
over which waves the stars and stripes. Go to New York and view the tall
buildings, the Brooklyn bridge, the subway, study the works of art to be
found there, both in statuary and painting, ponder on the vast volume of
commerce carried on with the outside world. Note the many different
styles of architecture displayed in the palace of the millionaire and
the house of the humble tradesman, view the magnificent Hudson river and
the country homes along its grassy, tree-lined shores, note the ships
from every clime riding at anchor in the East river. Then speculate on
the changes that have been wrought in the course of the short time since
Manhattan Island was purchased from the Indians by Pete Minuts for a few
blankets and beads amounting in value to $24.00. Then board the
Pennsylvania Limited, whose trains are the acme of modern railroading
and go to Washington, the nation's capital city. Walk along Pennsylvania
avenue and note its beauty. Visit the capitol and let your chest swell
out with pride that you are an American. Visit the tomb of General Grant
and the thousand and one magnificent statues scattered throughout the
city. Visit Annapolis and West Point, where the leaders of the nation's
navy and army are trained. Walk over the battlefields of Fredricksburg,
Gettysburg and Lexington, and let your mind speculate on the events that
made modern history.

[Illustration: This is Where I Shine. Now I am Out for the Money]

Note the majestic Potomac and the Washington monument. Take a short trip
north and see the great Niagara Falls, listen to what they tell you in
their mighty roaring voice. Go to Pittsburg where the great steel works
are located, and see how the steel pen and the steel cannon are made. Go
to Chicago, that western hive of commerce. See the Great Lakes, or
better still take a cruise on them. Note the great lumber industry of
Michigan, and the traffic of the lakes. Go to Kansas City and Omaha and
see the transformation of the Texas steer into the corned beef you ate
at your last picnic, or was it chipped beef? See the immense stock
yards with their thousands of cattle, hogs and sheep, and think of the
thousands of people that they feed. Cross the Missouri river and enter
on the plains of the great and recently unknown west. Think of the
pioneer who in 1849 traversed these once barren stretches of prairie,
walking beside his slow-moving ox team, seeking the promised land,
breaking a trail for the generations that were to come after him as you
are coming now in a Pullman car. Think of the dangers that beset him on
every hand, then wonder at the nerve he had, then again let your chest
swell with pride that you are an American, sprung from the same stock
that men were composed of in those days. Note the grandeur of the Rocky
Mountains as they rise from the plains, their peaks snow-capped,
glistening in clear blue sky, breathe the pure essence of life, drink of
the crystal streams twinkling down their sides, then scorn the wine made
by man. Listen to the salute of the bells and the whistles as the trains
approach and pass that strange monument of nature's handiwork, the Mount
of the Holy Cross.

Go to the Yellowstone National Park and revel in the wonders thereof,
walk in the garden of the Gods and listen to the voice of the Giant
Geyser as it sends forth its torrents of boiling water. Bathe in the
life-giving springs and mud baths. Note the fantastic forms of the rocks
and trees, carved by the hand of nature, then go to Colorado Springs and
climb Pikes Peak and behold the world stretch out before you in valley,
mountain and plain. Visit the mines of Leadville and Cripple Creek, the
store houses of a part of the nation's wealth. Visit Denver and see the
strides made in the improvement of the west in a short time. Board the
Denver & Rio Grande train and note the magnificent scenery of mountain,
canyons, gorges and the beautiful mountain lakes and streams, note the
Grand Canyon of the Colorado, the royal gorge. Now note the great white
expanse of the great Salt Lake, as it lies glistening in the rays of the
setting sun, and think of the stories you have heard of it until the
conductor brings you back to earth with the cry of "Ogden."

Note this bustling railroad center in the heart of the Rocky mountains,
and acknowledge our country's greatness. Visit Salt Lake City, the "City
of Zion," the Canaan of the new world. See the beautiful city nestling
within the protection of the Warsatch and Oquirrh range of mountains.
Walk its wide tree-lined streets, visit the tabernacle and hear the
sweet strains of the world's greatest organs. See the Mormon temple.
Visit Saltair and sport in the waves of the briny sea. Board the San
Pedro, Los Angeles and Salt Lake westbound train and cross the end of
this same lake, one of nature's wonders.

Cross the desert of Nevada, which was only a short time ago a desert
waste, on and on until you smell the orange blossoms of sunny
California, and the train emerges from the mountains and brings into
view the grand Pacific Ocean. See the big trees of California, the seals
and the scenery of the Yosemite valley. Visit the orange groves and the
vineyards, and partake of the orange and the grape. Visit Catalina
Island in the Pacific Ocean, and try a couple of hours fishing in its
waters. Then take the Southern Pacific and return to New York by way of
Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, New Orleans, Florida and other southern
states. Then again let your chest swell with pride that you are an
American.

I think you will agree with me that this grand country of ours is the
peer of any in the world, and that volumes cannot begin to tell of the
wonders of it. Then after taking such a trip you will say with me, "See
America." I have seen a large part of America, and am still seeing it,
but the life of a hundred years would be all too short to see our
country. America, I love thee, Sweet land of Liberty, home of the brave
and the free.



CHAPTER XXI.

A FEW OF THE RAILROAD MEN UNDER WHOM I HAVE SERVED. GEORGE M. PULLMAN.
THE TOWN OF PULLMAN, ILL. AMERICAN RAILROADS LEAD THE WORLD. A FEW
FIGURES.


Among the large number of railroad men I have served under and worked
with during the fifteen years I have been on the road it gives me
pleasure to recall the names of a few with whom I was more intimately
acquainted and to whom I am indebted for many favors given and
courtesies extended, and the pleasant duty devolves on me to mention the
always courteous, obliging and most competent head of the Pullman
department in Denver, Mr. Runnells, and his assistant, Mr. Wright, who
sent me out on my first run in 1890. Next comes the well known name of
District Superintendent J. M. Smith, who one year later sent me out on
the run that marked the beginning of my Pullman service. To Mr. Smith
more than to any other railroad man I am indebted for advice, counsel
and countless favors shown me while I was in the service in the
department over which he presided so long. I always found him courteous
and obliging and never too busy to listen or to give a kind word of
advice or counsel to all who approached him on company business or on
the private affairs of the employees of the road. I had charge of a car
for several years in his territory and many a time I have had him for a
passenger and at such times he seemed more like an old friend than he
did like the superintendent of the Pullman service.

I next transferred to the Ogden division. Here I met and came to know
very well Superintendent Baker and his assistant, Johnnie Searce, and to
these two gentlemen I am also indebted for many favors shown me, as they
tried in every way possible to make my employment pleasant and
profitable while I was in their territory. I was sent out on runs that
covered the greater portions of the United States, and while on some of
my longer runs I often started from and returned to stations in
different districts under different superintendents, but I always looked
on Ogden as my home station and Superintendent Baker as my chief until
another superintendent was given charge of the district and I
transferred to Salt Lake and started to run on Senator Clark's new road,
the S. P., L. A. & S. L. road, between Salt Lake and Los Angeles, under
the superintendency of Mr. Twining and his assistant, Mr. Cotten, and
these gentlemen also during the time I have been with them have shown me
every favor and consideration, which goes far towards making my work a
pleasure. In this connection also I mention the names of Jim Donohue,
traveling engineer; W. H. Smith, trainmaster, and P. Randoff Morris and
Jos. Jones, special agents, all jolly railroad men from A to Izard.

During my fifteen years' service I have met and served under many
different superintendents and to mention the names of them all, would
require a separate volume, but I will always hold them in kindly
remembrance as they all have without exception been kindness itself to
me.

Another old friend I have recently met on the steel road is William H.
Blood, at present one of the popular conductors on the San Pedro, Los
Angeles & Salt Lake Railroad. In the early seventies "Billy" was one of
the best cowboys ranging over the western cattle country. He was with me
on many of the old trails and in many a tight place, and like myself he
always came out right side up with care and none the worse for wear.

E. W. Gillett, at present general passenger agent of the Salt Lake road,
and one of the best known and most popular railroad men of the west, is
another friend of the old days it is my pleasure to meet often now. I
first met him under the following circumstances. I think it was in the
year 1874 along in the fall, I had been up the trail with some cattle
and was returning through Wyoming en route to Arizona. I had been riding
hard all day and as it began to get dark I sighted a small station on
the main line of the Union Pacific, and I concluded to give it a
passing call out of curiosity. As I drew near I noticed several
rough-looking customers hanging around in a suspicious manner, and I at
once concluded that they were robbers there for the purpose of holding
up the station. Events immediately following proved that I was right.
They had not noticed me and they proceeded to hold up the agent in true
western style, but that they had caught a tartar was evidenced by the
rattle of the agent's artillery. Of course it was out of the question
for me to miss such fun, so not waiting for an invitation I lost no time
in getting my own forty-fives in active operation, and in less time than
it takes to tell it what was left of those greasers were making tracks
for the nearest state line, while a red-headed youngster with a smoking
45 in his fist was shaking hands with me and trying to say something
about my saving his life. I took a shine to him at once on account of
his pluck and our friendship thus begun has lasted through the years
until now time and fate have thrown us both together on the same line of
railroad.

The railroad men as a class are the most jovial set of men one could
find in any profession, well educated, broad minded, and always
considerate of others and at the same time they know their business
thoroughly, as they have to serve many years as apprentices, so to
speak, in railroading, before they are given places of trust and
responsibility, and the man who has reached the position of president or
general manager of a railroad system, has learned pretty much all there
is to be learned about the iron horse and the steel road, and they use
that knowledge in providing for the safety and comfort of the millions
of lives that are annually intrusted to their keeping.

The general manager is responsible not only for the lives of the
traveling public, but of the army or railroad employees under him and he
is supposed to know everything, and must always be prepared to do the
right thing in the right place at the right time, and as in many cases
life and death depend on it, he must know how.

[Illustration: The Close of My Railroad Career]

A college education does not make a railroad manager, although it may
help to do so. He in a great measure gets his education in the school of
experience, and in some cases it is a hard school, and the most exacting
of all schools, but at the same time it is a school in which one can
learn anything under the sun, and learn it well, and in these days of
the twentieth century's activity and progress, it is the man who knows
how to do things that makes the world move. And after boiling everything
down there is left in the pot two undisputable facts. They are that the
railroad men cause the world to move by knowing how to do things, the
other is that the railroad men move the people who live in the world,
thus they move things all around. And they are continually on the move
themselves, which goes to prove that they are different from many other
people inasmuch as they practice what they preach. And from these men of
all classes from the president down I have received courtesies and the
kindest of consideration, and these pleasant associations are pleasant
memories to me and will always remain so.

It was my pleasure to meet and to chat with George M. Pullman, the
father of the sleeping car, several times, and I found him to be a fine
man, broad-minded in every sense of the word, always approachable and
with always a kind word for every one of the large army of his employees
that he met on his travels, and he always tried to meet them all. It was
also my pleasure to meet his two boys who are veritable chips of the old
block.

One of the legends connected with the western mining history is that
early in the 60s George M. Pullman was a poor prospector and had secured
a lease on a piece of mining ground in Colorado, and that he formed the
idea of the sleeping car from the tiers of bunks in the miners' lodging
house, "bunk houses" they are called. However that may be Mr. Pullman
has been the recipient of many a blessing from the weary traveler, and
the idea, whatever it was, that led him to invent the sleeping car that
has proved such a comfort to the traveler of today, deserves to go down
in history as the greatest idea that ever came from the place where
ideas come from.

It has been my pleasure to visit all the large shops of the Pullman
company, including the town of Pullman, Ill., which is a good-sized
city, named after Mr. Pullman, and was owned by him principally, and the
large number of men employed in his shops there. The town contains fine
churches and public buildings, a splendid library and reading rooms and
amusement halls. And while I was there I failed to see a single saloon.
It seems such places are tabooed there. The shops are the finest in this
country, containing all the modern machinery of the finest kind and the
men employed there are all past masters of their trades. Here are built
all the finest sleeping cars and many of the finest special cars and
railway cars seen on the railroads of this country. In addition there is
also a very large amount of repairing done. As soon as anything goes
wrong with a Pullman car it is at once sent into the shops for repair,
and soon comes out in apple pie order. You may see the Pullman cars all
over this country where there is a steel road, and other countries have
their eyes on the mof late, and in the near future it will be possible
to sleep in a Pullman car whether you are traveling in England, France,
Sweden or China. They are a good thing and are sure to be pushed or
rather pulled along.

In 1893 I went to Mr. Pullman and told him I was thinking of getting the
porters of the Pullman Car Company to club together and contribute fifty
cents per month apiece for the purpose of investing the proceeds in
land, in view of eventually owning what we would call "The Porters'
Home." Mr. Pullman told me he thought that a good idea, and said if we
succeeded in buying one thousand acres of land, he would erect us a
building on it, and signed a statement to that effect.

I then went to work and communicated with all the divisions of the
Pullman Company, presenting this proposition to the porters of these
different districts, but only succeeded in getting about twenty-five
subscribers, the rest of them refusing to go into such a proposition,
some of them saying all I wanted was to get the money and make away with
it. Inasmuch as this amount was to be sent to the main Pullman office
in Chicago and I was to be there each month to see this money deposited.
Others refused to go into it upon the ground that they were liable to be
discharged from the Pullman service at any time, and many other various
excuses were offered. There were many of the Pullman conductors,
however, who promised to contribute from one to five dollars toward this
enterprise when we were ready to purchase the land.

My object was to have a Home and Hospital, with adjoining farming land,
for the benefit of old and disabled porters who were not able to perform
their duties as Pullman car porters. Had this been accomplished at that
time, we would by now have had a large farm and a house and hospital
connected therewith, and all the porters who are now unable to work
would have had a good home and be cared for the rest of their lives. I
hope to live long enough to yet see this plan become a reality.

At present the American railway leads the world. In no other country
does the traveler find so much comfort, so many conveniences, so much
pleasure, safety and speed as does the dweller in this robust young
country belonging to our Uncle Samuel. At the present time there are in
the United States upwards of two hundred and sixty thousand miles of
railroad open and in operation, not to mention several thousand miles
now building and projected. This immense mileage is divided between over
one thousand different roads, while in 1851 there were only 149
different railroads with a total mileage of 9000 miles. The railroads
today have a capital back of them amounting to over $14,000,000,000, and
they pay their employees wages that foot up over $7,000,000 annually,
while their earnings amount to the tidy sum of $2,500,000,000 in the
same length of time. They carry somewhat more than 800,000,000
passengers every twelve months, and 2,200,000,000 tons of freight. These
figures do not include the several million tons of trunks, sachels,
grips, hat boxes and carpet bags that the average traveler considers it
necessary to load him or herself down with on starting on a journey of
any distance, and which comes in such large quantities sometimes as to
make life a burden for us porters.

Read these figures again, dear reader, they are a conservative estimate
of the business transacted by the railroads of this fair land of ours.
You can count a million, can you count a billion? Immense, isn't it? It
seems to show that the people of this country are great travelers,
forever on the move, yet they tell us this is a country of homes and
that the average American loves his home and home life above all things.
These figures seem to show there are a few people who havn't any home or
if they have they are looking for one they like better, which, like the
will of the wisp, evades them always, but they continue to shift around,
always hopeful, never satisfied, and they will continue to shift around
until Gabriel blows on his little tin horn.

But this class of people make but a small percentage of the traveling
public. Business in this latter day of strife and competition makes long
journeys necessary, and as the business of the world grows apace and the
countries of the earth crowd closer together in the struggle for the
almighty dollar, there will be need of more railroads to make the globe
smaller and to cut off the hours and minutes of precious time that means
money to the man of today. And as a man makes and saves money so will he
spend it for the pleasure of himself and family, and as he must travel
to find pleasure there must be railroads to carry him, and hence these
figures I write now will look insignificant beside the magnificent total
that will be put before the reader of that day, because if they increase
in the next century as they have in the past, walking will be out of
fashion and every body will ride and I hope sleep in a Pullman sleeping
car.

[Illustration: With Wm. Blood, My Old Cowboy Friend, and Other Friends
at the Close of My Railroad Career]



CHAPTER XXII.

A FEW REMINISCENCES OF THE RANGE. SOME MEN I HAVE MET. BUFFALO BILL. THE
JAMES BROTHERS. YELLOWSTONE KELLEY. THE MURDER OF BUCK CANNON BY BILL
WOODS. THE SUICIDE OF JACK ZIMICK.


It has now been many years since I quit the range, and as my mind
wanders back over those years as it often does, memories both pleasant
and sad pass in review and it is but fitting that I record a few of them
as a final to the history of my life which has been so full of action,
which is but natural as the men of those days were men of action. They
had to be, and probably their actions were not all good, that I freely
admit, but while that is so, it is equally so that their actions were
not all bad, far from it. And in the history of the frontier there is
recorded countless heroic deeds performed, deeds and actions that
required an iron nerve, self denial in all that these words imply, the
sacrificing of one life to save the life of a stranger or a friend.
Deeds that stamped the men of the western plains as men worthy to be
called men, and while not many of them would shine particularly in the
polite society of today or among the 400 of Gotham, yet they did shine
big and bright in the positions and at a time when men lived and died
for a principle, and in the line of duty. A man who went to the far west
or who claimed it as his home in the early days found there a life far
different from that led by the dude of Fifth Avenue. There a man's work
was to be done, and a man's life to be lived, and when death was to be
met, he met it like a man. It was among such men and surroundings that I
spent so many years of my life and there I met men some of whom are
famous now, while others never lived long enough to reach the pinnacle
of fame, but their memory is held no less sacred by the men who knew
them well.

Some men I met in the cattle country are now known to the world as the
baddest of bad men, yet I have seen these men perform deeds of valor,
self sacrifice and kindness that would cause the deeds recorded as
performed by gentlemen in "ye olden time when knighthood was in flower"
to look insignificant in comparison, and yet these men lay no claim to
the title of gentlemen. They were just plain men.

It was my pleasure to meet often during the early seventies the man who
is now famous in the old world and the new world, Buffalo Bill (William
F. Cody), cowboy, ranger, hunter, scout and showman, a man who carried
his life in his hands day and night in the wild country where duty
called, and has often bluffed the grim reaper Death to a standstill, and
is living now, hale, hearty and famous.

Others who are equally famous but in another way are the James brothers,
Jesse and Frank. I met them often in the old days on the range, and
became very well acquainted with them and many others of their band.
Their names are recorded in history as the most famous robbers of the
new world, but to us cowboys of the cattle country who knew them well,
they were true men, brave, kind, generous and considerate, and while
they were robbers and bandits, yet what they took from the rich they
gave to the poor. The James brothers band stole thousands of dollars;
yet Jesse was a poor man when he fell a victim to the bullet of a
cowardly, traitorous assassin, and Frank James is a poor man today. What
then did they do with the thousands they stole? The answer is simple,
they gave it away to those who were in need. That is why they had so
many friends and the officers of the law found it so hard to capture
them.

And if they were robbers, by what name are we to call some of the great
trusts, corporations and brokers, who have for years been robbing the
people of this country, some of them, I am glad to say, are now behind
prison bars, still others are even now piling up the dollars that they
have been and are still stealing from the American people, and who on
account of these same dollars are looked up to, respected and are
honored members of society, and the only difference between them and
the James brothers is that the James brothers stole from the rich and
gave to the poor, while these respected members of society steal from
the poor to make the rich richer, and which of them think you reader,
will get the benefit of the judgment when the final day arrives and all
men appear before the great white throne in final judgment?

Jessie James was a true man, a loving son and husband, true to his word,
true to his principles and true to his comrads and his friends. I had
the pleasure of meeting Frank James quite recently on the road while he
was en route to the coast with his theatrical company and enjoyed a
pleasant chat with him. He knew me and recalled many incidents of the
old days and happenings in "no man's land."

Quite a different sort of man was Yellowstone Kelley government scout,
hunter and trapper. He was one of the men who helped to make frontier
history and open up the pathless wilds to the march of civilization. He
was in the employ of the government as a scout and guide when I first
met him, and thereafter during our many wanderings over the country, I
with my cattle, he with Uncle Sam's soldiers or on a lone scout, we
often bumped up against each other, and these meetings are among my
treasured memories. He was a man who knew the country better than he
knew his own mother, absolutely fearless, kind and generous to a fault.
He was the sort of a man that once you meet, him you could never forget
him, and us boys who knew him well considered him the chief of all the
government scouts of that day. I also had the pleasure of meeting Kit
Carson in Arizona and nearly all the government scouts, hunters and
trappers of the western country, and they can all be described in one
sentence, they were men whom it was a pleasure and an honor to know.

"Billie the Kid" was another sort of a man and there has never been
another man like him and I don't think there ever will be again. Writers
claim that he was a man all bad. This I doubt as I knew him well and I
have known him to do deeds of kindness. He had many traits that go to
make a good man, but fate and circumstances were against the kid, yet I
know he always remembered a kindness done him and he never forgave an
enemy. I have rode by his side many a long mile, and it is hard to
believe he was as bad as he is pictured to be, but the facts are against
him, and when his career was ended by the bullet from Sheriff Garrett's
colt, the world was better off, likewise were some men who stood in
mortal fear of the kid, and I suppose they had good reason to be afraid
as the kid always kept his word.

During my employment with the Duval outfit and Pete Gallingan I often
made trips on the trail with herds of cattle and horses belonging to
other ranch owners, and on these trips many incidents occurred, amusing
and sad. The following incident happened in the fall of 1878, when I
went up the trail with the half circle box brand outfit, belonging to
Arthur Gorman and company.

We had a small herd of horses to take to Dodge City, where we arrived
after an uneventful trip, and after disposing of the horses we started
out to do the town as usual. But in this we met an unexpected snag. Our
bookkeeper, Jack Zimick, got into a poker game and lost all the money he
had to pay the cowboys off with, which amounted to about two thousand
dollars, and also about the same amount of the boss' money. The boys had
about one and a half years' wages coming to them, and consequently they
were in a rather bad humor when they heard this bit of news. They at
once got after Zimick so hard that he took me and went to Kinsely, Kas.,
where Mr. Gorman was. Arriving there he went to the Smith saloon to get
a room, as Smith ran a rooming house over his saloon, and it was the
custom for all the cattle men to make it their headquarters when in the
city. Here he met Mr. Gorman, and we were sitting around the room and
Zimick had only told Mr. Gorman a few things, when all of a sudden
Zimick drew his 45 colt revolver remarking as he did so, "Here is the
last of Jack Zimick." He placed the gun to his head and before we could
reach him he pulled the trigger, and his brains were scattered all over
the room.

They arrested Mr. Gorman and myself and held up for a short time until
things could be explained. Mr. Gorman was very much overcome by the act,
as Jack was one of his best men, and had been with him a long time. Mr.
Gorman had the body sent to Zimick's friends in Boston, and he
personally paid off all the boys, taking the money out of his own pocket
to do so, but when the boys heard of Jack's rash deed they said they
would rather have lost every dollar they had, rather than have had Jack
kill himself, as he was a favorite among all the cowboys, especially so
among those in Mr. Gorman's employ. Zimick had been in the employ of
Gorman and company for over ten years and he was Mr. Gorman's right hand
man, and this was the first time he ever went wrong. Jack did not have
the nerve to face his comrades again, and so I suppose he concluded that
his colt 45 was the only friend he had to help him out of it.

In May 1882, I was in Durango, Colorado, and chanced to be in a saloon
on Main street where a lot of us boys were together, among them being
Buck Cannon and Bill Woods. The drinks had been circulating around
pretty freely when Cannon and Woods got into a dispute over Cannon's
niece, to whom Woods had been paying attention, much against that young
lady's wish. After some hot words between the men, Woods drew his 45
colt revolver, remarking as he did so, "I will kill you," and in raising
it his finger must have slipped, as his gun went off and the bullet hit
a glass of beer in the hand of a man who was in the act of raising it to
his lips, scattering the broken glass all over the room, then passing
through the ceiling of the saloon. In an instant Woods threw three
bullets into Cannon, remarking as he did so, "I will kill you, for your
niece is my heart's delight and I will die for her." Buck Cannon's dying
words were, "Boys, don't let a good man die with his boots on."

Along in the spring of 1879 we sent to Dodge City, Kansas, with a herd
of cattle for the market and after they were disposed of, we boys turned
our attention to the search of amusement. Some of the boys made for the
nearest saloon and card table, but I heard there was to be a dance at
Bill Smith's dance hall and in company with some of the other boys
decided to attend. There was always quite a large number of cowboys in
Dodge City at this time of the year, so we were not surprised to find
the dance hall crowded on our arrival there. Smith's place occupied a
large, low frame building down by the railroad tracks on the south. We
found many old acquaintances there, among them being Kiowa Bill, a
colored cattle man and ranch owner of Kansas, whose ranch was on Kiowa
creek. I had met him several times but this was the first time I had
seen him in a couple of years, but as he was dancing with a young lady I
could not get to speak with him at once. So I looked up a wall flower
and proceeded to enjoy myself. We had not been dancing long when I
became aware of a commotion over near the bar, and all eyes were turned
in that direction. I soon ascertained the cause of the commotion to be a
dispute between Kiowa Bill and Bill Smith, the proprietor of the place,
who was behind the bar. Kiowa Bill, after finishing the dance with his
fair partner, took her to the bar to treat her. Smith, who was tending
bar refused to serve her saying she had enough already. Kiowa Bill told
Smith he (Kiowa Bill) was paying for what she wanted to drink and that
he wanted her to get what she wanted. Smith said no, she could not have
anything more to drink as she had too much already. At this Kiowa Bill
reached over the bar and struck Smith over the head with a whiskey
bottle, partly stunning him, but he recovered in an instant and grabbed
his 45 Colt, Kiowa Bill doing the same and both guns spoke as one. Smith
fell dead behind the bar with a bullet through his heart. Kiowa Bill
rolled against the bar and slowly sank to the floor and was dead when we
reached him.

The next day they were hauled to the cemetery, laying side by side in
the same wagon, and were buried side by side in the same grave. Kiowa
Bill had made his will a short time before and it was found on his body
when he was killed.

I had known Kiowa Bill for several years and was present at a shooting
scrape he had two years before, down in Texas, near the Arizona line. At
one of the big round ups there, in 1877, myself and quite a crowd of the
other boys were in camp eating our dinner when Kiowa Bill rode up. He
had been looking after his own cattle as he owned over two thousand head
himself. One of the boys in our party who did not like Bill, there being
a feud between them for sometime, on noticing Bill approaching,
remarked, "If that fellow comes here I will rope him." True to his word
as Bill rode up, the cowboy threw his lariat. Kiowa Bill, seeing the
movement, threw the rope off at the same time springing down on the
opposite side of his horse.

[Illustration: With the General Securities Company]

The cowboy, enraged at his failure to rope Bill, shouted, "I will fight
you from the point of a jack knife, to the point of a 45," at the same
time reaching for his 45 which was in the holster on his saddle, which
was lying on the ground a short distance away. At that Kiowa Bill fired,
striking the cowboy in the neck, breaking it. Bill then sprang in the
saddle and put spurs to his horse in an effort to get away.

Several of the cowboys commenced shooting after Bill who returned the
fire. One of the cowboys, squatting down and holding his 45 with both
hands, in an effort to get a better aim on Bill, received a bullet in
the leg from Bill's revolver that knocked him over backwards, and caused
him to turn a couple of somersaults. Bill got away and went to New York.
He was later arrested in St. Louis and brought back. At his trial he
went free as it was shown that he killed the cowboy in self-defense. And
his appearance at the dance was the first time I had seen him since the
scrape in Texas.

Kiowa Bill was of a peaceful disposition and always refrained from
bothering with others, but if others bothered with him they were liable
to get killed as Kiowa Bill allowed no one to monkey with him. Such was
life on the western ranges when I rode them, and such were my comrades
and surroundings; humor and tragedy. In the midst of life we were in
death, but above all shown the universal manhood. The wild and free
life. The boundless plains. The countless thousands of long horn steers,
the wild fleet footed mustangs. The buffalo and other game, the Indians,
the delight of living, and the fights against death that caused every
nerve to tingle, and the every day communion with men, whose minds were
as broad as the plains they roamed, and whose creed was every man for
himself and every friend for each other, and with each other till the
end.

Another friend of the old times is Chas. R. Campbell, superintendent of
the Kelso mines. Chats with these good whole-souled people of the cattle
range bring back reminiscences of the past that would fill volumes but
space and time in these days of hustle and bustle are but dreams and the
world is full of them now.

I am at the present time connected with the General Securities Company
in Los Angeles. Mr. A. A. C. Ames is president; Mr. James O. Butler,
vice-president; Mr. Jacob E. Meyer, secretary, and Mr. Geo. W. Bishop,
treasurer. These gentlemen are always extremely kind to me and the
appreciation I feel for the kindnesses shown me will be fully rewarded.

As I stop to ponder over the days of old so full of adventure and
excitement, health and happiness, love and sorrow, isn't it a wonder
that some of us are alive to tell the tale. One moment we are rejoicing
that we are alive; the next we are so near the jaws of death that it
seems it would be almost a miracle that our lives be saved.

Life today on the cattle range is almost another epoch. Laws have been
enacted in New Mexico and Arizona which forbid all the old-time sports
and the cowboy is almost a being of the past. But, I, Nat Love, now in
my 54th year, hale hearty and happy, will ever cherish a fond and loving
feeling for the old days on the range, its exciting adventures, good
horses, good and bad men, long venturesome rides, Indian fights and last
but foremost the friends I have made and friends I have gained.

FINIS

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|Transcriber's note: The image source for this ebook was a modern|
|facsimile edition.                                              |
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