Ten years a cowboy

LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
DAVIS

TEN YEARS

A COWBOY.

* ^w^=^^

^'%^

BY C. C. POST

ADDENDA
BY

TEX BENDER, THE COWBOY FIDDLER

THOS. W. JACKSON PUBLISHING COMPANY

CHICAGO :
(Successors to Rhodes & McClure Publishing Company)

LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
DAVIS

Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1898, by the

RHODES & MCCLURE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C.

All Rights Reserved

CONTENTS.

1TIE STORY, ROMANCE AND ADVENTURES OF A 1.IFE
ON THE PLAINS WITH THE VARIED EXPERIENCES
AS COW-BOY, STOCK-OWNER, RANCHER, &c. &c.
PAGES 17 to 358

PAGE

THE PLAINS. 359

From the Missouri River to the Rocky Mountains 363

The Trees 365

The Herbage * 367

The Buffalo 369

The Indian ^V amor and his Pony - .371

The Insects , 374

The Mirage 375

Water v .... 377

The Wichita Mountains 378

The Indian 380

CATTLE. 385

The Gains in Cattle Ranching 386

How to start in the Cattle Business 387

The Stock Country . '. , „ 389

The Cattle Ranches 389

Settlers' Rights 390

The Dashing Cow-Boy 391

Cattle on the Ranges 392

Cattle in Winter 393

Advantages of Cattle over Horse-Raising 394

TheRourid-Up 395

Movricks 395

Cutting-Out 398

The Cow-Ponies 397

Branding Calves 399

Branding Cattle ..403

On the Trail... 406

CONTENTS. PAGE

Night Watching ...408

Shipping by Bail 410

The Journey to Chicago 412

Queens of the Ranch 415

California as a Cattle Raising State 417

California Laws 419

Water Rights v 420

Profits on Cattle-Raising in Texas, as the Business was

formerly Conducted 422

Profits on Cattle Raising as at present Conducted 424

Advice to the Cowboys - 427

SHEEP. 429

Sheep Driving 429

Spanish Merinos 430

Certificate for Taxes 431

The Outfit.. 431

Taking Horses through the Mountains 433

Hiring Drivers 434

Sheep Shearing 437

On the Road 437

Scab ...,.439

Dipping 439

Sheep Driving from California to Sonora 443

Tolls 446

Crossing the Sierras 448

The Bedding Ground 450

The San Antonio 451

Driving Sheep in Nevada 453

Jb'oodiu Camp 453

The Cook's Duties 454

Clothing 455

Bathing 457

Beds 458

Temperature. 459

Sleeping in Camp ,460

Shepherd Dogs 462

Prairie Dogs 465

Driving Sheep in Idaho 466

The Laramie Plains , . .467

NearSaltLake 468

How to make money in Utah , 469

TEN YEARS A COW BOY.

CHAPTER I.

A LITTLE OLD TOWN ON THE WABASH.

A few years ago when even in the middle Western
States land was to be had for the taking, a bit of a town
pre-empted a site on the banks of the Wabash river, in
the State of Indiana, and proceeded to establish itself
and settle down to business, squatter fashion.

I say squatter fashion because it took on the air of not
being very certain of its claim to permanent ownership,
and so not eager to make improvements beyond such as
were necessary to its immediate wants.

This feeling about permanency of title may have
been owing to the fact that the Wabash was a river of
unsteady habits, and liable to get on a rampage at

(17)

1 8 THE LITTLE OLD TOWN ON THE WABASH.

periods more or less frequent and unexpected, de'
pending somewhat upon the state of the weather and
other causes. This, you understand, was before the
government had established a bureau at the national
capital with orders to regulate the weather, and so
render such conduct on the part of the Wabash and
other streams of similar habits entirely without
excuse.

But, whatever the reason may have been, the
town always had the appearance of having no per
manency of title to the site it had fixed upon. The
streets — if you choose to call them streets — were
wide enough, and they would have been beautiful
plots of green if it had not been that they were
white instead, white with mayweed, except where
the hogs rooted holes in the earth for purposes of
their own; for the town did not keep its hogs shut
up. So great was the people's sense of personal lib
erty in this village of wide spaces, that there were
none among the inhabitants who had ever suggested
an abridgment to the unlimited freedom of the hogs.
On the contrary, they were permitted to wander about
at their own sweet will, and they put in their time
about equally in hunting for such food as was to be
found in the river bottom, and in maintaining their
rights as free and independent citizens, by rooting up
the streets, and such apologies for gardens as the people

KITTLE OLD TOWN ON THE WABASH. 19

/elt incumbent on themselves to attempt making, for
the town was not more thorough in its manner of
fencing in its gardens and yards than in anything else.
A fence of "palms," thin strips of timber split from
some straight grained ash or oak tree, and pointed at
the end, was occasionally erected about a bit of ground,
being nailed on perpendicularly, pointed end upward,
and an attempt at the cultivation of what was called a
"truck patch" made. But as nails were scarce and
high, and the town did not know exactly how long it
was going to stay there, these palings were seldom
securely fastened, and appeared as if put there for the
purpose of affording the hogs amusement for their
leisure hours in rooting them off, more than for any
real protection to the vegetables planted within the in-
closures.

There were several dogs, also, and children, con
nected with the town. I do not think I ever quite
understood what the town considered to be the rights
or duties of the children, or whether they were supposed
to have any, but those of the dogs were plainly to be
perceived by any one at all observant of such things.
Their duties were to assist the hogs out of the truck
patch whenever they wandered in and were unable, in
the excitement of the moment, to find their own way
out at the hole by which they entered; this, and to
stand in front of the houses and welcome any chance

2O A DIFFERENCE IN DUTIES.

stranger who sought an interview with the town tor any
purposes. I think they also assisted at th& obsequies
of such game as the inhabitants secured from time to
time from out the surrounding woods or adjoining
prairie. And as for their rights, why they were the
same as those of the other citizens, which appeared to
consist principally in sitting around discussing the proba
bility of another rise in the Wabash, and occasionally
going out to a cornfield on the outskirts and spending a
half day or so in cutting down weeds and chasing
squirrel and chipmunk depredators on the aforesaid
cereal.

There was one other difference between the apparent
duties of the men and the dogs which I ought to
mention ; the dogs did not fish and the men did. The
men appeared to think it a duty to fish, and would
frequently sit a half day at a time upon a log in the
sun, holding a pole with a line attached when it was
too hot to hoe corn or weed the truck patch ; some
thing the dogs never did. On such occasions the dogs
usually lay in the shade and caught fleas, which was
perhaps their fair share of the labor. I think neither
could boast greatly over the other of the success at
tending their efforts ; the men and boys certainly caught
a great many fish, but then the dogs also secured a great
many fleas.

I never knew for certain why the town remained

THE FERRY. 31

there. May be, after all, it had a clear title to the site
on which it stood. It was not a very big town ; a dozen
or score of houses, most of them of logs, some of rough
boards, some a mixture of the two, one part being of
logs, with a crazy little lean-to of boards at the back,
some whitewashed, but more with the color which
nature and the elements had given them.

Looking back at it now I more than half believe that
what made the town stay there was the ferry.

This might seem to have furnished good reason why
it should not stay there, since it could evidently have
gotten away by means of the ferry if it wanted to. But
I do not think it wanted to.

May be it would have done so if it had thought of it,
but if so it was evident that the thought had never come
to it; the town was not greatly given to thinking, but I
do not really believe the reason for its staying was that
it never occurred to it that it could go by way of the
ferry if it wanted to. Possibly it expected the Wabash
to rise high enough some time to take it away and so
save it the trouble of going; I can not say positively as
to that. I am inclined to think it stayed because it liked
to stay.

And why not ?

In the first place, it was a good location for such a
town.

There was the river with plenty of fish to be had for

32 AND THE FERRY BOAT*

the taking; the woods upon its banks abound* A with
game, and was also a capital range for hogs In the
prairie, a bit back from the river, the prairie, chickens
raised their young and waxed fat. There were sand
banks for the children to play upon; there was the
periodical rise in the river, not to speak of passing flat>
boats and an occasional steamer to furnish topics for
discussion. And then there was the ferry — the ferry,
which gave the dignity and importance to the town and
a reputation throughout the country for miles on both
sides of the river. Yes, I think it was the ferry which
kept the town contented and happy and prevented any
disposition on its part to wander away.

The ferry boat was not unlike other ferries — the
boat part of it, I mean. It consisted of what was
known in those days as a "flatboat;" a low, flat boat
constructed of strong timbers heavily planked over, and
slightly turned up at either end, like the front end of
the implement known among farmers as a stoneboat,
and used by them to draw stone off their fields. It
swung from shore to shore by the force of the current.
There was a line of canoes, perhaps a dozen in number,
(the one farthest away only being fastened to a stake
driven securely into the earth at the bottom of the
river, midway between banks and some twenty rods
above the ferry. To this canoe was attached, by
means of long ropes and at equal distances from each

MISTER M'KINLRY. as

other, other canoes, the last of which was in turn at
tached by a rope to the ferry or flatboat, which in
size was perhaps ten or fifteen feet wide by twenty
long. Now when the ferry boat was pushed out from
either bank, the force of the current would tend to carry
it down stream in a straight line, but being held from
above by the long line of canoes and their attachments,
it could only swing in a circle. The water, pressing
both against the side of the larger boat and of the
canoes attached to it, propelled it to the middle of the
stream with considerable velocity, sufficient, when the
water was high, to compel it to make the other quarter
of the circle and bring up at a point on the other shore
exactly opposite from where it started, when it would be
made secure by a chain thrown over a strong post set in
the ground. Then a plank would be pushed out, upon
which passengers and teams could walk dry shod to the
land.

If the river was low, and the current failed to
bring the boat quite to shore, as it sometimes did
fail of doing, the person in charge was ready, standing
in the stern of the boat, to push it ashore with a long
pole.

Now this ferry belonged to a person by the name
of McKinley. Mister McKinley he was called; and
he was the only citizen of the town who was ever
honored by having this prefix attached to his name;

24 MISTER M'KINLEY.

which fact argues that Mr. McKinley was a man of im
portance and influence in the community, as indeed t\9
was.

For, was he not the owner of the ferry from which
the town received its dignity, and upon which it de
pended for its fame ? Had he not held communication
with the dignitaries of the State itself and been granted
authority — legal authority — to run the ferry, as afore
said ? And did he not have proof of the fact in the
shape of a paper, printed in three or four sizes of type,
signed by the secretary of State, tied with a red ribbon
and sealed with the great seals of the States both of
Illinois and of Indiana, declaring that ' 'having confidence
in the patriotism and integrity of Mr. William H. H.
McKinley, he is hereby granted authority, etc., to run a
ferry across the Wabash river, etc., etc.; the same
being a river navigable by boats, etc., etc., and also con
stituting the boundary line between the two States, as
aforesaid ?"

This charter Mr. McKinley had had framed and
hung up in the rough porch in front of the log cabin in
which he lived with his family of six, not counting the
dogs, which would have raised it to a round dozen at
least.

This cabin of McKinley's stood near the banks of
the river, on the Indiana side; the banks on this

MISTER M'KINLEY. 25

side being several feet higher than on the other
side.

The house was only a few rods from the ferry land
ing, and any one entering the cabin could hardly fail to
observe the charter where it hung in its frame by the
door.

The children used, when it was first hung there,
to come about the porch and gaze up at it in open-
mouthed wonder and silent awe, and go away with
minds full of imaginings of the many great things
Mr. McKinley must have done to cause the authorities
of two States to certify to their confidence in and ad
miration of him, to be to the trouble, too, of having
it printed in big letters and little ones, and putting
the great seals of the States upon it, so that no one
might so much as dare to doubt that its possessor was
indeed a great man, having the confidence of all of
the great men of the country — one to whom it was
proper and right should be given exclusive authority
to run a ferry boat and charge people for riding
on it.

Of course such a man must never be addressed
too familiarly, hence the children always, and the men
generally, addressed him as Mister McKinley.

Occasionally, some man in whose cranial develop
ment there was a hollow where his bump of reverence
should have been, would speak to him as "McKinley,"

26 MISTER M'KINLEY.

simply, or even as "Mack," but he seldom appeared
to hear when thus spoken to, and children hearing him
thus addressed would drop whatever employment
they were engaged in and look and listen, and seem
to wonder whether Mister McKinley would feel suf
ficiently offended to ask the authorities to mete out
proper punishment to the man who thus failed to
render the respect due to him in whom the State re
posed such unbounded confidence and desired to see
honored.

Children are quick to catch the spirit of the teach
ings of their elders, and in proportion as their imagin
ations are more active and their knowledge of the world
more limited than those of older persons, so are they
more intensely affected by the things which they see and
hear. To the children of this little town upon the
banks of the Wabash the State represented all earthly
authority and power and dignity; and knowing nothing
of its duties or limitations, and nothing of legal forms
or customs, they regarded any one who had held com
munication with it, or been given any commission under
it, as partaking in a very great degree of the grandeur
which in their minds attached to it, and they looked
upon such a one as entitled to demand about what
he chose from other people, in the way of homage at
least.

If any shall say that reverence for their fellow-

MISTER M'KINLBY. 2/

men or being greater or more worthy of honor than
themselves, is not a feeling natural in man, or that
by nature every man is inclined to regard himself
as possessing equal rights with every other man, I
answer, that possibly it may be as you say some
time — when generations have come and gone in which,
from the cradle to the grave, men shall have been
taught by society, both by precept and practice, that
all are at birth "equal before the law — but at present
the belief of past generations in the divine right of
some to better birth than others shows itself in our
children, and causes them not only to yield to
oppression too easily, but to regard with awe and
reverence any who put forth a claim to superiority of
birth, or to having been given authority by those en
titled to exercise it.

And so these barefooted, straw-hatted (when they
had any hats at all), and linsey-clad children ac
knowledged the claim to honor and dignity put for
ward by the man to whom the State had granted a
commission to charge for ferrying people across the
Wabash, as being natural and proper. They may,
and, I think, did assist in increasing the estimate
which Mr. McKinley at first felt disposed to put
upon the honor done him, by the readiness with
which they acknowledged his claim to be valid and
proper.

28 THE BOATMAN OF THE FERRY.

Be this as it may, Mr. McKinley enjoyed the dignity
of his position and the honor accredited him of being
the only man in the community with a prefix to his
name, and being contented with the honor he left the
work of running the ferry to any other member of the
family who chose to attend to it.

At first most frequently it was his wife who shoulder
ed this duty in addition to the care of her household.
Then the oldest of the children began to perform this
service, and finally and by degrees the sole charge of the
business was given over to her, or rather appeared to
settle about and devolve upon her naturally ; probably
from the fact that no matter what the weather, or the
state of the water in the river, she was always ready to
answer the call of any one who desired to be set across,
and equally skillful and courageous in the management
of the boat.

I say "she," for the boatman of the ferry was a
girl.

At the time of my introducing her to the reader
she was nearly thirteen years old, tall, slim, graceful
in her motions as one of the willows which leans over
the river and dips its twigs in the clear water just below
the landing there, and equally as unconscious of the

fact.

See her now as, standing upon the stern of the

THE BOATMAN OF THE FERRY. 29

ferry, she exerts her strength to push it well up to
the landing with the flatboat pole. Her feet are bare,
and feet and ankles are tanned as brown as that dead
leaf floating with the current there. Her sun bonnet
has been thrown aside ; her arms are bare and brown
half way to the shoulder, and a mass of soft brown
hair that would curl beautifully, if only it had proper-
attention, hangs about her neck and shoulders. See
now, as she bends her supple body to the work of
forcing the boat ashore, how like to the willow she
is. Yes, that is she. That is Nettie McKinley, or
"Net," as she is familiarly called, for the reverence
which attaches to her father as being commissioned
by two States to run a ferry boat does not descend
to her who runs it. Familiarity, you know, is the
road by which dignity vacates the premises. If Mr.
McKinley was to run the ferry and speak cheerfully
and laugh and chat with everybody who crossed with
him as his daughter does — great man though he is — .
he would prove the truth of my saying and cease to be
addressed with more respect than that bestowed upon
his fellow villagers, and the evidence of his being a
great man, and wise withal, lies in the fact that he does
not run the ferry, and does not permit people to address
him too familiarly.

And now let me introduce another friend of mine ;
one whom you must know if you are to go with me to

30 PHILIP, PHINEAS, PHILANDER.

the end of this story, from the Wabash to the Rio
Grande, and maybe back again. Dear reader, I present
to you the three P's, Phineas Philip Philander Johnson,
eldest born of Mathilda S. and Abraham T. Johnson,
aged fourteen.

I say eldest born, but there is some question about
that, as also whether he is most Phineas or Philander or
Philip.

It all comes about in this way :

He was one of triplets born to the Johnsons two
years after the town was located and the same spring
that the ferry was established. When it became
"norrated 'round," to use an expression common to the
residents along the Wabash and in some other localities
as well ; when it became "norrated 'round" that Mrs.
Johnson had three babies, all born on the same day
and all boys, every married woman withia ten miles of
the ferry struck straight out for the Johnsons' the
moment they heard of it ; and every one of them
when they saw the new arrivals declared that they
''looked as near alike as three peas in a pod ;" and old
man Johnson, who had a touch of the humorous in
his composition, finally declared that that was what
they should be, and straghtway named them Philip,
Phineas and Philander, but when some one asked
him which was Philip and which the others, he re
plied that "he had not decided yet, and it didn't

OR THE THREE P'S. 31

make no difference no way, since nobody could tell
tother from which, but as soon as they got growed up a
bit he 'lowed to separate 'em out and mark 'em, and
have the mark recorded same's they do calves and
pigs."

But alas and alack ! two of the innocents crossed
over to the land of eternal sunshine before a short month
had gone by ; and as no one knew which of the P's it
was that passed over and which remained, and as people
said that anyway the one that stayed was properly the
heir of those who went, it was finally decided that this
one should have all the names — hence Philip Phineas
Philander Johnson, or more commonly Phil, or the
three P's.

Now if any of my readers are inclined to metaphysics
and the study of the occult, I suggest to them that here
is a field for thought.

What, probably or possibly, is the effect upon the
two P's who passed over before being distinguished
in the minds of their parents from the one who re
mained, and what will be the effect upon him of
thus receiving the appellation by which his brothers are
entitled to be known ? Will the confusion of things
and names and persons here affect the karma — I believe
that the term — which our young friend to whom I have
just introduced you will be able or compelled to create

32 THE WORLD'S HEROES.

for himself ? And will the aura of those who passed
over be in any way affected by the acts of
him who remains, and who not only bears the names
to which they are entitled, but is indistinguishably and
permanently mixed up with them in the minds of the
parents and the community in which the latter is still
living ?

You will note that Phil is not greatly different
from other boys of his age and surroundings.
I may as well tell you here, so that you may not suf
fer any disappointment later on, that now that he
is a man he is not greatly different from other men.
This is just a plain narrative of the lives of plain
everyday people possessed of plain everday virtues
and weaknesses ; and that there has been anything
worth recording in their lives is due rather to the
circumstances by which at times they have been sur-
rountfed than to any extraordinarily heroic qualities
possessed by them. There are thousands equally
heroic by nature of whom the world never heard, for
the reason that heroism is so common a virtue among
the people.

That which is not of the common only is made
matter of history.

The everyday life of the common people of this
and most other countries is filled with acts of heroism ;

THE WORLD'S HEROES. 33

heroic forbearance under multiplied wrongs ; heroic
self-denial, growing out of love for country and
family and friends. I do not write this narrative be
cause there was or is anything worthy of chronicling
in the people of " whom I write, but rather because
of the events by which they were surrounded and
in which they played their part by reason of being
there.

Phil Johnson, now, is, as you see, a common enough
looking boy, in blue jean overalls and hickory shirt.
His straw hat has lost half its brim, but so have the
hats of half the boys of his age throughout the town,
and the other half will be gone in another week.
What would you expect of hats that serve the purpose
of footballs nearly as 'much as of head gear among
a crowd of growing young savages, such as most
boys are ?

If you do not believe Phil is growing, look at his
pants — half-way up to his knees, now, exposing the calf
of a well-turned leg, and preparing to show still more of
it before the first frost.

Yes, his face is freckled and tanned with the sun,
and his hair has been given a lick and a promise to
day — probably for several days ; possibly the promise
without the lick ; but if the lick, then it was given
with a coarse comb that was lacking half its teeth,

34 A GENTLE REMINDER.

and the promise was of a more thorough combing
some other time, and will probably be kept next
Sunday, when his mother compels him to put on a
clean shirt and overalls and slick himself up generally,
preparatory to going to "meetin';" for I would not
have you think the town wholly without gospel
privileges. On the contrary, services are held with
considerable regularity every third Sunday — in the
open air if the weather permits, and if not,
in the house — the only one, by the way, builded
wholly of boards of which the town can boast —
in which, during the winter months, the district school
is kept.

One thing I wish to remind my reader of, lest he or
she may have forgotten.

We forget so many things as we get along up in
years.

I would not be a bit surprised, now, if you, dear
reader, would deny that you were ever in love with a
freckled, sun-browned girl with bare feet and a calico
frock, but everybody knows you have been.

Why, I'll wager a box of the best Havanas that I can
go with you back to the old neighborhood where you
were raised and get proof enough to convict you in a
justice's court of having been in love with a dozen such
in your boyhood days.

A GENTLE REMINDER. 35

And you, dear madame, to my positive knowledge
you were in love a half dozen times at least,
or thought you were, before you got out of short
dresses.

Some of your sweethearts were fair skinned, tow-
headed little men in nankeen waists that buttoned onto
their panto, and some of them wore roundabouts and
some wore coats and tucked their pants into their boot
legs so as to show their red tops ; lords and knights,
worthy to rank with the greatest and noblest of
earth. Oh, you can not deceive me. I have the wis
dom which comes of years and experience, and I know
all about it.

Now, if you want to recall old memories and see
yourself as you were before the cares and burdens of life
existed for you, just you watch what's left of the P's for
a little while.

There, didn't I tell you ?

He has left the crowd of youngsters with whom
he was playing and is off in the direction of the
ferry.

He has heard a halloo which he knows comes from
some one on the other side of the river wanting to be
ferried across, and is off like a shot to help Nettie with
the boat. No, no, don't stop him. Let him go ; there
is nothing in nature more innocent than the loves of

36 DON'T.

children, of boys for girls and girls for boys. For
pity's sake do not do anything to make them ashamed
of their love. A knowledge of what sin is and its
possibilities comes soon enough ; let them be innoceni
while they may.

•o

"WHERE IS YOTTB BROTHER?"

CHAPTER II.

STARTING OUT TO MAKE A MILLION.

As Phil came over the bank Nettie was just in the
act of pushing the boat off shore, having already loosened
the chain with which it was fastened, and thrown it upon
the boat. She had purposely delayed a little in doing
this, making pretenses that the chain would not un
fasten, but the moment she heard the sound of running
feet on the bank above, the difficulty vanished and she
began to push off.

Phil gave a shove at the prow and sprang on board,
going at once to the tiller for the purpose of so turning
the rude craft as to get the best use of the current in
forcing it across. Evidently he was well acquainted
with the handling of it. The truth is, he seldom spent
much time any where else than on or about the ferry
unless on compulsion from his parents. Ever since
Nettie began to manage the boat Phil had been her
assistant as often as hs could escape from the tasks
assigned him at home.

(37)

38 PHIL AND NETTIE.

"'Spect he's down to the ferry," was always the
reply of any member of the Johnson family when any
other member inquired where Phil was.

As for the children of his own age belonging to
other families, they never inquired of his own people
of his whereabouts ; if he was not in sight on the
premises, neither cutting wood in front of the door,
weeding the truck patch or picking up chips, they knew
at once that he had been sent off on an errand, in
which case it was no use to ask for him, or he was at
the ferry ; and it was there that they went to make their
inquiries.

' 'Phil's got to chop wood this afternoon ;" ''Phil's
got to hoe the onions;" ''Phil's father made him go
hunt the hogs down in the bottom ; they're goin' to get
'em home and finish fattin' 'em." All these among
other reasons Nettie herself had been heard to give
in answer to questions as to where Phil was ; which
simply goes to show the existence of a pretty good
understanding between them, and that Phil was in the
habit of reporting to her any pressing engagements
made for him by his parents in advance of his meeting
them.

In fact the intimacy between Phil and Nettie had
been of so long standing that no one had observed
ixs beginning, or appeared to notice its existence any
more than if they had been brother and sister. To the

PHIL AND NETTIE. 39

children themselves it appeared — as it certainly was —
the most natural thing in the world. Nettie's first
memory of the ferry, which was her first memory of any
thing, was of playing with other children about it, and
Phil's memory went no further back.

When Nettie first began to manage the ferry boat
Phil was by to encourage her in her ambition, and when
the boat made its first trip with her in charge Phil went
along to assist.

That was years ago now, and Phil had always been
her chief assistant since. Not that he was the only one
she had, for every child in the village was more or less
at the ferry, and not one of them had reached the
mature age of twelve years without having, one time or
another, stood at the tiller and tried to guide the boat.
But none of them seemed so greatly to enjoy the fun or
labor — which ever you desire to consider it, or to so
persistently hang around the boat as Phil. And so it
was that gradually he came to be looked upon as in
some way one of the managers of the ferry, having
rights if not duties there.

All this, I say, had seemed natural' enough to
everybody, and to none more so than to Phil and
Nettie.

That there could be any reason why they should
blush to acknowledge the intimacy which existed be
tween them had never occurred to either, or at

4O NETTIE GROWS SHY.

least not until a few days previous to the time of
which I write, nor did either understand why it was
so now.

Only recently a strange feeling had sprung up in
their hearts ; one which made them shy of each other
in the presence of older persons. Just why it was so,
neither could well have told ; and indeed they would
probably have denied its existence. It began when a
short time before a couple of gentlemen, one, of whom
lived in a railroad town ten miles away, b»it who oc
casionally had business which required him to travel the
road to the ferry and so was known to Nettie by sight,
and another, a young man she had never seen, had
crossed together.

Phil was away at the time, and having as it chanced
always seen them together when he had crossed hereto
fore, the gentleman noticed his absence and inquired
of the girl if her brother was sick that she was tending
the ferry alone.

"Who, Phil?" she asked in reply; adding: "He
ain't my brother. He's Mr. Johnson's boy, and he
couldn't help run the boat to-day 'cause he has to hoe
in the truck patch."

"But isn't he hired to help you tend the ferry ?"
asked the gentleman. ' 'I supposed you were both Mr.
McKinley's children."

"Oh, no," answered Nettie, "Phil isn't hired; he

AND LEARNS TO BLUSH. 41

just helps me because he likes to run the boat, and be
cause — because — "

She blushed and stopped. She was going to say
"because we like each other," but something, perhaps it
was the amused smile playing around the mouth of her
questioner, caused an embarrassed feeling before un
known to her.

The gentleman finished the sentence for her by
adding :

"Because he is your sweetheart, eh!" And for the
first time in her life she blushed. Just why she blushed
she could not have told. Indeed, I suppose she did
not know she was blushing, but she knew that her face
felt suddenly uncomfortably warm, and she turned
away and pretended to be busy with the tiller, and
never once again looked at either gentleman, neither
replied to their smilingly pronounced "good byes" as
they left the boat. And when, after completing his stint
for the afternoon, Phil joined her at the ferry as usual,
she greeted him less boisterously than was her custom,
and when any one was by appeared shy of him, and as
if she wished to avoid being seen sitting or standing by
his side. Phil felt this shyness rather than saw it with
his natural eyes, and instinctively tried to keep closer
to her than ever, which only seemed to make her the
more anxious to keep away from him. When he went
home and to bed that night he had for the first time in

4§ PHIL HAS A NEW SENSATION.

his life a feeling that there was something wrong with
the universe some way, as if the world was out of kelter
and needed fixing, though just how or why he could
not say.

But the next day when he went again to the ferry
the feeling had all passed away and the world had re
sumed its natural brightness. Nettie, too, appeared
to have forgotten, if she had ever had anything to
remember, for she hailed him with accustomed famil
iarity, and they spent a pleasant half day together,
though once or twice when grown people were around
there was something about Nettie quite indefinable to
Phil, yet which caused a slight return of the feeling of
the night before.

But the feeling, whatever it was, passed in a mo
ment. When he went to his dinner and his afternoon
stint of weeding in the truck patch he was light
hearted as a boy could be and did an unusually good
job of weeding ; and the next day when he had chop
ped and split enough wood for his mother to bake with
and was again at liberty, and hearing the halloo of some
one wanting to cross the river, he darted away as we
have seen, with heart as light as his heels.

As we have seen, too, Nettie was waiting and hoping
for his coming ; even pretending to those who wished
to be brought across that she was having trouble in

PHIL HAS A NEW SENSATION. 43

unfastening the boat, in order to give Phil tima to get
there before she cast off.

Had she been straining her eyes in an effort to
recognize the parties waiting to come over as intently
as she was straining her ears to catch the sound of
Phil's approaching steps, she would have seen that the
travelers were the same gentlemen who had crossed
over two days before, to one of whom she owed
the knowledge of her ability to blush ; in which case
she would probably have hurried to push off before
Phil's arrival, instead of making an excuse to await his
coming.

When Phil had taken the tiller after jumping
aboard, Nettie went and stood by him, and, all un
conscious of the strangers watching them, laughed and
chatted merrily, their eyes meanwhile observing the
motion of the boat, and Phil moving the tiller this way
and that almost mechanically, as long practice in a thing
enables any one to do.

As they neared the opposite shore Nettie picked
up the chain, and the moment the boat touched
sprang ashore, ready to throw it over the post placed
there for that purpose, when, glancing up, she rec
ognized the travelers, and was instantly covered
with confusion. All the old feeling of embarrass
ment came back to her, and she stood for a brief
space of time with her hands extended as if in the

44 A LITTLE TIFF.

act of letting the ring drop over the stake, but for
getting to let go of it, while the blood suffused her face
and neck.

"So the captain's mate has returned, has he ?" in
terrogated the elder gentleman, glancing from Nettie to
Phil and back again ; ami then added, laughingly, < 'The
brave knight performs the service required of him by the
powers which be, and instantly flies to the presence
of his sweetheart ;" at which his companion laughed
also.

Neither Phil nor Nettie knew just what he meant
by his remark, but they did know that in some mild
way they were being made sport of for being so much
together, and instantly they became silent. Only once
during the few moments they were swinging back to
their starting point did either speak, and then Phil
asked some simple question in a low tone, which Nettie
answered in a still lower one, and without looking at
him ; and when the gentlemen had left the boat and
ridden up the bank and out of sight, she also went up
the bank and into her father's cabin, and did not return
for more than an hour, and not until Phil had gone
home.

The next morning, when Mr. Johnson, standing at
the foot of the ladder which led up into the loft of his
story-and-a-half log cabin, and looking up at the open
landing above his head, cabled first, "Phil," and then

MR. JOHNSON MAKES A DISCOVERY. 45

"Oh, Phil," two or three times, and getting no answer
had climbed to his sleeping place with the intention of
waking him by some niore vigorous measures, he
found the loft empty. Phil was not there,

"Blamed if the youngster ain't up and out a'ready,"
he said aloud, as he descended to the lower floor again ;
' 'wonder what's on hand to make him turn out without
being called ?"

' 'Phil's up a'ready," he said to the boy's mother, as
he passed from the log part into the frame kitchen in
which she was preparing breakfast. ' 'Where d'ye s'pose
he is ; ain't gone down to the ferry before breakfast, I
reckon ?"

Whether Mrs. Johnson felt a sudden premonition of
evil, or whether she thought her husband had been mis
taken in supposing that Phil had arisen, I can not tell,
but she laid down the knife with which she was turning
her corn cakes and went into the other room and up the
ladder, as her husband had done. She was gone some
minutes, and returned with a scared look upon her face.
She held in her hand a piece of paper, evidently the
blank leaf torn from some school book, on which was
scrawled in a big hand :

"Tell Nettie I've gone away ; when I've made a
million of dollars I'll cum back and marry her.'

"PHIL."

Two weeks later, a letter addressed in the same

40 TELL NETTIE.

schoolboy hand arrived, and was given to Mrs. Johnson.
It ran as follows :
"DEAR MOTHER:

I'm going to go to Kansas to herd cattle for a
man. We are goin' through with teams. When I get
a good farm and lots of cattle of my own I'll come back
after you all.

Your affectionate son,

PHIL.
Post skrip. Tell Nettie."

IN FRONT OP THE STAMPED*.

CHAPTER III.

IN FRONT OF THE STAMPEDE — RIDING THE TRAIL.

Ride ! ride like the devil; ride for your life, man !
Stick spur in your pony's flank, and press hard and
press long; lean low over your saddle bow — speak
quick, sharp words of encouragement and command
to your beast, and ride for your life ! for behind you,
like the waves of a mad sea, are ten thousand frightened
steers, and you are scarce the length of your horse
ahead of them 1 If your pony stumble — if in the dark-
yiess of night made black by overhanging clouds his
foot shall strike a prairie dog hole, or if he fail to clear
at a bound the ruins of some deserted corral, the
location of which neither horse nor rider knows anything
of— if anything happen by which his speed is checked
btjt for one short moment — the hoofs that are thunder
ing at your heels shall tramp every semblance of hu
manity out of your body before you can utter a prayer
or curse !

It was in the spring of 188- that Maxwell's big herd
. (47)

4& THE MAXWELL DRIVE.

started up the trail from the Rio Grande country on the*/
long journey through Texas and the Indian Territory
to Kansas. For months the Maxwells, aided by their
men, had been rounding up and branding and preparing
for the trip, and finally all was ready, and the herd was
started North. Herds starting from as low down as
Laredo, or anywhere in Southern Texas, must start
early in the season, as it is an all summer drive if cattle
are to be brought through in good condition.

Maxwell had in this drive a good round five thou
sand longhorns, or Texas steers, mostly three-year-olds.
The plan was to take them North by easy stages to well
up in the Indian Territory, winter there, and push
them into market as early as they could be got into fit
condition.

The outfit consisted of ten men, besides a cook.

Each of the ten men was supplied with several
Spanish ponies for riding ; for on such drives frequent
changes of horses are absolutely necessary. The cook
was furnished with a pair of stout mules, a wagon for
"chuck" or provisions, consisting principally of beans
and black coffee, though a steer is always killed when
needed on such expeditions, particularly when passing
through strips of country where there are cattle at
range.

Cattle men, as a rule — to which there are exceptions
— much prefer having men in their employ, when they

A STORM SBTS IN. 49

want fresh meat, kill a steer or heifer bearing tome
brand other than their own, and applaud it as a good
joke — a sort of sharp trick. Human nature is not much
different on the plains than elsewhere ; neither are
cattle men or cowboys worse than others ; but those
who engage in the business as employers or employed
do so either from a desire to acquire wealth rapidly or
a love of freedom from the restraints of law, and it is
natural among such that a disregard for legal rights,
even a pleasure in disregarding them, should manifest
itself ; but let the sympathies of this class be appealed
to — let a companion, or even a stranger, be in need,
and none so ready to extend a helping hand ; and the
most ready of all is often he who is most prompt on
occasion to wrong another in the killing of a steer or
branding a maverick.

The drive had been on the road but two or three
days, and was hardly broken in — long-horned steers
that have never been handled except as they were
caught with a lasso, thrown to the ground and branded
with a hot iron, never get very well broken in, even to
driving in a bunch — when, just as night approached, a
-rain storm came up accompanied with wind, and at once
the herd began to drift , that is, to work slowly ahead
with the storm.

The only thing to do when a herd begins drifting,
and especially if it be a large one, is for the herders to

5O AND THE HERD BEGINS TO DRIFT.

keep with it, riding in front and at the sides ; keeping it
from breaking up into bunches, and so becoming separ
ated. Cattle do not travel very rapidly in such cases,
but they keep moving steadily, with heads down, noses
close to the ground, and any effort to stop them is likely
to result in the thing most to be dreaded — a stampede,
and a division of the drove into bunches, whereby it is
likely to become mixed with other herds.

When the storm came up, the men, a few at a time,
went back to the cook's wagon and secured such proven
der as they could for themselves, caught and mounted
fresh ponies and resumed their places in the line which
they had formed about the drifting herd, endeavoring
by the singing of songs and by keeping even pace with
the cattle as they drifted to keep them from becoming
uneasy, and so hold them together.

And now, reader, if you have ever hankered after the
free and easy life of a cowboy, this is a good time to
think the matter over and arrive at a decision.

Fancy yourself one of Maxwell's hands on this drive
and the night in question. You have been in the saddle
all day and have changed horses twice ; the night is
black, but you have been out on dark nights, and on
rainy nights and on horseback before. Very well. Now
recall, if you can, the darkest night in which you were
ever out. Imagine the rain falling steadily and every
now and then rustled and rattled about by a gust of

ALONE IN THE DARKNESS. 5 1

wind, yourself astride of a Spanish pony, who would
feel insulted if he thought you considered him thoroughly
broke, even to the saddle, and by you. We are on a
prairie miles, yes hundreds of miles, in extent over
which neither of us has ever ridden, and we are two
of but a handful of men in charge of some thousands of
half wild steers drifting with the storm.

We separate here ; you turn your pony's head with
the storm and ride slowly in advance of the drifting
herd. I continue on out of your sight and hearing, and
then do as you have done, turn my pony's head with the
wind, and drift.

You are alone now ; you see nothing, unless per
chance a flash of lightning discloses for an instant a sea
of horns, of long slim horns above a mass of black
moving beasts liable at any moment to become frantic
with fear and rush at you and over you, trampling you
down and mangling you beyond possibility of recognition.

Hour after hour the storm beats down and the cattle
drift. You were soaked through and through hours ago.
For hours you have not so much as seen the pony's
head upon which you ride ; you do not know which way
or where you are going, or how going, only that you are
drifting with the storm and the herd. You hear the
tramp of feet, the rattle of horns knocking against each
other, and occasionally the voice of another herder
singing, or rather yelling, for the double purpose of

$* THE STEERS STAMPEDE.

keeping the steers as quiet as may be and of letting hit
companions know about where he is.

You attempt to lift up an answering voice, but the
wind comes with a gust, snatches your sombrero from
your head and whirls it away in the darkness. If there
was only the least bit of light it would look like a great
dusky bat sailing through the air, but it is too dark to
see anything ; and besides, the same gust of wind that
robbed you of your sombrero drove the words you were
trying to speak back into your mouth and down your
throat, choking you and forcing you to turn aside your
head to catch breath again as you ride to-night with
Maxwell's drive of Texas steers.

And just as you turn your head, and before you can
catch your breath, the steers stampede. Your hat
carried by the wind and skimming over their backs has
done it. You feel the first mighty impulse, the first
frightened thrill of that compacted mass ; the ground
trembles, and for an instant, with the wind in your
throat, you are confused and imagine yourself in a storm
at sea. Only the agility of your pony saves you from
instant death, for you are in the lead and the herd that
is coming down upon you is as blind with fear as are you
with the darkness.

Only ten minutes since the stampede began and it
seems an hour ; you are a mile, miles from where you
started and still alive but not put of danger. A Texas

IN FRONT OF THE STAMPEDE. 53

ateer is almost as fleet of foot and long of wind as a cow
pony, and you had but a few yards the start, having
kept close up to them that your presence might quiet
them. You are gaining on them, however, and they
may slacken their, pace any moment now.

But no, they have taken fresh fright and are rushing
on faster than ever. And — what's that ? Great God !
they are closing in on the sides. In the darkness the
edges of the drive have moved faster than the center and
you are flanked upon both sides, and in their fright now
they are closing in instead of scattering.

Something touches your stirrup as you ride ; you
feel the presence of something beside you, keeping even
pace with you ; you think it a steer and that the herd
has quite closed in on you ; but no, it is another rider
and another pony. In the race we who separated in
front of the drive hours ago are driven together by the
pressure of the herd upon our right and our left. We
are still behind the leaders upon both flanks. We do
not see this, we feel that it is so ; there is something
in the air, in the trembling of the ground, in the efforts
of the animals we ride to put forth increased speed that
tells it to us.

But how dark it is. We lean forward upon our
saddle bows; we strain our eyes; we drive our rowels
afresh into the flanks of our steeds, we fly through the
darkness.

54 IN FRONT OF THE STAMPEDE.

There comes a flash of lightning, not vivid, but
enough to show us the ground in front and the herd
closing in upon us. There is but a little space on either
side not rilled by the black mass of moving bodies and
horns.

The light has vanished now and we can feel the
darkness around and about us ; and now we feel the
touch of warm bodies against our legs ; the herd has
closed in upon us ; we are a part of the mass of surging
brutes, surrounded, doomed.

Only for an instant. Another flash of lightning and
an opening appears ; we lack but a length of being in
the lead, our ponies see it, understand it, put forth new
strength and clear the press. We are saved. No, one
falls, his pony's foot caught in a prairie dog hole, and
the mass surges over him. To-morrow search will be
made and a mass of blood and mangled flesh will be
found and given such burial as is possible, but for that
he who rides has no time to think. He is out of the
mass and again in the lead and a good ten miles from
the point where the stampede began, and the surging
mass of bodies and horns behind is beginning to recover
from its fright, to check its speed. He is saved.

But how do you like to ride the drive ? Has the
wild free life of the cowboy the same charm for
you it had before you rode this night with Maxwell's
herd ?

RIDING THE DRIVE. 55

When the morning came after the stampede and the
ride from which one never returned, the drive was found
to have been kept well together, considering the distance
and the character of the night. It had divided into two
parts, but luckily both had taken the same general
direction and had come to a halt when the storm ceased
near daybreak, not more than two or three miles apart,
so that the difficulty of gathering them together was not
great. But it was noon before all the herders had
opportunity to get anything to eat or to change their
tired ponies for fresh ones.

Among the last to show up at camp was one of the
men who was in front of the drive when the stampede
began. What remained of the other had been buried
two hours before and a rude mark placed over the hastily
dug grave.

"That was a close call you had last night, Phil,"
remarked one of the men. "I thought you and Bob
had both gone on the long drive. I knew you and he
were in front, and was afraid the brutes had pushed
ahead at the sides so as to flank you. I was half way
back on the side to which the wind was blowing and
could hear you while you couldn't hear me, but I kept
calling to the boys in front of me to keep singing or
calling so we could each know where we all were and
keep the steers as much together as possible. When
the cattle started I thought of you and Bob, for I wasn't

56 TOO ROCKY FOR COMFORT.

in any special danger myself, not more than common
at such times ; and when that flash of lightning came
I saw you both, just for a second; must have been on
~ bit of a rise just then, so I could see the whole mass
of brutes and you and Bob bein' closed in on, but
only a few lengths behind the foremost of the drive. I
hoped then you'd both come through, but I reckon
Bob's pony must have stumbled. Well, everybody's
got to ride that trail sometime, but I'd rather die some
other way than be trampled to death by a lot of longhorn
steers."

"I, too," returned the other. "I don't believe I'm
a coward, but there are things about this business that
are a little bit too rocky for comfort. I've more than
half a mind to say that this will be my last drive.
Soon's we round up in Kansas guess I'll settle up with
the company and take what's coming to me and start in
for myself somewhere."

"Coin' back to the States?"

"No ; at least not yet. I must make a stake first ;
a little one, anyway. I was only a boy when I left
home — ran away, you know — and I promised not to
go back until I was worth a million. Then I dropped
down a peg or two, and fixed the line at a big ranch
and lots ot cattle ; and I must at least have a little ranch
and a few cattle, or I'd be ashamed to show myself in
the old neighborhood."

THE THREE P'S AGAIN. 57

"Well, you came mighty nigh being saved that
trouble. I calculate you were only one jump ahead of
death last night, and not much time to spare to make
it in. But what's the use of whinin' ? Better eat our
chuck while we can get it." And the two turned to the
lay-out provided by the cook, and proceeded to satisfy
their appetites.

And this is Phil Johnson, the man who so narrowly
escaped death last night, and is now sitting on a bit ol
limestone rock, drinking black coffee from a tin cup and
eating grub from a chuck wagon ; the boy you used to
know when he lived in that little town on the Wabash,
and 'tended ferry with Nettie McKinley when not
engaged in weeding the truck patch, bringing in wood
for his mother, or hunting hogs or cattle in the river
bottoms. He has not got the million dollars yet, you
see, not even the ranch and big lot of cattle, but he has
been to Kansas, as he said in his letter to his mother
that he was going to do, and from Kansas has drifted
to the Lone Star State, where we now find him drifting
back again, a rider for Maxwell, one of the largest cattle
men of the West.

Yes, he has grown. He is a man now. Let me see —
it was five, six, eight years ago that he ran away from
home because his little sweetheart left him one day
without saying good-bye, and hid away in her father's
cabin. How time flies. Eight and fourteen — that makes

$8 ABOUT THAT MILLION DOLLARS.

twenty-two. Phil is a year past his majority now, and
Nettie herself is past twenty.

The accidental reference of Phil's companion to
the States called up memories which haunted Phil
all that day "and the next and the next. He could
not forget the old home ; oh no, ho had never for
gotten it, nor the ferry, nor Nettie , neither his pur
pose of going back some day and surprising them all
by the amount of wealth he would display ; but the
desire to return had never been so strong upon him
as now.

Perhaps it was because of his narrow escape from
death in the stampede, though, as for that, he had been
near death often before in those eight years.

Ever since he left home — or, at least, ever since
arriving in Kansas with the emigrant he fell in with
a few days after leaving — he had lived upon the
frontier ; most of the time as a herder of cattle.
Twice he had formed one of a little company that
had followed a party of cattle thieves across the Rio
Grande into old Mexico, and retaken the stolen
beeves after a smart skirmish, in which men had
bitten the dust upon both sides ; and once, when
with a herd in New Mexico, he had had a brush with
the Comanches, and came near getting his scalp
lifted. And all this time he had kept in mind his

ACROSS THE BORDER. 59

promise of some time going back to the old neighbor
hood and Nettie.

He had not, however, made much headway toward
the million or even the ranch and cattle. He had
lived in the main the life of other cowboys, which
means getting anywhere from fifteen to fifty dollars
a month and spending it whenever opportunity offers.
What could one expect of such a boy and such com
panions ?

Yet Phil had not been drunken or wild, as many
are ; he had simply spent freely when he had anything
to spend and a chance to spend it. Nothing is so hard
to resist as the temptation to spend when among those
who are in the habit of spending freely ; and nowhere
in the world, or among any class of met', is one more
meanly thought of for niggardliness than among cow
boys.

Phil's outfit was always of the best. His saddle cost
fifty dollars. His spurs were of silver ; his pistols finely
mounted ; his blankets were made in old Mexico, and
were thick and heavy and fine, and he dressed in the
best of cowboy style. He generally owned a pony or
two besides, but ponies are cheap — from fifteen to fifty
dollars — a month's wages. And this was the extent of
Phil's savings to date ; this the start he had made upon
his million.

But now, as he rode day after day, or stood his

60 THE COST OF AN OUTFIT.

lonely guard at night, his thoughts turned more seriously
to the past and also to the future. For the first time
he realized fully that the years were passing, and that
if ever he was to make good in any considerable degree
his boyish boast of securing a competence and returning
to the village of his birth, it was time he set about it.
He had not really intended for earnest what he had
said to his companion the morning after the stampede
about this drive with Maxwell being his last. That
was said without consideration, or at least without any
very great consideration, but it proved in the end
to be a prophecy. The more he thought of the words
he had spoken, the more he determined to make them
good, and he resolved to leave his employer the mo
ment he could do so with a few hundred dollars
ahead, and to begin in earnest the work of making a
home for himself and — and, yes, Nettie ; that is, if she
had not forgotten him — if she had not married some
one else.

He wondered if she had forgotten, if she had mar
ried. Sometimes he fancied she had and tried to pic
ture her living in the little old town on the banks of
the Wabash as the wife of one of his former play
mates. At first this idea rather amused him ; he had
been gone long enough and had seen enough of the
world to have a realizing sense of what a quiet, out of
the way place it was. Not even a flatboat floating

PHIL CALLS UP OLD MEMORIES, 6 1

down with the current any more, to break the monot
ony of life in the little town. True, there had not
been many such when he was a boy, but he could re
member a few ; could even remember seeing an oc
casional little steam vessel working its way to the
small city forty miles up the stream. But all that
was over now ; no steamers, no flatboats even ; the
railroads had caused all that to cease being profitable,
and at the same time by building up larger towns at
short distances away, had left this little town with
out a thing to furnish excitement or even to stimulate
conversation. Thinking of it he could not help wonder
ing if the inhabitants were still talking of the last
flatboat which floated down the river four years before
he left and got snagged and sunk a half mile below the
ferry.

Ah, yes, the ferry. He had gone with Nettie and
a lot of other children to see the boat where she
lay. Joe Bronson was among them he remembered.
He wondered if Joe lived there still, and if he hadn't
been making up to Nettie during these years of his own
absence.

Then he began to be jealous of his probable rival.
The thought which had but a moment ago provoked
but a mild species of curiosity, a wanting to know,
had, now, that it took different shape and a person
ality, excited an uneasy feeling which reminded

62 AND GROWS JEALOUS OF AN IMAGINARY RIVAL.

of the time he noticed Nettie's shyness, and he
felt half tempted to quit the drive at once and break
for home then and there. But he remembered his
boast of coming back rich and he felt ashamed to
return empty handed. Then came thoughts of his
mother and all her kindness and self sacrifice. He
remembered how she had worked and economized
in order that the family might be kept together and
comfortable. He did not realize it at the time, but
he understood it all now, and he compared her labors
with his own and her spending with his, since he
started out for himself, and he felt ashamed and humili
ated. Hard as he saw his own life as a cowboy to have
been, he felt that her life had been incomparably
harder ; for it was a life of ceaseless toil, of duties never
ended and without a thing to break the monotony from
year end to year end.

"No wonder the folks used to talk of that flatboat
getting snagged four years after it occurred," he mut
tered. ' 'Why, hang it all, that's the only thing that ever
did occur so far as I can remember ; there wasn't any
thing else they could talk about."

"And how mother used to scrimp and save every
penny and go without things herself for us chil
dren ;" so his mind ran on. "I believe the twenty-
five cent pieces we used to get to spend at Christ
inas and the fourth of July cost her more self-denial

THE OTHER TWO P'S. 63

than it would me to have sent home a thousand dol
lars."

"And father, too, he must be getting old now ; how
jolly he used to be with us youngsters. Think of his
naming us triplets Philip, Philander and Phineas. He
must have thought it a huge joke, and so it was. Wonder
now what became of the other two — the two that
died ? Reckon they ain't cowboys ? Reckon they
wouldn't have run away as I did just as I was
getting big enough to pay for my keep, and never let
'em know where they were all this time ? Hang me
if I ain't a worse brute than one of them longhorn
steers."

You see he was getting tender hearted if not sen
timental, thinking of the past and all it had been and
might have been.

Such thoughts come to us all at times, I think ;
thoughts of the goodness and sweetness of our mothers
— of the sacrifices which they have made for us — of their
love for us and sorrow endured because of us ; and it is
well that such thoughts do come. They seem to break
up the crust of selfishness which forms about one's heart
in contact with the world, and make room for kindly
feelings toward all mankind.

The result of Phil's thoughts was to change to a
fixed purpose the impulse which came to him that
morning to save his earnings, and as soon as he could,

64 PHIL

with credit to himself, return to his old home and do
what was possible to compensate his parents for his
long absence. And he clenched his good resolution on
the spot by sending from the first town he reached a
long letter to his father, telling them of his wandering,
of his present whereabouts and firm purpose to begin
' laying up a stake, " and ended by sending with it every
dollar of money he had at the time.

MB. BROWN, OF Nsw YORK.

CHAPTER IV.

IN WHICH MR. BROWN, OF NEW YORK, IS INTRODUCED
TO THE WILD WEST. AFTERWARD HE BUYS SOME
STEERS.

The long, warm months of summer passed slowly
away, with the herd moving steadily nothward, and
September saw them still on the road. But early in
October the drive reached the vicinity of Caldwell, Kan
sas, and were bedded for the last time by the men who
had brought them through from the Rio Grande, for
here they were taken in hand by partners of Maxwell,
who shipped them East by rail.

Phil had expected a letter from home to reach him
here, but none awaited him. He had settled with his
employer, receiving his season's pay in a lump, having
religiously refrained from drawing any on the long
drive ; being determined to have at least a nest egg
with which to start out on his own hook when the drive
should end.

(6$)

66 MR. BROWN, A "TENDERFOOT.*

He drew wages for seven months, amounting to
over three hundred dollars, more money than he
had ever possessed at any one time, and had he re
ceived a letter from home, as he fondly expected, I
am not sure he would not have weakened in his purpose
of not going home until he had made his fortune. Even
as it was he felt strangely inclined to go. Then
his pride arose, and he began to feel himself deeply
wronged.

They had forgotten him, he said, or had never for
given him for running away.

As if a mother could ever forget her child.

He had not said anything in his letter about Nettie.

At first he had thought he would, then concluded
not to, thinking his mother would probably mention
her in the letter she would write to him, and so he
would learn whether she was married or not, without
having asked. Not getting any letter discouraged him,
and after giving up the idea of going home he felt
tempted to go on a lark, and blow in every dollar of
his earnings, and return to his old life again. But
better thoughts intervened, and, after lying around for
a few days, he entered into partnership with a ' 'tender
foot, " as a man unacquainted with frontier life is
called.

This stranger, whose name was Samuel Brown,
put in four thousand dollars against Phil's outfit.

PHIL BECOMES A CAPITALIST. 6?

valued at three hundred, and his ready cash, three
hundred more, each to receive equally of all profit ;
Phil's superior knowledge and experience being con
sidered an equivalent to Mr. Brown's extra quantity of
capital.

Thus elevated to the character of a capitalist,
Phil's ambition took a fresh lease of life, and his
self respect went up several degrees ; nothing now
could have tempted him to blow his money in at a
gambling hell.

Brown, his partner, although an Eastern man, and
unacquainted with the business, was evidently a man of
pluck and endurance.

He had been bred in the city, but having a natural
love for a life of freedom, and hearing of the fortunes
being made in the cattle business, had turned his little
capital into money and gone West for the purpose of
investing it. Happening to meet Phil he took a fancy
to him ; and learning from the Maxwells that he was
trusty and experienced, struck up a partnership with
him, and, ten days after arriving in Caldwell, Phil and
Brown started back along the trail the former had just
passed over, on their way to buy a drove of cattle for
themselves.

Nothing of special interest occurred on their way
down ; that is, nothing of interest to the reader. Every
thing was interesting to Phil's partner, Mr. Brown,

68 MR. BROWN AND THE BUCKING PONY.

from the start. Even the pony he purchased to carry
him on the trip proved a subject of absorbing interest
for a time.

The pony also appeared deeply interested in Mr.
Brown.

Evidently he recognized him as a "tenderfoot" at
sight, and the moment Mr. Brown swung himself into
the saddle the pony proceeded to introduce him to the
ways of the country which he was» invading.

First he reached around and took Mr. Brown by
the leg, as if feeling for his muscle, in an endeavor to
ascertain the probabilities of his being able to walk
to Texas in case a necessity for doing so should
arise.

Apparently satisfied on this point, and being in
vited by Mr. Brown to proceed, he proceeded ; that
is, he proceeded to place all four of his feet close to
gether, put his nose with his feet, and jump into
the air.

Brown went up with him but forgot to come down
when he did. Instead of coming down with the
pony he kept on going up, and when he did come
down he landed on his head — not the pony's head, but

i

his own.

He lay doubled up in a heap for a second or two,
and then got upon his feet and put out his hand
and spread his fingers wide apart and beat the air

THE BUCKING PONY AND MR. BROWN. 69

faintly, as if feeling around for something, he did
not seem to know just what. Then he came to,
and straightened himself up and looked at the pony
with blood in his eye ; there was blood on his nose
also, but that is not worth mentioning. Then the
pony turned his head to one side and looked at him,
brought his feet back to their first position and shook
himself as if he had said: "Well, my young tender
foot, what do you think of the Wild West by this
time ?"

Then Brown made for him, and got him by the
bridle, and crowded him up against the corral, and
spoke to him in language which encouraged a bystander
to remark that "Brown would make a success as a cow
boy yet."

Then Brown argued with the pony some more, and
finally succeeded, with the help of two other men, in
getting mounted again ; upon which the pony proceeded
as before to bring his feet together under the center of
his body, put his nose to the ground and spring about
eight feet into the air.

This time Brown was expecting something of the
kind and was prepared for it. He rose with the pony
and also came down with him, doing both in 'good
style; but as the pony struck the ground stiff-legged and
as this was what Mr. Brown was not expecting, he
immediately rose again, and when he came down this

7O OFF IN GOOD STYLE.

time it was on the ground on the spot where the pony
had stood a second before. Recognizing the fact that
Mr. Brown had gone up into the air again, and his
experience with tenderfeet not enabling him to determine
whether or not he intended coming down, and, if so,
whether he had any particular spot selected on which
to alight, he considerately moved forward a few yards
and went to nibbling grass until wanted.

Again Brown arose from the ground and made for
the pony, but so far from being able to m , unt him was
he that Phil had first to catch him wittf hi; lasso, after
which, with some help, Brown again jTuitec* °n> "pre
pared to stay with him," he said; but the pony, who
had done nothing for a month, evidently felt that simply
pitching Brown off was not sufficient exercise, and so
instead of bucking he started off at a run, whereat
Brown straightened up in the saddle and having the
bridle to hold on to succeeded in keeping his seat. Phil
followed after at the same rattling pace and the two
passed out of the town in what Brown felt to be pretty
good style. In fact I think he considered this part of
the performance quite creditable, as that night, sitting
about their first camp, he remarked to Phil that he
wished he could have had taken a photograph of them
selves as they came out of town, to send back to his
folks.

This, however, did not prevent a feeling of un-

THE PRICE OF YEARLING STEERS. ?I

certainty regarding his ability to stay with the pony in
case he began bucking again, and when they saddled up
the next morning, Phil, observing with what suspicion
Brown eyed the pony, and knowing from experience
just how lame and «pre his partner must be with this
first day's riding, had compassion on him and offered
to exchange mounts until his pony was thoroughly
broke in, a proposition which Brown acceded to with
some apparent reluctance but much inward satisfac
tion.

In time Brown became a fearless and fairly good
rider ; but I doubt if the remembrance of his introduction
to the ways of the "Wild West," or at least that portion
of it represented by bucking ponies, affords him any
especial pleasure even yet.

Arriving in Texas the two men bought four hundred
head of yearling steers, paying eight dollars apiece for
them, and proposed to push out into New Mexico, where
Phil felt certain of being able to find a range suitable to
their wants.

They accordingly bought a wagon for the trans
portation of provisions, ammunition, and the few tools
they should need to build a permanent camp with.
They bought a pair of mules and harness, and hired a
cheap hand to act as cook and to drive the team on the
journey. They also bought a number of ponies, about
half of them being three-year-old mares, so that they

7* TWO WAYS OF AVOIDING WAR.

might be making a start toward raising their own cow
ponies while their herd of steers was growing.

Of course they had to go well armed.

While there is really far less lawlessness and dis
regard for human life among the cattle men and cowboys
along our frontiers than the blood and thunder stories
told of them would lead people to suppose, there are yet
a sufficient number of reckless characters among them to
make it wise to go armed.

There are two ways of avoiding the probabilities of
war ; the first one is for no one to carry any of the
weapons of war ; the other is for everybody to carry
them. The former is undoubtedly the best way provided
all agree to it, but as everybody can not be induced
to do so, a proper regard for one's own interest in life
and long-horned steers and Spanish ponies is best ex
hibited in the purchase and wearing of a brace of
revolvers, to which — if two or three are intending to
strike off by themselves with a small herd — it is well to
add a good repeating rifle.

I have noticed that the Indians especially have a
profound respect for a repeating rifle. Such as do not
understand its workings regard it as a device of the
Evil Spirit to assist in driving the red man from his
native plains, while such as do understand it have a
realizing sense of the danger involved in stealing cattle

THROUGH WESTERN TEXAS. 7fc

or ponies from those in possession of so formidable a
weapon.

Having completed the purchase of their herd and
laid in a good supply of provisions, the two men set out
for their destination^ which point was, however, a little
indefinite, even in Phil's mind.

He felt confident that he should find plenty of feed
on the route he had marked out for them to take, and
therefore was not uneasy about the matter, as they
could move leisurely and settle down whenever a good
bit of unoccupied range with plenty of water presented
itself ; and for this purpose they had reserved a few
hundred dollars to be used, if need be, in buying out
some one who had enough of this kind of life and was
anxious to go back to civilization.

Accordingly they struck across country until they
reached the Pecos river, which stream they followed up
for a time and finally crossed, in order to secure the
better pasturage skirting the foothills of the Guadaloupe
range of mountains, thus avoiding the staked plains
with their scarcity of water — for which they are only
too well known, as many a hapless ranger and cattle
man can testify — crossed the Big Bonita river, and
finally pitched camp on a little stream which enters the
Pecos river fifty or seventy-five miles above the Bonita,
and not far from opposite old Fort Stanton, which
is on the other side of the Guadaloupe range.

74 INTO NEW MEXICO.

They were more fortunate in this than they had
hoped, as they found the range unoccupied and un
appropriated, and they at once took steps to enter it,
at the government price of a dollar and a quarter an
acre. That is, they entered three hundred and twenty
acres lying along the head waters of the creek, thus
securing control of the water privilege, which meant
virtual control of the whole range adjoining for as many
miles as would suffice to pasture what cattle could be
watered at the stream.

True, this is hardly what the spirit of our institu
tions is supposed to intend or sustain, but such is the
letter of the law, and such its application throughout
the West generally. Nor is this all, nor the wont of it ;
in many places the continued sole occupancy of great
tracts by large cattle owners and syndicates of owners
has led them to presume to a permanent and absolute
ownership of the whole tract, and in many cases they
have erected barbed wire fences hundreds of miles in
length, inclosing hundreds of thousands — even millions
of acres, and are prepared to defend their claims in the
courts. That they should deem it possible to do so suc
cessfully will doubtless appear ridiculous to the reader
until he stops to consider the fact that the control of so
much land and of the capital necessary to stock it,
thereby making it profitable to rnclose it, is quite

PREPARING TO BECOME CATTLE KINGS. JT$

sufficient to make and unmake courts in most countries,
and may well prove to be so here.

This was something, however, upon which neither
Phil Johnson nor Sam Brown felt compelled, or even
greatly inclined, to moralize.

They had come for the purpose of finding a range
for their steers, and they sought for and secured it in
accordance with the letter of the law and the custom of
the country. They intended laying the foundation of a
business that should grow into something big by and by.
They meant to herd their yearlings here two years and
then put them on the market, and use the proceeds of
the sale to buy another and larger lot, and so continue
until they had a big herd and could afford to hire men
to care for them, while they took things easy "a la
cattle king."

This was the expression Brown used one night as
they sat chatting about the camp fire, while the steers
lay quietly resting in front of them.

Phil did not understand exactly what "a la cattle
king" meant, but he was too sharp to "give himself
away" — in the current slang of the time — and quietly
listened for some other expression which should throw
light on it.

Having fixed on a location for their permanent camp,
the next thing to do was to erect a log house, which was

76 TAKING SOLID COMFORT.

no very difficult job, as scattering timber lined the creek
bank.

A rough stockade, sufficient to hold the steers at
night and thus save the trouble and exposure of night
watching, was a work of more difficulty, but was finally
accomplished — being built partly of timber and partly
of rock gathered along the creek bank, and where the
underlying ledge cropped out upon little ridges here and
there over the prairie.

And then the ' 'pards" settled down to what they were
inclined to regard as solid comfort.

As there were no other herds, or at least no large
ones, very near them, they had little fear of the cattle
getting mixed up with others and so taken off their own
range ; and with a stockade to which they could be
driven at night, whenever it appeared desirable, the
labor of herding them was very little and left plenty of
time for hunting.

They therefore discharged the hand who had acted
as cook and teamster, turned the mules out to graze
with the ponies and did the cooking by turns between
them.

Their principal fear now was of Indians.

The chief range of the Apaches was to the south and
on the other side of the mountains ; but they were known
to be in the habit of making excursions far north of the
spot where Phil and Brown had located, and the sight

THE APACHE INDIANS. 77

of a bunch of young cattle is a temptation not always,
if ever, resisted, provided the danger of appropriating
them is not too great.

However, the partners decided not to let this fact
worry them or cause them to enjoy in any less degree
the situation, which to Phil, after his years of harder
services, seemed to be an exceedingly soft thing ; while
Brown, for the very opposite reason, he having no
previous experience, was charmed with the variety of
his surroundings and the freedom of the life he was
leading.

Deer and antelope abounded ; herds of buffalo were
by no means unfrequent, and jack rabbits were every
where, so that there was lack neither of sport nor of
meat in variety for the daily fare ; and with the ad
dition of corn meal, with which to make bread, coffee
and bacon for a change and seasoning, the partners
lived like kings and enjoyed life to the utmost.

Among other incidents of their daily life was one in
which Sam again figured, in connection with that bucking
pony.

Riding slowly along near the quietly feeding herd
one fine morning, a mule-eared rabbit suddenly sprung
up from behind a sage bush almost at the pony's feet,
and started off with that peculiar lope for which he is
noted, when Sam took it into his head to have a little
sport racing him ; accordingly he gave the pony a dig

/8 BROWN AND THE MULE-EARED RABBIT.

with his spurs and away they went. The race had
continued for a mile or so when the rabbit darted be
hind, or rather into, a clump of sage brush growing on
the edge of a bit of a ravine which headed but a few
yards or rods away, but which at the place where the
sage brush grew was possibly six feet across and three
or four feet deep, the water having washed out the
earth from what was evidently a seam in the limestone
rock, leaving nearly perpendicular and very solid
walls.

Now, Sam had never chanced to cross the ravine at
this particular spot, or if he had done so he had forgotten
the locality, and when the rabbit darted into the clump
of sage brush and squatted, Sam thought him still mak
ing time on the other side and so came ahead full tilt ;
but just as he reached the bushes where the rabbit sat,
and was expecting his pony to clear them at a bound
the pony concluded that there was no use of his going
any further until the rabbit started on again, and stop
ped ; but his rider, who was standing up in his stirrups
endeavoring to get sight of the game, continued going
right along and landed on his stomach on the other side
of the ravine. Now, the rabbit, which had squatted in
the brush, decided to start on again just at this time
also. Possibly it was a glimpse of Sam as he came
sailing over that induced him to start just as he did.
Be that as it may, he did start and just in taoe to land

FORGIVENESS. 79

upon the opposite side at exactly the same instant that
Sam landed, but unfortunately for the rabbit, as fortun
ately for Sam, the rabbit was under, and while serving
to break the other's fall had the life crushed out of him
by the performance. It is probably the only instance
of a man being thrown from a bucking pony upon the
game he was chasing, and the result of the accident
helped Sam to forgive the source of it,

CHAPTER V.

A COTILLION AT THE CAMP, DURING WHICH THE MUSIC
SUDDENLY CHANGES.

What with the care of their herd, the pleasures of
the chase and an occasional visit to or from the owners
of other herds, the time passed swiftly enough, and the
yearlings which they had bought in Texas at eight dol
lars a head were become two-year-olds, and having had
good range and good water were worth nearly twice
what they cost, and the partners were beginning to count
the months before they should commence their long
drive to some point East where they could sell to ad
vantage or ship to Chicago by rail.

They could sell their cattle on the spot — that they
knew very well — and quite probably, too, for as good
a figure as they could get in Kansas or Chicago,
making allowance for cost and possible or probable
loss on the drive, for two or three thousand head

(80)

DBFBNDING THS RANCH.

SELLING AND SHIPPING STEERS. 8 1

can be driven a long distance almost as cheaply as
four hundred where pasturage costs nothing ; and
there were plenty of buyers for a fine bunch, such
as they had. It would be difficult indeed for a man
with a likely bunch of steers to get into so remote
and inaccessible a nook of country that no one wish
ing to buy them should find him out, and these
friends of ours had not sought to do such a thing <as
that.

There were other ranches within distances easily
covered by a pony in the space of a few hours, in either
of three directions, and all these, of course, knew
of the Brown-Johnson ranch and of their likely bunch
of cattle, so that if it had been understood that they
wanted to sell either cattle or ranch, they would easily
have found a buyer.

But the partners had about decided not only to
drive but to ship their cattle. Brown especially urged
this every time they talked together on the subject. He
wanted to make the trip East and see the folks once
more, he said; then he would come back and they
would start in afresh, and stay two more years without
going out, by which time they would be pretty well
fixed.

Phil did not know which he wanted to do ; of
course he was anxious to sell to advantage, and at

82 PHIL WRITES HOME AGAIN.

times he felt favorably inclined to his partner's prop
osition to take the cattle clear through themselves,
when the time came. These were the times when
the desire to know what had become of the old
place and Nettie were strongest with him. At such mo
ments he felt that he must go back to the litte old
town on the Wabash, and see for himself what was the
cause of his getting no answer to his letters — I say
letters, for he had written a second letter home soon
after locating their ranch, and had ridden forty miles to
mail it.

In it he had expressed his regrets for the manner
of his leaving, and still deeper regrets for having re
mained so long silent after leaving, and had asked,
humbly enough, that he be made acquainted with the
condition of things in the family and the neighborhood,
making special mention of Nettie. But, though he had
twice ridden the same road which he took to mail his
letter, and had twice sent by others, he received no
reply nor in any way obtained the slightest information
from home. Hence his changeful feeling about a trip
which would bring him so near the old familiar
spot that no possible reason could exist for his not visit
ing it.

At times, as I have said, he determined to go ; at
other times he was equally decided in his feelings that
he had nothing to go for, inasmuch as his family and

CAMP OUT OF COFFEE. 83

friends ignored his effort to establish communication
with them, and appeared willing to forget that he had
an existence.

Before any necessity for a final settlement of his
mind on this point arose, it was settled for him in a way
he had not taken into his calculations.

He was alone with the herd one day, Brown having
ridden over to one of the neighboring camps to borrow
some coffee, of which they had run short, and every
thing being quiet and the steers feeding in a bunch, he
concluded to gallop back to the cabin, about three
miles away, and get himself some dinner.

His doing so quite probably saved his life. He had
gone only about a half mile, when glancing back over
his shoulder, he discovered the whole herd flying in
wild confusion across the range in the direction of the
mountains, followed and urged on by about fifty
Apache Indians mounted on ponies. They were on one
of their periodical raids, and the Brown-Johnson ranch
being among those nearest to the mountains, where
alone they could expect to escape the pursuit that was
sure to follow, had been selected by them as one to be
stampeded.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, as the case may be,
they had struck the ranch on the day when Phil was
alone in charge of the herd, and, keeping on the

84 ATTACKED BY INDIANS.

opposite side of a ridge of some prominence, had ap
proached within a short distance of the cattle unseen,
and were about in the act of making a dash over the
ridge and upon the herd and Phil, when he suddenly
took it into his head to ride back to camp for his
dinner. Had he remained it is not at all impossible
that a bullet would have found its way to his heart
before he could have sheltered himself behind any
thing or gotten out of range of their rifles. As it
was, his first impulse was to turn back and give
battle single handed to the whole pack of them, but
in this he was given no option, for, even as he hesi
tated whether to follow his inclination and sell his life,
if need be, as dearly as possible, or obey the dictates
of his judgment and endeavor to escape and notify
the neighboring ranchers, a dozen or more of the
Indians turned their ponies' heads and made a dash
straight for him.

Phil knew well enough it would not do to permit
himself to be surrounded there on the open prairie, for
while with his long-reaching Winchester he could keep
a large number at bay when approaching him in front,
yet, if he became surrounded they would crawl upon
him from all sides, concealed by bunches of high grass
and sage brush that were scattered about, and before
he knew of their exact location some of them would

THINGS LOOK SERIOUS. 85

get in tb*"ir work, and his days of cow punching would
be over.

Besides this, his experience told him that if he ex
pected to get back more than a scattering steer or two
of the cattle they were stampeding, the thing to do was
to raise a crowd from the neighboring camps and make
pursuit as quickly as possible. Accordingly he turned
his pony about, and putting spurs to his flank dashed
away at the top of his speed, still in the direction of his
camp, beyond which, at a distance of fifteen miles, lay
the camp nearest his own.

But before he had covered half the distance between
himself and his cabin, it became evident that the race
was to be a close one. The Indians were well mounted,
and, encouraged by the knowledge that their intended
victim could not turn in his saddle and fire at them with
any great precision of aim, came riding down upon him
whooping and yelling like so many fiends let loose from
pandemonium.

They were within long rifle shot when the race be
gan, owing to Phil's momentary indecision, and if they
were to gain on him, even by so much as a few rods, he
stood a chance of being hit by the volley which he knew
would be fired the moment they believed the chance of
killing him worth the trying it. Things began to look
serious ; it was bad enough to lose the steers — it would
be worse to lose his scalp. He glanced back over his

86 A RACE FOR LIFE.

shoulder. They were gaining on him, sure as fate.
Three or four of their best mounted had perceptibly
lessened the distance between him and them already,
and the camp was yet a long mile away. Once there he
could make a stand and hold them at bay — he did not
doubt that ; one good man behind entrenchments
and with a Winchester rifle and plenty of ammuni
tion, could hold twice that number of Indians at bay
for almost any length of time — but could he reach
there ?

He struck with his spurs anew and mercilessly ; he
raked his pony's sides with the cruel steel, but the poor
brute was already putting forth his best efforts, and
could add nothing to his speed.

Again Phil turned his head and glanced back, and as
he did so he heard the sharp crack of a rifle, and a
bullet whizzed past him. They were already within
range and a half mile still lay between him and the
cabin ; a half mile, and a dozen savages raining bullets
about himself and pony ; for now that the ball was
opened every one of them appeared anxious to furnish
music for the cotillion, and all began firing.

But none of the bullets touched either the rider or
his pony, and now that the reds had emptied their rifles
Phil felt that his chances had improved greatly.

What he had feared was that they would reserve
their fire until they were so close that he would have

AN APACHE BULLET. /

short time to take shelter, even if he reached the cabin
or the stockade ; but now, unless they could reload, he
knew they would slacken their pace the moment it be
came evident that he was going to reach shelter ahead
of them, and thus seek to avoid a return shot at too
close quarters.

"Just let me reach shelter and I'll furnish some of
the music for this fandango myself," muttered Phil as
the bullets whistled past his ears. "You devils have
had your time and played your tune — next comes my
time to play, and if I don't make some of you dance the
dance of death I'm mightily mistaken !"

But Phil was wrong in his calculation when he
thought the savages had emptied their weapons in that
one discharge. Several of them were possessed of re
peating rifles equal to that which Phil himself carried —
rifles captured in a raid they had made some months
previous on the settlers upon the other side of the
mountains — and the first volley was followed by another
and another and another, until bullets appeared as thick
about him and his pony as bees about a hive at swarm
ing time ; and just as he neared the cabin and began to
congratulate himself upon his escape, there came a
stinging sensation in his side, and at the same time he
felt his pony sinking to the ground beneath him. In an
instant he had withdrawn his feet from the stirrups and
sprung from the saddle.

88 THE MUSIC CHANGES.

He feared that he would fall to the ground when he
lit — feared that he had been seriously wounded, but in
stead he found himself firm on his legs, and his legs
making double quick time for the shanty now only a few
yards away.

The savages greeted the fall of the pony with re
newed yells and came straight on, firing again, but
ineffectually, and were within pistol range of the cabin
around the corner of which Phil was darting, when
"crack," "crack," rang out the report of two rifles with
in, and two of the Indians, throwing up their arms
wildly, fell.

"Crack," "crack," "crack," "crack," came the shots
from the cabin in swift succession, and "crack," crack,"
went Phil's Winchester from the corner, and two more
reds swayed back and forth and then fell forward, as
their ponies swerved sharply to the right or left in the
wake of their companions, whose riders were now urging
them to as great speed in their efforts to get away from
the cabin as a moment before they had urged them to
ward it.

"Told you the music was going to change," yelled
Phil as he lowered his Winchester, after seeing that
the last of the Indians was out of range. "This is a
quickstep of another kind, you see ; sorry you can't stop
and enjoy it."

MIGHTILY OBLIGED, 8p

" Are you hurt, Phil?"

< 'Where are you hurt, Phil ?" came in the same
breath and from two different voices, and the next in
stant Sam Brown and a man by the name of Peters,
a cowboy from the ranch which Brown had started to
ride over to in the morning, rushed out of the cabin
and up to him.

"I reckon I ain't seriously scalded yet," answered
Phil, "but I'm mightily obliged to you fellows for
being here just at this time ; I only wish you had come
a little earlier. I doubt if them devils of Apaches
would have raided us if there had been three instead
of one. But I'll not complain, though I think I've
got a scratch that will help me to remember this
little scrimmage. Here, boys, you've done me one
good turn, now do me another ; help me to ascertain
the extent of the damage done by that Apache's
bullet."

On examination the wound proved to be no more
than a scratch, and of no serious consequence. The
ball had been fired from a line a few feet to the right
of directly behind him and had passed under his arm
as he leaned forward in his saddle and cut a furrow
half its own thickness and three inches long, in the
flesh over his heart, and then buried itself in the
neck of his pony, who nevertheless recovered from the

9O THE FALLEN SAVAGES.

wound given him and is still in service, or at least fit
for it.

As soon as the extent of Phil's hurt had been as
certained, a hasty consultation was held and a course of
action decided on.

First a cautious examination into the condition of
the fallen savages was made, and three of them found
to be dead enough. The fourth was severely wounded
but not dead, neither likely to die immediately ;
hence came the question of how to dispose of him,
and as neither of the men could get his own consent
to dispatch him, it was decided to carry him to the
cabin, bind up. his wounds the best that could be
done under the circumstances, place food and water
where he could reach it and leave him to take his
chances and live or die as the fates should determine,
while an effort was being made to retake the stampeded
steers. >

As the three men stood over the wounded Indian
discussing place for his disposal he watched them with
immovable features and without uttering so much as a
groan. They thought him too badly wounded to be
capable of any effort, either offensive or defensive ; and
he evidently thought them discussing the manner in
which they would put an end to him. Either that, or
his hatred of them was superior to his fear of death, for

A HUMANE ACT. 91

as they stooped to pick him up he suddenly made a
vicious lunge at one of them with his knife. His arm
was weak, however, and the knife was knocked from
his hand by Peters without any one being injured, and
without so much as a word of comment he was carried
— though I fear not too gently — into the cabin and
laid on one of the bunks. He was shot through the
body just above the hips, and his chances did not
appear worth any great amount of money for live stock,
so the men decided ; but such as they were he was to be
permitted to keep them all. A bandage was therefore
put about his body over the wound, and food placed
within reach, as also all the vessels in the house which
would hold water, so that the savage might not only
have drink but to dampen the cloths over his wounds,
and then the three men mounted their ponies and rode
away ; Phil on the animal which had brought Peters to
the ranch, Brown riding his own pony, the two strik
ing out on the trail of the stampeded herd, while Peters
took Phil's wounded pony and made back as rapidly
as possible under the circumstances to his own camp,
where he could get a fresh mount and from where mes
sengers would be sent in hot haste to all the surround
ing camps, putting them on their guard and raising a
crowd from among them to follow on and aid, if pos
sible, in re-taking the stolen cattle, and in punishing" the
thieves.

92 THE REGULAR ARMY AND THE ARMY OF COWBOYS.

Once, when relating to a number of gentlemen the
incident of the wounded savage, one of the number
expressed to the writer his surprise at the feelings of
common humanity displayed by Brown and Peters and
Johnson in the matter. I wish, therefore, to say here,
that while on general principles a cowboy hates an
Indian, and accepts, and may often be heard repeating,
the old saw —

' 'Live India'n bad Indian,
Dead Indian good Indian,"

it does not follow therefore, that the cowboy is a brute
devoid of all feelings of pity or humanity, or that he
takes pleasure in or can even be induced by anger or
by the blood and thunder stories of writers who have
never been within a thousand miles of danger from a
redskin, to do so contemptible or cowardly a thing as
in cold blood to kill a wounded enemy, even though
he be an Apache Indian and engaged in stampeding
stock. There may be some such men in the regular
army. I have heard it so said ; I do not know if it is
true or not, but there are none such among the cowboys
of Texas and the Territories, at least I hope not and I
believe not.

The regular army and the army of cowboys are
differently made up. Men may enter the former who
are too lazy or too cowardly to earn a living at any
other calling, and once in they have to stay ; but

A GOOD INDIAN. 93

cowards and lazy people never engage in the business of
punching steers on the great plains, or if by chance
such a one starts in, it is safe to say he throws up the
job within forty-eight hours. The man who sticks is
neither lazy nor cowardly, and though the life they
lead makes them coarse and sometimes, nay, generally,
cruelly indifferent to the suffering of animals, they yet
are not so hardened that any need express surprise at
an act of common humanity done by them to a wounded
savage.

Neither have I introduced this incident or this
particular Apache to the readers of this narrative for
the purpose of having a grateful Indian upon whom I
may depend for help in getting my hero out of the
hands of the tribe just as their braves hold a council and
decide to burn him at the stake, after the fashion set by
the blood and thunder novelists. I have no hero and
no heroine ; I do but tell of things that have been, and
he who writes of incidents as they actually transpire and
of men as they are has no need of such aids in the
making of an interesting book ; and I may as well state
now as later, that when Phil and Sam returned to the
cabin, after their absence in trailing the stampeded
cattle, the wounded Indian was dead ; upon the disv every '
of which fact they set fire to the cabin and cremated the
body in the best style possible under the circumstances.
Doing it, not because they had any prejudices aga'mt

94 A GOOD INDIAN.

the ordinary method of burial, but because they pre
ferred building a new cabin, when they should need it,
to the work of removing the remains of the deail
i savage.

'I'D BH CONTENTED TO LIB AMONG THB ROCKS A WHOLE WEEK SHOCXIWO.t 19
TH3 TAKQKTS WKK& APACHSS."

CHAPTER VI.

SUCCESSFUL STRATAGEM — SAM TELLS HOW HE AND
PETERS CHANCED TO BE AT THE SHANTY.

As Phil and his partner galloped along on the trail of
the stampeded herd, keeping a sharp lookout, not only
for Indians but for any cattle that might have broken
away from their captors, they had little opportunity and
not much disposition to talk. In such situations men
think little and talk less of the business immediately in
hand, and when there is no need of their talking of that
they talk not at all. When one knows that behind each
rock or bush that he sees may lurk a foe in wait to put
a bullet through his heart, one uses his eyes rather than
his tongue.

Sam and Phil had no fear of an open attack or of an
attack by great numbers.

The main body of Indians were undoubtedly with
the stampeded herd, rushing them along toward the

<93>

96 ON THB TRAIL OF THE STOLEN STEERS.

mountains, but they could well spare a few of their
number to scout along in the rear and endeavor to check
pursuit, or if the pursuers were too numerous for that,
to notify their companions and enable them to take ad
vantage of the knowledge in making their escape, and
the possibility that at any moment they might be fired
on from cover necessitated the utmost caution consistent
with the making of reasonable progress.

They therefore rode in almost absolute silence ; now,
with eyes sweeping the prairie on every side for straggling
steers ; now, scanning closely every bush or stone or
bunch of tall grass capable of giving ambush to a lurk
ing foe.

Neither did they follow the trail too closely, but
turned to the right or left around each little elevation
behind which their enemies might be awaiting them,
for, as Sam laconically expressed it, their cattle were
not worth exchanging their scalps for, and if he could
not have both he proposed to let them keep the steers
while he kept his scalp ; a sentiment not difficult to
understand or appreciate.

They, however, saw no Indians and no straggling
steers until the afternoon had worn well away, and they
were entering the foot hills which led up to the mountains,
when, coming up over a ridge, the first of a series of
ridges or long, low hills, they saw, away in the distance,
the herd of stolen cattle, followed and half surrounded

A BOLD MOVE. 97

by the Indians, who were urging them forward as rapidly
as their now tired condition would permit.

And now the partners determined upon a bold move.
They knew — or, at least, they thought they knew — that
as the Indians approached the mountains they would
split the herd into three or four branches, and, dividing
their own forces, take different routes to their fastnesses,
thus confusing their pursuers, or, at least, compelling
them to divide their forces also, and so make almost
certain their ability to escape with at least a portion of
their plunder. Thus, if the pursuit grew hot on one
trail, the savages could abandon that portion of the herd,
and having divided the pursuing force, cross, by trails
known to them, to some other point and join their com
panions, and either aid them in overpowering the party
in pursuit of them, or hold it at bay while the others
escaped with their portion of the drove.

Anticipating this attempt to split the herd, Sam and
Phil resolved to make a bold dash at the right moment
and endeavor to cut off a portion of the cattle, and so
save it if possible.

To do this it was essential that they approach very
near without being seen by the Indians, and be ready to
take advantage of the opportune moment when the
Indians would be most intently occupied, and in some
confusion from their own efforts to divide the herd.

Accordingly they made a detour of several miles to

98 SUCCESSFUL STRATAGEM.

the right, following such a course as best served to con
ceal them from the Indians, and in the dusk of early
evening came upon them from the side instead of in the
rear, and just as, by riding in among the herd and
shouting and yelling, the savages had succeeded in
breaking it up in bunches and sent the steers flying in a
dozen different directions. Fortune favored the partners
still further, for the largest bunch — about one fourth of
the herd — broke in their direction, followed by a half
dozen of the savages only, the others being engaged in
efforts to unite the smaller bunches and start them in
the different directions they were desired to take.

Weapons in hand, the two men sat upon their ponies
in the shadow of a bunch of chaparral, and watched the
steers rush by ; held their breath and let pass the un
suspecting savages ; fingered the locks of their Winches
ters, and waited until all were well over the ridge, and
for the time out of sight of their companions, and then
put spurs to their ponies and followed after.

If the Indians saw, they mistook them, in the
gathering darkness, for members of their own band, and
not until the sharp crack of rifles sounded the knell of
two of their number did they realize that an attack upon
them was being made ; and then, not understanding the
source of the attack, and not knowing how small was
the attacking party, they fled precipitately and rejoined
their now excited and demoralized companions, leaving

RECAPTURED STEERS. 99

Sam and Phil to push on after the flying cattle and
gradually turn them in the direction of home, without so
much as a return shot.

Until midnight the twa jlen kept the now almost
exhausted steers moving, and then allowed them to lie
down and rest, while they kept watch.

Rifles in hand and holding the ponies by the bridles,
they stood guard until the morning, but nothing of a
suspicious character occurred.

When daylight came they made a short scout, to
satisfy themselves that no Indians were in the immediate
vicinity.

Convinced upon this point, they permitted their
ponies to feed upon the grass, while they themselves
ate a breakfast of jerked beef, and then started their
little herd of jaded steers once more toward the old
range.

It was not their intention, however, to follow them
tar.

Knowing that if left alone they would not wander so
far but that they could be readily found, and that in all
probability they would strike straight back for their old
range, and believing the Indians were too badly beaten
and too much afraid of meeting with further punishment
to return, they proposed leaving this bunch of recaptured
steers, and making back to join the crowd that, gathered

100 REINFORCEMENTS,

from neighboring camps, they knew well was hot on the
trail of the retreating savages ere this.

Accordingly they turned back along the way they had
just come, and about noon struck the trail of the day
before in the vicinity of the scrimmage of the previous
evening, and were gratified and encouraged by evidences
clear to the eye of a plainsman that a party of at least a
score of cowboys, following the route of the retreating
Indians, had passed the spot at an early hour of the.
morning.

At the point where the herd had been divided and
at which they had made their successful effort to re
capture a portion of it, they made a careful examination
and decided that the Indians had divided into three
bands and each taking a portion of the cattle had struck
into the mountains by different routes and that their
friends, the cowboys, had also divided and were in
pursuit.

Judging from such indications as met their eyes they
decided the number of their friends to be twenty, and
that about an equal number, that is six or seven, had
followed each of the trails made by the savages ; and as
they could not determine which would be most likely to
be nearest, or most stand in need of their assistance,
they concluded to follow the middle trail, thinking it
probable that the other two trails would lead into this
one after a time, and if not that they stood as good a

BROWN GROWS BLOODTHIRSTY IOI

chance of making themselves useful on this as on either
of the others.

"I wish we may get the whole band corraled some
where," remarked Sam as they rode along at a swinging
gallop.

There was little danger to be feared in the rear of
the party which had gone on in advance, and the two
rode at as rapid a pace as they felt their ponies could
stand, and without taking extra precaution, such as
avoiding what appeared to be good places for ambush,
or going out of the way to reconnoiter the trail from
each eminence which they came to, as they would have
done if in advance of the other party of whites. Riding
so they felt confident of overtaking their friends by
nightfall, if not before, and hoped to get up in time to
take a hand in any fighting which might take place.

' 'Wish we may corral the whole mendacious lot of
'em," repeated Sam a little later on. "I'd be content
to lie around among the rocks on some of these mountain
sides and practice target shooting for a whole week if
only the targets were Apache Indians."

' 'It appears to me, " laughed Phil in return, "that
for a fellow who less than two years ago was a tenderfoot
taking his first lesson in riding a bucking pony you are
grown mighty bloodthirsty."

Sam looked at Jiis partner in a way which Phil did
not fail to understand, and then answered:

IO2 AND THEN BECOMES SENTIMENTAL.

' 'You and the rest of the fellows have had lots of
fun over that little accident, and I know it was funny,
though I couldn't well be expected to see the humorous
side of it myself. Well, you are welcome to joke about
it as much as you like ; I can afford to let you do it."

' ' You're mighty right you can, old fellow," and Phil,
who was in the lead a few paces, held his pony up and
reaching back grasped Sam's hand and wrung it hard
and long.

' The boys never did take you for a softy exactly ;
you know that, but they have to have their joke, and
you were the last to pitch camp among us. Some time
the time may come when I can show you how much I
am obliged to you and Peters for happening to be at the
shanty just the moment you were, and if it does come
I'll try and make my feelings plain to be understood."

"Oh that's all right, pard, that's all right," an
swered Sam, wringing his hand in return. "I didn't
mind it much, but I'm glad that I didn't flinch when the
time came to prove what stuff I was made of ; it will
make the loss of the steers come easier you see. But I
shouldn't have been there only going over to borrow
some coffee of Peters I met Peters coming over to borrow
some coffee of us, and being as neither of us had any we
decided to ride back to our camp for dinner and then go
over to Simmons' ranch on the other fork and get some
there ; and just as we came over the little divide on the

LUCKY — PETERS' CAMP BEING OUT OF COFFBB. 103

other side of the creek we saw the reds coming down
towards the cabin yelling and shooting like mad. We
couldn't see you because of the corral, but we knew
mighty well what it all meant, and you bet we made our
ponies stretch themselves.

' 'We kept in line with that clump of cotton woods
until we reached the corral and then we were hid by the
shanty itself, and I reckon the reds were a little surprised
at our being there."

"Sam," said Phil, "you're a trump."

The two rode on in silence for a few moments, a
silence that was broken by Phil.

"I'm mighty glad Peters' camp was out of coffee,"
he said.

CHAPTER VII.

FOLLOWING THE TRAIL — WATCHING FOR AN OPPORTU
NITY TO ATTACK THE INDIAN CAMP.

The farther the trail was followed the rougher and
more precipitous it became, and the slower the progress
made, though they still rode principally at a gallop.
There was no difficulty in following the trail, as now
that they were well into the mountains there was but
one way that a bunch of steers could be driven with any
speed, and that was up some ravine, or along some bit
of table land hedged in by cliffs too steep and rugged to
make clambering over them a feasible thing ; or if they
came to a little valley across which the trail led, the
lay of the country made clear to practiced eyes, such as
Phil's were, the point at which the trail must leave it
again, and thus enabled them to ride forward without
paying much attention to the signs left by those whom
they followed.

They knew that the Indians would have traveled all
(104)

FOLLOWING THE TRAIL.

EVIDENCES OF A SKIRMISH. 10$

night — that in fact they would stop only when it be
came impossible to keep the steers from lying down
from exhaustion — and they did not expect to overtake
either them or the other pursuing party much, if any,
before night.

About noon they halted for the purpose of giving
their ponies a rest and a bite of grass, and each in turn
threw himself upon the ground and slept a few moments.
Neither had slept a wink the night before, and the hard
riding and loss of sleep was now beginning to tell on
them, and would have done so sooner but for their
excitement and their anxiety to get on as fast as possible.

Pushing on again after an hour's rest they came, at
about three o'clock, to a spot which exhibited indica
tions of a halt on the part of the party which preceded
them, and closer examination convinced them both that
here a little brush between their friends and the Indians,
or probably a few of the Indian scouts, had taken
place.

They found where, in a ravine, the pursuing party had
evidently left their ponies in charge of one of their
number while the rest either reconnoitered on foot or
made an attempt to crawl unperceived upon a hidden
foe ; and in another place saw some dried blood, but
whether the blood came from a man or a steer they
would not determine.

Convinced, however, that nothing decisive had taken

IO6 THE TRAIL BECOMES HOT.

place, they moved forward with greater caution, the way
growing rougher and rougher, as they anticipated it
would be.

The general direction of the trail was south. The
savages were evidently 'making either for some fastness
which they regarded as inaccessible to their pursuers, or
tvere intending to keep on and, crossing the mountains,
pome out fifty or a hundred miles below Fort Stanton,
and make for old Mexico, where they would be compara
tively safe from pursuit.

Without stopping to make lengthy investigations the
two men were able to tell where, here and there, a steer
had made an attempt to leave the herd and been driven
back by the watchful savages, and once they found the
spot where a steer had been killed and dressed, evidently
for the purpose of providing the captors with food and,
in consequence, strength for other raids.

As the afternoon passed, too, they began to see
evidences that they were gaining on those in advance,
and near sundown they caught sight of a half dozen men
riding around a mountain a mile or more in advance,
and knew them to be their friends.

Halting their own ponies, they watched the little
party in advance of them until convinced from the
exceeding caution with which they were evidently moving
that they believed themselves in the immediate vicinity of
the Indians, and then hurried forward with all the speed

TRYING TO CONNECT WITH THEIR FRIENDS. 1 07

consistent with their desire to keep out of the sight of
any spies which the Indians might have out.

If possible they wished to join their friends before
night set in, and so ascertain what plans, if any, had
been decided on f of the attack, and also to be there to
take a hand in it if an attack was made.

They realized, too, that if they failed to overtake
and make themselves known to their friends while it was
still light, there was danger of each party mistaking the
other for Indians, and accordingly they pushed forward
with all the speed consistent with caution.

But darkness comes on quickly in the mountains
after the sun goes down, and their efforts to connect
with their friends before night came upon them were
unavailing.

When they could no longer see to ride with safety
they dismounted at the edge of a thick patch of chaparral,
and leading their tired ponies into it tied them securely
in such a way that they could lie down if they chose,
and prepared to proceed on foot and endeavor to join
their friends.

Before starting they again ate heartily of dried beef,
as even in times of danger and excitement your frontiers
man never neglects his stomach if he can help it, and
especially is he careful not to leave his base of supplies,
even if that base is only a small package tied to his
saddle, without having eaten, if hungry ; for when he

IO8 NEARING THE INDIAN CAMP.

does so he knows not whether he will be able to return
to it, or, if so, how long it may be first ; and it is a poor
generalship to start on an expedition with an empty
stomach.

When necessity compels, a cowboy may go without
his food, but it is never a thing of his own choice.

After eating, the two men crept cautiously from the
bunch of chaparral and began making their way for
ward.

The night was not dark, the moon being in its second
quarter and the stars shining brightly.

They would have preferred that the night had been
less bright, as with the moon shining they were much
more likely to be discovered by the guards they knew
the Indians would keep out, and they wished to avoid
being seen at least until they could ascertain just how
things were and get into communication with their
friends.

That the Indians were in camp within a mile of them,
and that their friends were in hiding somewhere in the
vicinity, they felt confident, and they had little doubt
that an opportunity for giving the Indians battle would
be found or made before the sun rose again.

Keeping close together, they worked their way from
point to point — now crawling on hands and knees to
some point of elevation from which they hoped to be
able to discover some indication of either friend or foe ;

WHERE ARE "THE BOYS"?

now crouching within the shadow of a rock or bush, and
peering around for sight or sign ; again walking rapidly
but with guarded footsteps in the deepest shade cast by
an overhanging crag ; always with hands on their weap
ons and ready for whatever might come ; they at last
reached a point which overlooked a little valley perhaps
a quarter of a mile wide, hemmed in by the mountains
on three sides.

Looking down into this bit of an oasis they could see
animals, some feeding and some lying down, or what
appeared to be such ; in the imperfect light and at the
distance from which they were it was not very easy to
distinguish between a bunch of weeds and a steer or
pony, unless by seeing it move.

For some moments they lay flat on the ground,
watching the valley below, and then Phil whispered :

"That's them."

"Where do you s'pose the boys are?" asked Sam
after a moment of further looking.

"Don't know ; not far off, though."

Again they remained silent, watching for anything
which might occur to indicate what course they had best
pursue.

"You fellows think yourselves mighty sharp, don't
you, now ? Reckon you were just planning to go down
and take that there camp of reds without any ceremony!'
came a voice, in a guarded tone though loud enough t<

110 PETERS HAS HIS LITTLE JOKE

be heard distinctly by them ; and, glancing up, both
men saw a head protruding from around a sage bush not
more than ten feet away.

For a space of time sufficiently long to be noticeable
neither said a word or moved more than a muscle.
Then Phil replied, in the same cautious tone :

' 'I reckon you have the joke on us, Peters, and I
suppose the only way to keep you from telling it to the
boys and so get them to deviling us about it, is to put a
bullet through you, and pretend we took you for a red.

What d'ye say ?"

i
Peters snickered.

' 'Wouldn't do it, if I was you ; you need me to help
you get those steers of yours back. "

" Where's the rest of the boys ?" This from Brown.

"'Round to the right there, 'bout eighty rods. See
that big rock that sticks out on the other side of the
canyon ? They are on this side of the canyon just,
opposite that."

Neither of the three men had yet moved from their
positions since Peters had surprised them by his un
expected speech, but now he began to let himself cau
tiously down, and in a moment was at their side.

"He, he!" he snickered. "You fellows are fine
Indian trailers — let a man come onto you in this

AND ENJOYS IT HUGELY. Ill

They could feel that he was shaking with laughter,
but neither of them made any reply.

4 'Well, we had better be getting back to the boys,"
Peters said again.

''All right ; strike out and we'll follow."

Neither of the partners was deceived by Peters'
manner or words into supposing that there was no need
of caution, nor did they feel annoyed by the joke he
appeared to think he had played upon them.

Brown, being an Eastern man up to two years be
fore, had never met Peters until he and Johnson had
pitched camp and located their present range, but
Phil and Peters had trailed Indians together three years
before, and had herded together for more than a year,
and were well acquainted and quite fond of each
other.

Peters was a much older man than either Brown or
Johnson, and had led a rough life as hunter and cow
boy, but had, so he declared, been able to keep jolly
a.11 the same. He knew less of Brown than of Johnson,
)ut the coolness and nerve displayed by him in the
fight at the ranch had given him a high opinion of his
courage and coolness, the very qualities which he knew
Phil to possess in the highest degree ; and it was be
cause of this belief or knowledge that he had dared to
venture on his little joke.

He had been delegated by the little band of six m«nr

112 SAM AND PHIL JOIN THEIR COMPANIONS.

of whom he was the most experienced in Indian fighting,
to scout about a little and learn just what the outlook
for a successful attack on the camp was ; and it was
while doing so that he had chanced to catch a glimpse
of Sam and Phil as they crawled carefully around a
hummock where for an instant they were not in the
shadow. Recognizing them at once, he had remained
concealed behind^ the bush toward which they were
making and within a few feet of which they took up
their new post of observation.

It was when he saw them do this that the spirit of
fun took possession of and prompted him to make his
presence known in the manner stated.

Crawling on their bellies until out of danger of being
seen from the Indian camp, the three men slowly raised
to their feet and cautiously made their way from shadow
to shadow and from point to point, until they reached
the place where the others were waiting.

As was natural, this little company were greatly
rejoiced at the addition to their numbers of Brown and
Johnson.

Peters explained to them what he had discovered on
the scout which he had made.

The Indians, he told them, were camped in the valley
below, and were resting both the cattle and their ponies,
and that besides guards on watch about the cattle, their
scouts were posted at points which he indicated outside

THE INDIANS IN CAMP. II J

the valley, where they would be best able to detect the
approach of -an attacking party.

The question of what course to pursue under the
circumstances was now discussed.

To return without making an attempt to recover the
cattle and punish the thieves was not to be thought
of, but at the same time the risk of making a night
attack was very great, owing to the position of the
Indian camp, and to the fact that the Indians were
well aware of the presence of their pursuers in the
neighborhood, their scouts having discovered and ex
changed shots with them early in the day at the point
where Phil and Sam had noticed the blood drops as
already noted.

The blood in question was supposed to have come
from a pony wounded by a shot from one of the party
of whites, and not from a person, as none were be
lieved to be hit.

It was finally decided not to risk a night attack,
but instead to follow on after the Indians and watch
for a chance to get back the cattle without running
too great a risk of losing their lives in the operation,
and to wait until that chance appeared, no matter
whether they followed them one day or six.

That the chance would corne all believed, and all
were agreed to wait for it.

The little company of men now divided themselves

114 A COMMOTION IN CAMP.

into two watches of four each, one half to watch while
the other slept.

As Phil and Brown had no rest the night before,
they were given the opportunity with two other men
to go to sleep at once, and proceeded to stretch them
selves out upon the ground without comment or delay,
when a commotion of some kind in the Indian camp
below was heard, and at once all thought of sleep van
ished and every man listened and peered with all
his might in an effort to ascertain the meaning
of it.

Phil and Peters left the others and crawled away
in the darkness. Those who remained lay perfectly
still, but with every faculty alert and ready for attack
or defense.

The commotion in the camp below continued for
half an hour and then everything became quiet again,
and in another hour Phil and Peters returned and re
ported that the band which they had been following all
day had been joined by another band with other cattle ;
but whether the last comers were a portion of those
who had raided the Brown-Johnson ranch or not, they
could not tell. They thought not, however, and were
of the opinion that the raid had been more general than
was at first supposed, and that these last comers were
a band who had been on a raid further up, and that this
was in all probability the meeting point for all engaged

ALL QUIBT AGAIN.

in the raid, and that they might expect other bands to
come in at any time.

Again Phil and three of the others threw themselves
upon the ground and in a few moments were fast asleep.
The rest kept watch and guard. Two only of the four
sleepers were awakened after a couple of hours and took
the place of two who had stood guard until that time.
Knowing how greatly exhausted Phil and his partner
must be, they were allowed to sleep undisturbed until
events in the early morning light began to occur in the
camp below, which required the consideration of every
member of the little band of cowboys hidden in the
chaparral on the mountain side.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE CLOUD BURST, AND THE FIGHT IN THE INDIAN

CAMP.

The matters transpiring in the Indian camp and
which were of such interest to the little party concealed
in the chaparral above were neither more nor less than
the arrival of first one and then another band of Indians
with live stock.

First came about one hundred head of the Brown-
Johnson herd driven by a dozen or fifteen Indians, and
before the yells with which their coming was greeted
had ceased there appeared at the lower end of the little
valley still another and larger band with a larger bunch of
cattle. These last were evidently stolen from a ranch
in the mountains close by, and had not been driven so
far or so hard as the others, as they were still apparently
a good deal of trouble to manage and made frequent
dashes for liberty.

Anton Scenrr.

BROWN'S WISH LIKELY TO BE GRATIFIED. 117

There must have been at least three hundred steers
in this bunch, and not less than fifty Indians in the band
which brought them in.

The whole number of Indians already assembled
were considerably more than a hundred, and it was
probable that more might be expected at any moment.
So far this was entirely satisfactory to the watchers
from the chaparral. Nothing would have pleased them
so well as to get the whole Apache tribe corraled in
that little valley and wipe them all out at once. It
Was beginning to look as if Brown's wish that he might
be furnished Apaches for target practice for the next
week was to be gratified.

Of course the little party knew that behind every
bunch of stolen stock would follow, sooner or later, a
rescue party, and if the Indians were only foolish enough
to remain where they were it would not be twenty-four
hours before they would be surrounded by a sufficient
force of cowboys to make the recapture of the cattle —
if not the destruction of the entire band of savages — a
certain thing.

The little party of whites therefore watched with
interest quite as intense as that of the savages, and were
nearly as ready to greet with cheers the arrival of any
number of additional bands.

No others came, however, and very soon it was
apparent that those already there were getting ready to

1 1 8 WHAT IS TO BE DONE ?

move on, as they could be seen catching their ponies
and galloping about gathering ^.11 the cattle into one
bunch preparatory to taking them out of the valley.

Phil and Sam especially regretted this.

They would like to have seen all their steers that
were in the hands of the Indians in one bunch so that
they could the better judge of the chances for getting
them back. However, they could do nothing in the mat
ter, could not even make an immediate attempt at re
taking those in sight and almost under their noses ; for
it would be folly for eight men to attack one hundred
and fifty savages almost as well armed as themselves.

The result that would follow such a course would be
that a part of the savages would engage them while the
rest made off with the stock ; and that when they were
safely off with the cattle the others would slip away one
at a time and rejoin them, without perhaps the loss of a
man or a steer, leaving the whites in ignorance of
whether an Indian was hidden behind each bush and
rock in front of them or not.

Evidently the thing to do under the circumstances
was to scout around and try and make connections with
any other companies of whites which might be following
on the trail of the marauders, and when the force so
gathered together became sufficiently large attack openly
or make a dash and endeavor to recapture the cattle and
escape with them.

A SKIRMISH WITH APACHE SCOUTS. 1/9

Accordingly the little party remained in their con
cealment until the Indians had begun to move out of
the valley with their stolen stock and then prepared to
follow.

Emerging from the sheltering chaparral, they were
about to remount their ponies when they were greeted
with a shower of bullets fired at long range and perceived
at once that their presence was known to the Indians
and that they were in for a running fight ; that is, that
a part of the Indians would ambush them at every
opportunity and endeavor to delay and hold them in
check while the others continued their flight with the
cattle.

This was by no means a pleasant predicament, but
there was no way of getting out of it and they must do
the best they could. Returning the ponies to the
chaparral and leaving two of their number to guard
them, the others crawled out of the bush upon their
hands and knees and by different ways and began feeling
for the savages.

By one device and another such as raising a hat on a
ramrod and thrusting some portion of their clothing into
view from around a rock, they succeeded in drawing the
fire first of one and then another of the enemies, thus
learning their exact hiding places, and occasionally get
ting in a return shot, though without being able to note
the effect.

I2O THE MUSIC A WINCHESTER MAKES.

But this kind of fighting was by no means pleasing
to the little party of cowboys, who were really quite as
much interested in recapturing the stock as in punishing
the thieves, and it chafed them greatly to be thus
held at bay by a few reds while the stock was being
driven beyond their reach, and they were meditating a
dash for the purpose of dislodging the Indians, when
the sound of other shots was heard, to which came an
swering shots from what appeared to be a half mile away,
and to the left of where they were lying.

' 'That's the Wilson crowd, I reckon."

It was Peters who spoke, and by "the Wilson crowd''
he meant another of the little parties which had followed
a portion of Phil's and Sam's herd when the party had
divided at the foot of the range and followed different
divisions of the band that had stolen the sleek, tooth-
tempting steers.

"I supposed they were somewhere in the vicinity,"
returned Phil. "Have been listening to hear the music
of their Winchesters for an hour. I reckon we can
crawl forward a little. These fellows in front have got
onto the fact of their coming and have begun to light
out."

While speaking, Phil had left the shelter of the rock
behind which he was hiding and was making for another
one some rods in advance when, with startling sudden
ness, ' 'crack" came the report of a rifle and "zip" went a

PETERS ATTEMPTS A PUN. 121

bullet close to his ear, causing him to drop instantly,
and proceed to crawl instead of running to shelter.

''That Apache'll put your light out ef you ain't more
keerful," snickered Peters ; though whether he laughed
at his own attempted pun or at the rapidity with which
Phil changed his tactics one could not have told. Prob
ably it was both, though he may not have known that
he had been guilty of punning, in which case the reader
will doubtless forgive him his offense.

Although Phil had come near paying with his life
for his hardiness in taking too much for granted, yet the
little company one by one followed his example, fully
convinced that the Indians in front of them had retreated,
or would do so speedily, to avoid being caught between
two fires ; and this surmise was soon proven correct.

No more shots came; and it was soon evident that the
one who had fired at Phil was the last savage to retreat,
and probably got in this shot just as he was on the point
of doing so.

Neither were any other shots heard from the left,
but a cautiously conducted scout in that direction dis
covered Wilson's crowd of six cowboys concealed be
hind as many different boulders, watching intently for
the sight of an Indian along the line of retreat taken by
the band.

None appeared, however ; even those left behind had
slipped away and were following on after their com-

122 KEEPING THE TRAIL.

panions, and watching to prevent any company of possible
pursuers from getting in between themselves and those
in charge of the stolen cattle.

Communication was soon established between the
two bodies of whites, and as soon as it was ascertained
that the Indians had fled they came together, and after
a few minutes' consultation returned for their ponies,
which had been left behind when the skirmish with the
Indians began, and together rode on after the retreating
band.

All day they pursued, and every few hours they were
greeted with the sound of rifle shots and whistling of
bullets, though it was but seldom that one came very
close to any of the party.

These Indian scouts were too much afraid of a close
fight to even attempt an actual ambuscade, and contented
themselves with firing occasional shots from long range —
more, apparently, for the purpose 01 hindering the
pursuing party by compelling them to proceed with
caution than from any expectation of doing them injury.
On this point the pursuers were the better content to
submit to the harrowing delay from the expectations
which they entertained of being joined by others from
the vicinity of the ranches that had been raided in the
valley above, as also by those of their own party which
had branched off in pursuit of one of the parties into
which the band had split up on entering the mountains.

A CHANGE IN TACTICS. 12$

As night approached there arose the necessity of
guarding against an attack in the darkness. The In
dians having kept close watch of their movements during
the day, might be inclined to make a night attack on
them, thus turning the tables completely, and if success
ful, relieve themselves of further pursuit.

Taking this view of the situation, it was decided best
not to follow too closely the retreating savages, and
about the middle of the afternoon the party went into
camp upon a bit of a plateau, which offered fair crop
ping for the ponies and at the same time afforded no
very good opportunity for an enemy to approach them
unperceived.

Here they waited until the afternoon was well spent,
but were not joined by any other party of pursuers, and
were forced to the conclusion that either none were to
follow, or, if following, that they were long in getting
started, and might not arrive in time to join in an im
mediate attack on the Indians. After much consultation
it was decided, on the advice of Phil and Peters, to
change the tactics.

Accordingly, a half hour before sundown, the whole
party remounted and started back over the trail they
had just come, as if having given up the pursuit. As
soon as it became dark, however, twelve of the fourteen
men dismounted, and taking with them only their arms
and a blanket apiece, leit th other two to make their way

124 A NIGHT'S TRAMP ACROSS COUNTRY.

back to the settlement with the ponies, while the twelve
struck off into the mountains and traveled all night on
foot, in an effort to get in front of the entire band of
Indians and be prepared to take advantage of such
circumstances and conditions as might arise.

None of the party knew anything of the country they
were traveling over further than its general trend, and
something of the location of the different passes over
the highest mountains, and the settlements on either
side of the range, but this was sufficient to indicate to
them the route which the Indians would be compelled
to follow, and they felt confident of their ability to out-
travel them and get to the front before they should have
Advanced far on the following day.

The lay of the country, not less than the desire to
avoid being observed by any of the scouts which the
Indians would certainly have out on all sides, compelled
a wide detour, and a long, hard scramble over ravines
and mountains, but all were used to hardship, and all
stood the night's tramp without breaking down, though
no one among them all but was badly stove up and
greatly wearied when morning came.

With daylight the men halted, and after putting two
of their number on guard, the rest lay down and slept.
They were confident of being in advance of the Indians,
and believed that all they could now do was to watch
that they did not pass them unobserved. Therefore,

THE INDIANS STILL HOLD TO THE CATTLE. 12$

while two watched the rest slept, and about ten o'clock
the vigil of the watchers was rewarded by sight of an
Indian scout, evidently in advance of the main body and
about a half mile away.

A little later ^a small body of Indians, mounted on
ponies, passed the same point, and behind them a
quarter of a mile or so came the stolen cattle, ac
companied by the main body of the savages. They were
moving with caution, but with some leisure as compared
to the day before, which caused the cowboys, who were
watching them, to hope their scouts had reported that
the pursuit had been abandoned.

After resting, the little company of cowboys again
took up the trail.

Keeping outside of the limits which the Indian scouts
would be likely to prescribe for themselves, in watching
for possible or probable pursuers, they kept on at a pace
which they believed would bring them up even with or a
little ahead of the Indians by nightfall.

Their plan now was to keep as near the main body
of Indians as possible and at the first opportunity make
a night attack and endeavor to get off with a portion of,
or if possible all, the ponies and cattle now in possession
of the savages.

When night had fairly shut down Peters and Johnson
went again upon a scout and found the Indians in camp
in a deep gorge, inaccessible except from one point, and

126 ON THE SCOUT.

that strongly guarded. They therefore returned to their
companions and reported that it would be unwise to at
tempt anything that night, and that they had better
move on in advance of he Indians again und wait the
coming of another night.

It was already past midnight and the party at once
moved forward, traveling until noon the next day, hav
ing stopped only once and then only for an hour, to
cook and eat a meal from the carcass of a deer whbh
one of the party had shot This was the first fire that
had been built by ^ny f the party since the pursuit began,
and only the necessity ol choosing between doing so and
eating raw meat inauced h m to build it now, though
there was no &r a*; danger t Le feared therefrom, as
they were careful nol to permit a column of smoke to
rise from it.

Having roasted meat enough to last th:m the day
Out, they pushed ahead, and when the gain stopped it
was at a point wher* thev feL hat an atte: ipt to recover
the stolen cattle must b made if it wa to be made at
all, and they had no intention of abandoning the pursuit
without making one.

The spot in question was a point where three gulches
or canyons converged, leaving a small strip of compara
tively level ground in the center and between them, and
through which flowed a stream of water that during
heavy rain storms and for a few days or hours only,

DECIDING TO ATTACK. I2/

must have been very large, as it caught the flow from
the sides of three eminences, either of which would send
down a considerable body of water at such times.

This stream was now dried to a tiny rivulet, fed by
a spring somewhere farther up in the mountains, but it
was sufficient to supply water for the herd which the
Indians were driving, while upon the ground, back a
little on either side, was as good a growth of grass as
was likely to be found at this elevation, and the neces
sity of allowing both the ponies and the stolen cattle an
opportunity of getting a bite of feed would almost com
pel the camping of the whole herd at this point for at
least a portion of the night.

After examining this bit of ground and the canyons
converging to it as carefully as possible, without leaving
too many signs of having been there, the little party of
white men retired a distance up the mountain and con
cealed themselves to await the coming of the night and
the Indians.

The two came together. It was the last of the sun's
golden arrows, shot down the gorge from behind the
mountain top, which showed to the men in hiding the head
of the drove coming out into the open space from the
lower side ; and before the last steer — followed by a
straggling line of ponies, each bearing his Indian master
— had quenched his thirst at the little stream and begun
to feed upon the grass on its banks, it was too dark to

128 DECIDING TO ATTACK.

make it at all probable that the signs left by the white
men would be observed by the enemy.

The Indians appeared to be less fearful of attack
than on the night previous, and had probably come
to the conclusion that their pursuers had dropped off
and abandoned the chase. More than one attempt
of cattle men and settlers to follow the Apaches to
their fortresses and recover their property had been
abandoned, and this favor doubtless gave the rascals
faith to believe that the present case would not
prove an exception to their past experience, and had
helped to make them a trifle less watchful than they would
have been.

They were not without caution, however, for they
built no fires, but contented themselves with eating raw
steak from a steer which they had killed just before
going into camp. The only preparation give it, to make
it more fitting food, was to press the blood out of it be
tween two flat stones.

They also put out guards, both within the level
ground and upon the heights above, and at the mouths
of each of the three canyons, so that the chances of
surprising them or getting off with the herd, or any
portion of it, were made extremely difficult, if not im
possible.

All this the white men learned partly from observing
the movements of the Indians, and in part, perhaps, by

PLANNING THE ATTACK. f> Q

intuition or something approaching it. At any rate, they
felt that every precaution against surprise had been taken
by their enemies, and yet they were determined to make
an attempt that night to surprise them and get back the
cattle, Brown declaring that it was just a little more
than a man could stand to see his cattle rounded up
every night by a pack of thieves, and he was for
making the attempt to get them back and take his
chances on what might come of it.

Phil felt about the same way. This raid, if it
resulted in the loss of so many of their cattle, knocked
the life out of the plans he was building again with
regard to that million of dollars, and he was ready to
run any risk rather than let the cattle go.

Accordingly when the night was about half gone,
the men left their hiding place, moving with more
caution than they had done at any time since the chase
began.

Making their way down the canyon, to within a
short distance of its mouth, the little company divided
into two parts, one of which, under the command of
Brown, was to remain where it was for the present,
while the other part, under the guide of Phil and
Peters, was to get by the guard in some way, steal in
among the ponies feeding below, cut their hopples and
stampede as many of them as possible. This as a first

130 CAREFUL NOW.

step ; further action to depend upon the success or failure
of this attempt.

Brown and his companions were to act at such time
and in such manner as would best aid the stampeding
party when the trouble should begin.

Phil and Peters led their party carefully down the
canyon and then left them, and together crawled away
in the thick darkness. I say ''thick darkness" for it is
always thick darkness in a canyon in the night, unless
the moon is shining squarely into it, and these men had
been careful to select for their hiding that one of the
three canyons leading into the open space into which
the moon would penetrate the least at midnight ; hence
it would have been but little darker if there had been
no moon at all.

The two men were gone a full half hour, and their
companions, to whom it seemed much longer, were
becoming uneasy, when suddenly there came a clap of
thunder whose echoes, chasing each other from peak
to peak, gave the impression of a field battery having
been discharged. This was followed by other peals
less sharp, but no less distinct, all giving indication of
an approaching storm.

Immediately evidence of a commotion in the camp
at the mouth of the canyon was distinguishable. It
was apparent that the Indians were up and moving to
get out of the way of the torrent, which would soon

A COMMOTION IN THE INDIAN CAMP. 13 1

begin to pour through the open space from the three
separate gulches.

An instant later Peters returned to the little
group of waiting men and whispered to them to fol
low him. At the mouth of the canyon Phil joined
them.

Had the lightning illumined their surroundings again
at that moment it might have disclosed to their eyes the
dead form of an Indian guard lying almost at their feet ;
but it did not and they passed hurriedly on in the wake
of their leaders.

Already the rain was beginning to fall.

Guided by the commotion now plainly to be heard
in front of them they hurried forward.

The Indians well understood the necessity of getting
out of there and upon higher ground before the water
came rushing down upon them, and they were
whooping and yelling at the cattle, which were them
selves becoming frightened and endeavoring to stam
pede.

The savages had secured a portion of the ponies,
and in the intense darkness it was difficult for either the
whites or the Indians themselves to find the others. In
their search for them the little party of white men were
repeatedly aware of the presence of Indians within a
few feet of them, and once Peters brushed against one

132 THE COMMOTION INCREASES,

of their number, who in the darkness must have mis
taken him for one of the band, for he gave utterance to
something in his native tongue, of which Peters under
stood only enough to know that it was not a warwhoop,
and that therefore the presence of whites in the camp
had not been discovered.

But he had short space of time in which to con
gratulate himself on this fact.

First came a flash of lightning that lit up the
mountains and made every bush and rock upon their
rugged sides stand out as clear and sharp as if reflected
in a glass ; which showed every nook and cranny of the
mighty canyon leading up and up toward the clouds and
the mountain tops ; which disclosed alike to whites and
Indians the presence and position of their foes, and
caused each to stand for a second dazed in the glare of
light and the surprise of finding himself face to face with
a mortal enemy.

Then darkness black, intense. Then the whole
heavens rolled together with one mighty thunder peal,
and breaking through this the war cry of two hundred
savage throats, the beating of hoofs, the bellow of
stampeding cattle, the snorting of frightened horses ;
and mingling with it and making itself felt rather than
heard, the rush and roar of angry waters as the floods,
released by the cloud burst upon the mountain tops,
came seething and boiling down the canyons on either

A CLOUD BURST -FIGHTING IN THE DARKNESS. I3J

hand ; and through ajl the sharp crack of rifle shots fired
thick and fast and at random by whites and Indians
alike in the midst of darkness so dense one might almost
feel it, and rain falling in sheets.

CHAPTER IX.

A CHANGE IN THE PROGRAM — FOLLOWING AN ANCIENT
AND HONORABLE CUSTOM, SAM BROWN WEDS.

A blind break in the darkness for safety, a wild
scramble up steep and almost perpendicular mountain
sides, mad bellowings of frightened steers, the snortings
of stampeding horses, Indians trampled upon by hundreds
of crazed brutes that a moment later are themselves
swept away by the torrent of water — silence.

When a sense of that awful fate that awaited them
if they were not speedily out of that burst upon their
consciousness, the half dozen white men in the Indian
camp made for the nearest mountain side with all possi
ble speed.

It was Phil who gave the word to go, but there was
little need of giving it, as a sense of their peril flashed
upon all at the same instant.

"34)

IS THAT YOU, PETERS? 135

Luckily the men were near a point where the ledges
were less steep than at some other places, and all suc
ceeded in reaching a position of safety, though not all
in getting so far up as to be able to move farther.

Phil and Peters found themselves lying on a ledge of
rock above which the mountain appeared to rise in a
perpendicular wall, and from which the boiling, foam
ing, seething torrent, now rushing along with a deafen
ing roar beneath them, made it impossible to escape.

They could not see each other and for a time neither
knew who the other was, or whether it was not an Indian
instead of a white man ; but as their eyes became some
what accustomed to the darkness, or more probably, as
the clouds partially dispersed, their vision began to re
turn to them a little, and Phil finally spoke but in a low
tone and with his hand upon his revolver.

1 'Is that you, Peters ?"

"I reckon so, Phil, though I'm not quite certain ; I
may be an Indian, for I mistook you for one."

Nothing further was said for some time, as the roar
of the waters made hearing difficult, and, besides that,
an Indian might be within ten feet of them for all they
could tell, and if so they knew the frightfulness of their
situation would not prevent him from taking their lives,
if it was in his power to do so.

They lay thus, flat on their bellies, for what seemed
to them to be hours, listening to the roar of the floods,

136 SEARCHING FOR THEIR COMPANIONS.

which gradually grew leas and less and finally became so
faint that they held a whispered conversation and decided
to try and find a more comfortable position.

Rain had ceased some time before — in fact, none had
fallen for more than thirty minutes.

They had been in the edge of the cloud which had
burst a couple of miles farther up the mountain and
thus exhausted, at one downpour, the ability of the
heavens to supply moisture in drops.

They had not really been confined to the ledge of
rock for more than an hour, for the volume of water,
great as it was, could not have been that long in pouring
through.

After descending a few feet, which they did by
holding on to some brush and cautiously feeling their
way, they worked along a little to the left, and finding
the ledge less steep clambered up again, until they
were two or three hundred feet above the bed of the
canyon, and then crouched down and waited for day
light.

When daylight came they continued to ascend, but
with caution, and after a time they began to search for
their companions — still with great watchfulness for fear
of skulking Indians.

After a few minutes' search they found one and
another and finally all the four men who were with
them in the Indian camp, when the cloud burst, and

SEARCHING FOR THEIR COMPANIONS.

together they began working around toward the canyon,
where they had left their companions the night be
fore.

To reach this point they were compelled to cross the
other two canyons, which they did with difficulty, and
after going up the first one some distance to where the
flow of water was less, for the flood had not yet all
poured down, but only the larger portion of it, the ground
having received and temporarily sucked in a large part,
which it was now yielding up again to be carried down
the canyon, through the bed of the little creek, and
finally into the Pecos river by way of some of its tributa
ries, and so on to the gulf.

After crossing the two canyons they entered the
third and followed it down to the point where they had
parted from their friends the night before, but found no
traces of them.

They therefore continued on and out through the
mouth and into the open space on which the Indian
camp had stood, and were rejoiced at seeing their
friends cautiously skirting along on the opposite side, at
a point not far from where they had themselves scaled
the ledge in the storm and darkness but a few hours
before.

Not considering it safe to halloo, they remained
under cover of the rocks and watched until one of
the others chanced to look in their direction, and

ALL UNITED AGAIN.

then signaled him by a wave of the hand ; and soon
the little party was united again and congratulating
each other on their miraculous escape from an awful
death.

It appeared that the cloud burst had occurred at a
distance of perhaps a couple of miles up the mountains,
at which point the canyons diverged a considerable
distance from each other. The cloud had burst over
the canyon to the left of the one in which Brown and
his party lay concealed, and awaiting the signal by
which they should know whether or not the others had
succeeded in stampeding the ponies belonging to the
Indians,

He and those who were with him had followed on
down, near to the mouth of the canyon, as agreed
that they should do, and when the firing began mads
an attempt to rush forward to the assistance of their
companions, but were met by a wall of water coming
through the other gorge and retreated in haste to the
mountain side in time to see a portion of the ponies,
part of them with riders and others without, and followed
by a bunch of a hundred steers or so, rush by and up
the steeps. Some of the cattle fell back, but others
made the ascent and were doubtless wandering about in
the mountains.

An examination of the country on both sides of tho

THE CASUALTIES. 139

main canyon was now made but not a live Indian could
be found.

A mile or more down the canyon the dead bodies of
a score or more steers, drowned in the flood, were piled
up against a ledge of rocks where the waters had left
them, and mingled with these were the bodies of several
ponies and three of the savages.

At several points evidences that numbers of cattle
and ponies had clambered up the steep banks and
escaped were discovered, and after consultation it was
decided to put in a day in scouting about in search
of any cattle or ponies that had remained in the vi
cinity.

No further fear of Indians was felt by any of the
party ; or but very little.

Such as had escaped had undoubtedly fled to their
Urongholds and villages and would not return unless in
Search of missing comrades.

Indians are naturally superstitious, and although
acquainted with the nature and devastating power of
cloud bursts, they were yet likely to find in the awful-
ness of the storm, coupled as it was with an attack
from enemies which they did not expect, some reason
for believing the spot to be the abode of the spirit of evil,
and to give it as wide a berth as possible in the
future.

140 ROUNDING UP THE HERD AGAIN.

Two days were spent by the cowboys in searching
for cattle and ponies in the vicinity.

Of the former they secured nearly 200 head and
of the latter a good mount apiece and two or three
extra.

Of the cattle only between sixty and seventy bore
the brand of Brown and Johnson, but even this number
was better than none, and the party made its way
back by the trail it had come ; and two weeks from the
day of the raid on the ranch, Phil and his partner
rounded up their herd and counted 187 head, instead of
a few less than 400, which had walked out of the corral
on the morning on which the raid had been made.

They had learned meantime that the men who had
followed the third part of the band when it divided in
the foot-hills, and each division took different routes,
had been unsuccessful in their efforts to recapture any
portion of the steers.

The Indians whom they followed had taken a trail
that led into an almost inaccessible part of the mountains,
and being joined by another and larger body of Indians,
had been able to hold their pursuers in check and eventu
ally to escape with their booty.

It was believed that they drove the steers as far as
they could and then slaughtered the whole lot, and
taking such portion as they could pack upon their ponies,
left the rest to the wolves and made for their permanent

PROFIT AND LOSS. 1 41

camps, to which place few white men have ever been
able to follow.

Naturally enough, both Brown and Johnson felt their
loss quite severely. It was the knocking down in a
very rude manner oi all the fine castles which they had
built in the air, and in which they had seen themselves
living as cattle kings.

In fact, it was the putting them back at the place
from which they had started two years before, causing
all their time and labor to count for nothing.

However, there was no use crying over spilled milk.
What was done could not be helped, and must therefore
be put up with, and might as well be done cheerfully as
complainingly.

Their herd was now too small to make it profitable
to drive through of itself, and they therefore sold it —
what was left of it — to a buyer on the spot ; 18/ head at
$25 per head, $4,675; just $75 more than the capital
they started with.

They had in addition, however, their little band of
ponies and their claim to the ranch, which were worth
another thousand at least.

Before the raid took place the ranch alone would
have sold for several times this sum, as good chances for
grass and water were becoming extremely scarce and
difficult to obtain ; but since the raid nobody wanted
badly to buy or herd where the risks of having the

142 BROWN GOES EAST ON A VISIT

stock stolen were so great ; hence, the ranch declined in
value as greatly as their herd had declined in number.

After selling they must of course buy again, but be
fore doing so Brown declared that he would pay a visit
to his folks in the East ; so, after making arrangements
with Peters to care for the little band of ponies and
hold the ranch until they returned, the partners set out
for Kansas.

They arrived at Caldwell after a journey without in
cidents worth relating. Here Phil was to remain until
Brown returned from the East, which he promised should
be within thirty days.

Instead, however, of his old partner back at the end
of thirty days Phil received the following letter :

"NEW YORK, N. Y., Feb. 16, 188— .
DEAR PHIL :

I know you will feel like taking my scalp when you
read this, but I can't help it. I only hope you will not
think I meditated treating you in this way when we
parted, for I honestly and truly had no such intentions.

The truth is, old Pard, I am married and am not
going back West. Can't do it, you know. You will
remember that I owned up to you once, one awfully
lonely afternoon out there on the plains, that it was not
so much a love for freedom that made me go West, as
it was the inability to get just the party I wanted to own
me and boss me around. In other words, I had

AND WRITES BACK THAT HE IS MARRIED. 143

quarreled with my girl and didn't care to stay around
and see her married to a dude, such as the fellow was
that I thought she was going to marry.

Well, all this time, that is, the time I put in with
you whacking steers, riding bucking ponies, running
down jack rabbits and fighting Indians, I couldn't quite
get rid of a desire to know whether she really did marry
that dude or not.

Well, when I got back here and met her on the
street, the very first person that I did meet, and I knew
she was glad to see me in spite of my being tanned al
most as black as an Apache, I couldn't help being glad
I had not lost my scalp on that raid.

Honestly, Phil, I couldn't help doing as I did.

I am awfully sorry for you, old boy, for I know you
will be disappointed and lonesome, and that it may inter
fere with your plans very much for me not to return.

But you see I can't leave my wife, and I can't take
her out there to be scalped or eaten, so what can I do ?
You are welcome to my share in the ranch and also to
the ponies, and I hope you won't have a-ny trouble in
finding another partner with money enough to buy a big
bunch of yearlings.

Write and let me know what you will do and how
you are feeling. I know you will be disappointed, but I
hope you won't feel hard at me, for really, Phil, I couldn't
help it.

Your old friend and partner, SAM BROWN."

144 WHICH CAUSES PHIL TO CONSIDER.

Of course Phil felt disappointed.

Not to mention the pecuniary advantage which a
partner with more capital than he himself had was to
him, he had become attached to Brown during the two
years which they had spent together, and regretted more
than anything else the loss of his companionship.

He did not doubt that he could find another man to
take his place, and quite probably one with more capital
than Brown possessed, but some way he could not feel
like doing so. The ranch without Brown appeared to
his mental vision immeasurably lonely and far from
human companionship.

He began to feel that he did not wish to return to
it. He thought of Brown and the happy life he would
lead in the future surrounded by friends, husband of the
woman he loved, a quiet, happy home away from all
danger and hardships. Such was the picture he kept
imagining to himself whenever thoughts of his late part
ner came into his mind until presently the desire to have
such a home began to grow in his own heart and to take
form and shape, and he determined not to return to the
ranch but to build him a home nearer civilization and in
the midst of people of his own kind.

Caldwell was in those days the headquarters of the
Oklahoma Boomers, as they were called, of whom Capt.
Paine was the acknowledged head and leader up to the
time of his death, some years ago, and it is probable

PHIL MEETS WITH A BOOMER. 145

that it was meeting with a member of the colony and
hearing him discuss the plans of the "boomers" for
building up a community and a state out of this beauti
ful strip of country that induced Phil to decide not to
return to New Mexico, but instead to go to Oklahoma
with the colonists and build him a home there, and
cease forever his wanderings and his rough life.

He had enough to make a start with ; would have
a full thousand dollars after selling the partnership ranch
and band of ponies, even after sending Brown his Share,
which he would do, not wishing to be under obligations
in pecuniary matters even to him. With this sum to
start with and a homestead claim on one of the little
streams in the beautiful Oklahoma country he could
surely make a home to his mind, after which, perhaps —

Just what he would do after the home was made he
did not say even to himself, but thoughts of the quiet,
happy life Brown was leading kept coming and going
in his mind, and mingled with them were visions of the
old ferry on the Wabash, and of the old folks, and of
Nettie.

He even got so far along as to wonder, if he were to
go back as Brown had done, whether or not the same
thing that had happened to Brown would happen to
him. He could not quite decide, but probably not, he
told himself. Luck didn't seem to run to him, anyway.
Probably Nettie had married long before this, and every-

146 AND DECIDES TO GO TO OKLAHOMA.

body had forgotten him. But if he ever did decide to
make another attempt to find how things were back
there it would be by going in person and not by writing;
he was fixed in his mind on that point at least.

Meantime he would go to Oklahoma and get him 16o
acres of land and make him a home. After that — well,
after that he would see.

IN THE EMIGRANT TRAIN.

CHAPTER X.

OKLAHOMA.

As described in the several bills for its organiza*
tion into a Territory now (June, 1886,) before Con
gress, Oklahoma comprises all that country "bounded
on the west by the State of Texas and the Territory of
New Mexico, on the north by the State of Colorado and
the State of Kansas, on the east by the State of Missouri
and the State of Kansas, and on the south by the State
of Texas."

Oklahoma proper, however, or what has come to
be popularly known as such, is comprised in a strip of
land containing 1,887, i oo acres, lying directly south of
the eastern portion of what is called the Cherokee land
strip, itself a body of 6,000,000 acres, just south of and
adjoining the western half of the State of Kansas.
Oklahoma is thus very nearly in the exact center of the
Indian Territory.

148 A BOOMER'S OUTFIT.

Oklahoma formerly belonged to the Seminole In
dians but was ceded to the United States government
by that tribe under treaty of March 1$, 1866, and was
surveyed and section lin'es established by authority of
the United States in 1873.

Its proximity to the Indian reservations about it,
which were, as they still are to a considerable extent,
the harboring places of outlaws from all portions of the
country and all colors and nationalities, including
Negroes and Mexicans, made it a location not desirable
as a place in which to build a home and raise a family,
unless it should be in company with a considerable
number of other home builders ; and it was in order to
meet this necessity for neighbors and companions that
it was proposed and finally decided to organize a colony
for settlement in that beautiful country.

Having decided to join such a colony, Phil had first
to provide himself an outfit.

A span of mules, a wagon, a plow and a few other
agricultural implements, an ax and a hammer, a
few earthen dishes and a tin bucket and cup — these
comprise an outfit which is considered all-sumcient
for the homesteader who is content to be the pioneer
in a new country ; and these Phil provided himself
with.

He also retained the pony which he had ridden
through from New Mexico, and of course laid in a good

PETERS RAISES A STAKE. 149

supply of ammunition, for until a crop could be raised
the colonists would be compelled to rely for food very
largely upon wild game, with which the country they
were going to was reported to abound.

Immediately upon deciding not to return to New
Mexico, Phil wrote to Peters asking him to sell the ranch
and ponies which he and Brown had placed in his
charge, or if he wished to do so to keep them himself,
and pay for them at such time as he could, provided it
was not too far in the future.

To this letter Peters replied, inclosing pay for the
whole outfit at the very low cash price which Phil had
fixed upon it, and saying that he had gone partners
with another man, a stranger to Phil, and they were
going to occupy the ranch and take their chances with
the Indians.

This greatly pleased Phil, for he was anxious to
have the matter finally settled, and he was also glad
that Peters had raised a stake and got a start in
life, even if it was one in which the risks were pretty
large, for now that he was out of it himself, he felt
that the herding of cattle for wages, and with no inter
est in the business beyond that of a hired hand, was
not a calling calculated to bring out the best there is
in one, and in proportion as he had a firm friendship
for Peters, did he rejoice over his brightened prospects ;
and he wrote a warm letter of congratulation in reply,

I5O IN THE EMIGRANT TRAIN.

also telling his old friend about his own plans and
prospects.

Then when all was ready, the little band of colonists
took up their line of march toward the promised
land.

There were about forty men in the company, some
without families, but more with ; all able-bodied and
eager to reach the location selected in advance, and
begin the work of home building, than which no
man ever found sweeter employment for hand or
brain.

A long string of covered wagons, each drawn by a
pair of horses or mules, and in which were stored what
ever of household goods the owner and his family pos
sessed ; a few cows driven in advance or following in
the rear ; from one to a half dozen faces of men and
women and children peering out from under each white
wagon cover ; a dozen men and boys astride ponies ; as
many dogs trotting along contentedly by the side of as
many wagons, or breaking away together in a mad chase
after a jack rabbit, and all barking in chorus as they go
—this is a scene familiar to all who have been upon the
frontier, and such a one was presented by the colonists
of whom Phil Johnson was one, on the morning of their
departure for Oklahoma.

Only they who toil with their hands and who feel
the fetters which the law, or that which is declared

IN THE EMIGRANT TRAIN.

to be the law, places upon them in the acquisition of
wealth and consequently upon their liberty of thought
and action, can understand the glorious sense of free
dom, of ability to conceive and execute which comes
to those who, haying once felt the fetters, stand freed
upon the borders of a new, and to them undiscovered
country.

To such, and at such times, there comes a sense
of their own worth, of their own power and of a new
courage which is sweeter than anything society or the
world can give. It is a feeling which comes to men's
hearts straight from the heart of God and lifts them up
into a measure of the manhood which in its perfectness
is worthy of being said to be in His image who is the
Creator and Father of all.

Oh, the grandeur of liberty ! Oh, the sweetness of
being at peace ! AT PEACE !

Peace with nature and with men ; the peace which
comes of the forgetting of jealousies, both great and
small ; of ambitions which the soul cries out upon as
unworthy of the man ; of hatreds born of greed and
envy.

The peace which comes of faith in one's fellott Han,
itself born of renewed faith in one's own self, of one's
own hatred of the bad, and love for and allegianfc* to
that which is pure and good.

And oh ! for a knowledge of the power which enab-^s

1 52 PHIL WOULD BUILD A HOME.

us to dare and to do, to be brave and strong and
good ; which comes with a sense of freedom from the
fetters which men in their selfishness and unwisdom
throw about and over each other and themselves, when
ever they do touch each other's elbows,.

Phil was too much accustomed to this sense of free
dom to feel any new inspiration when the little cavalcade
left the town behind and swung out into the unbroken
world beyond. Not having felt the fetters, he could not
feel their falling away from him ; but he sensed the
beauty of the morning, the brightness of the sun, the
softness of the air, the quietness and goodness of nature
which lay around and about him.

He had, too, what he had never had before, a feel
ing that his wanderings were over, and that in front of
him lay the materials from which, by his own labor, he
was to build a home.

And a home meant —

Well, dear reader, what would not home mean to
one whose heart held the memory of a fair young girl's
face, a face not seen for years, but none the less fair
for this reason, since not seeing it with the physical
sense the mental eye had been left free to outline it as
it chose.

So Phil would build a home.

As for the others, they were such men as are ever
attracted to the frontier ; such as have laid the founda-

BV FATE OR CIRCUMSTANCES. §53

tions for whatever of liberty the people boast, whatever
of wealth they have won, while civilization and the race
have been crossing the continent.

They were men blown, by fate or circumstances,
from far and near ; men in whose hearts the love of
home and liberty had been about equally implanted
and nourished ; men, perchance, who imagined that
the bands which society and law placed upon their
efforts to set metes and bounds to the approach of
poverty had something of the feel of the slave chain ;
men who had been in debt, and to whom debt meant
the curtailment of liberty in thought and action, and
consequently degradation ; men — but why ask me of
these men ? Shall not their own acts speak for them,
and am not 1 their chronicler ? Self-appointed, it is
true, but none the less truthful to their thought as ex
pressed in deeds.

Whatever they had felt themselves to be in the
past, now they were free. Free to grow and expand
to the full stature of the men they meant to be ; free to
build homes where no labor of theirs but should bear
fruit for their own eating — theirs and those they
loved.

Was ever brighter future in the distance seen by
men ?

And the children ?

154 HAPPY, BAREFOOTED CHILDREN

Bless me, how excited and happy the children in
those covered wagons were ; for were they not to see
new scenes, to visit undiscovered countries, to ride
for days and days through an ever-varying landscape,
to sleep in tents and eat in the open air, to be free to
fish in the streams, to catch rabbits and trap squirrels
and prairie chickens and may be larger game, if they
could ?

And whenever did a child doubt its ability to do
anything it wished to do and never had tried to do ?
Were they not to be free and happy and busily idle all
the day long ?

If you wish to know how happy were the children
of those colonists on that morning when this journey
began, just propose to your own children such a journey
in your own and their mother's company ; being first
careful to talk for weeks and months of the beauty of
the country to which you are going, and of the pleasures
of such a trip, and from their faces and childish words
and acts you can judge of the happiness of those other
children, whose faces peer from the wagons just starting
upon their journey on that sunny morning of which I
write.

And the women ?

Why, the women had their husbands and children ;
what more has anybody thought necessary to woman's

AND SUN-BONNETED WOMEN. 1 55

perfect happiness than that she have her husband and
children ?

You do but disclose your ignorance, my dear sir, of
what the world, the old moss-covered, time-defying
world, has decided Is woman's sphere. My dear madam,
you do but disclose your treason to old and time-honored
theories, who question so of woman^ Is it not enough,
I say, that she had her husband and children ? Knowing
so much, what right have you to ask more or to say : "Is
she happy?" "Is she filled with sweet content?" "Is
she lifted up with great thoughts of great deeds — deeds
the thought of which causes her soul to expand and
reach upward ?"

They had their husbands and children ; what more
would you have them have, or what have they ever
had or left behind that you should ask of these women,
who, going upon a hard, long journey, into a new
country, to live lives of toil, have their husbands and
children still with them ? Is the world then wrong, and
has woman longings, sometimes, for wider fields and
greater things than she has yet been permitted to
know ?

Sun-bonneted women, who were the wives of these
men, and the mothers of these children of whom I
write, had all that any of their sisters anywhere have
to make them happy, and they were happy as any ;
happier than most ; for added to love of husband and

156 THE HALT AT NOON.

child was the knowledge of the necessity of their own
existence and labors to the comfort and happiness of
those they loved.

It was a happy, joyous company, and the sun shone
bright and the air was soft and the grass green as
they drove away, and merry voices shouted one to
another from out the wagons — voices of women and
voices of children, while men grown suddenly self-
reliant, strode by their side, or sitting in the front-
end of the wagon, spoke cheerily to their teams as
they urged them forward along the trail over the broad
prairies.

At noon they halted for a short hour while their
horses fed upon the crisp buffalo grass, and they them
selves ate cold lunches of bread and meat out of their
provision boxes ; then on again until the sun is low in
the west, when they went into camp on the banks of a
clear little stream which meandered through the prairie,
and upon whose banks were growing scattered pecan
and cottonwood trees, over which in places wild grape
vines ran riot, and in whose branches birds sang and
flitted back and forth, and told their tales of love to one
another.

The stream was too small to contain fish of much
size, but large minnows with sparkling silvery sides
darted to and fro in the clear water ; a sight which
brought shouts from the throats of a score of children

SUPPER 157

who came clambering down from the wagons, and skip
ping over the grass and swarmed upon the creek banks,
making as many antics and "shines" as a troop of young
monkeys.

Instantly a chorus of callb rang out, much after this
fashion : "O ma ! I want my fishing hook." "O pa !
Get me my fish pole right away, quick, 'cause here's
fish — lots of 'em — 'n I want to catch some for supper."

What glorious music this was to the patriarchs of
this modern Exodus !

Then one boy fell in the creek, which was perhaps
two feet deep, and all the others set up a howl, the girls
for fear he was drowned, and the boys because they
feared he had frightened all the fish away.

And when he climbed out and declared that "The
water was just right to go swimmin' in," half of them
forgot their desire to fish and went scampering away
down stream in search of a good place in which to un
dress and bathe, and only such as were called back and
sent for wood to cook the supper were less than
gloriously happy. Even these were so full of spirits a
little hard work could not dampen their ardor except for
a few minutes.

Indeed the rarity of getting wood for an outdoor fire
was enough to make them happy of itself.

And so the women and the elder children gathered
fuel and cooked supper, while the men unharnessed

158 AND PIPES.

the horses, and having washed their sweaty shoulders
in the creek staked them out to grass, and then all fell
to for a meal which an epicure might well envy,
provided the epicure had ridden all day in an emi
grant wagon or walked by the side of one carrying
his gun on the shoulder for the pleasure of a chance
shot now and then at a prairie chicken or a mule-eared
rabbit.

And then the stories told about the camp fire when
pipes are lit, and a feeling of perfect peace and rest-
fulness has taken possession of body and soul ; stories
of other days and other men (perchance their fathers)
and their frontier lives ; lives that closed but yesterday,
yet were spent upon frontiers a thousand miles to the
east, where now stand cities, and where the hum
and bustle of commerce and trade, the whistle of the
steam engine and the rattle of the loom, have driven
the deer and the bear from the forests and transformed
the forests themselves into fields of corn and barley and
clover. '

It may be that memories of their own old homes,
the homes they have left and the friends they have loved,
call up thoughts that are half sad and mournful, pro
ducing momentary regret that they have ventured upon
this journey in search of new homes.

There is that in the flickering blaze of a camp fire
by night, and in the blue columns of smoke rising up

THE CAMP FIRE.

from burning brands as they fall away from the main
body of the fire, the smoke that curls upward and is
twisted and blown about by the faintest breath of air,
that tends to excite almost any feeling which he who
sits and watches it wills.

A veritable fairy is the fire, and a veritable wand in
its hand is the blue smoke curling upward, and to see
pictures either gay or somber, he who sits within the
magic circle has but to wish, and lo, he shall seem to
see that which he wishes for.

But mostly these men, these colonists bound for the
promised land, talk of the country to which they are
going.

Their leader, a man well worthy to lead such
seekers for such homes, was called upon to tell again
how broad were its prairies, how deep and clear its
streams, how here the land lay like the waves of the sea
when the wind, just touching it with its breath, compels
it to lift and fall gently like the sweet breasts of women;
and how in other places it was broken and rough, plowed
deep in gulleys, and ledges of rock were thrust up
through the soil and huge boulders lay scattered about as
if the giants of other days had once held high carnival
there, and vied with each other in giving tests of their
strength before admiring audiences of the gods.

He told them, too, of the abundance of the game ;

I6O THE PROMISED LAND.

how deer and antelope fed upon the prairies and
mated in the woodland ; how wild turkeys stalked
about beneath the shadows cast by the tall trees upon
the river banks, and nested in the high grass at their
roots ; how, turn your footsteps which way you would,
flocks of prairie chickens rose and went sailing away
across the open country ; how the grapevine clambered
over the trees along the margins of the creeks, and
the pecan and the walnut trees dropped their rich
nuts in profusion upon the ground beneath, and the
red and black haw and the persimmon trees stood in
clusters.

And then these men, these home seekers, these
men in rude costumes and faces all unshaven ; these
men of strong limbs and vivid imaginations, rose from
off the ground where they had set listening, and stretched
out their arms as if to clasp the future which they felt
to be so great, and talked earnestly of the mighty state
which they should found, and the homes they should
build in this land of liberty, this promised land of corn
and wine.

Wearied, at last, with the long day's drive, first
one and then another began to slip away to his wagon
and his blankets, noticing which the watch was called
by the leader, and two men arose and went, rifle in
hand, through and around the camp, and so con
tinued watching, that nothing went wrong among the

PLANNING TO BUILD STATES. l6S

tethered animals, or about the smoldering camp fire,
until two hours had passed, when they awoke two of
their companions to take their places, and they lay down
to rest.

Phil had no part in the watch that night, but he
was long in rinding sleep. This hearing men talk
of homes and states to be builded had given him new
thoughts, and awakened nobler ambitions than he had
known before ; had opened to him a new life — a life
wherein he saw men as something better and higher
than he had ever thought of them before ; saw them
aspiring to the great and mighty things ; to be the
forerunners of a great and wondrous civilization that
should follow fast upon their heels, and add new
honor and power to the nation, new dignity to the race
of men.

To him these men seemed nobler and more grandly
made than any men he had ever known before. He
did not understand how men's grander impulses always
bring to the surface their better selves ; that the build
ing, by honest toil, of homes dedicated to the domestic
virtues, within a state dedicated to true liberty, is
so high a mission that its light illuminates men's
souls and makes them great, just to talk and plan of
such.

Yet, so it is, and Phil was himself all unconsciously
a living proof of it that moment ; for he felt lifted up

1 62 PLANNING TO BUILD NEW STATES.

and made larger every way by the thoughts which came
to him in consequence, as he lay awake and thinking
that first night out with the little colony of which he
was a member.

THE WITNESS.

CHAPTER XL

IN WHICH THE SUN ENDEAVORS TO GET THERE IN
ADVANCE OF THE BOOMERS.

Have you ever noticed, dear reader, that the sun
gets up awful early in prairie countries ? Well, he does,
and he goes to bed late, too, which makes his early
rising all the more inexcusable.

I suppose that a scientist — a scientist is one who
knows everything that is not worth knowing and nothing
that anybody else cares about — a scientist would tell
you that the sun sets just as early in a prairie country,
and gets up just as late as in a mountainous one ; but
then, too, a scientist will tell you — some of 'em will —
that the sun does not set at all ; which proves how little
dependence there is to be put in a scientist.

Everybody who has ever worked in the harvest field
on a big prairie can tell you that the sun gets up at least
an hour earlier, and goes out of sight, and I suppose to

I 64 BREAKFAST.

bed, at least an hour later than he does when one works
in a harvest field up in the valleys ; and all the scientists
in this, or any other country, can't make us believe any
thing else.

The sun got up early next morning, as he always
does in a prairie country, but not early enough to catch
all the emigrants, encamped on the creek bank, be
tween blankets.

''There comes the sun," called one of them to an*
other, whose head just then appeared at the front of
his covered wagon.

"Well, let him come; I'm up," was the response,
as the speaker crawled out over the end-board on to
the wagon-tongue and then to the ground.

Then came others, from out wagons and from be
neath them, and from under blankets stretched beneath
the trees men came forth and shook themselves, and
went to the creek's edge and washed the dust of sleep
from their eyelids, and went and found their animals and
staked them to fresh spots of grass.

And women, through the partially open canvas
wagon covers, could be seen slipping their own or
the children's frocks on, and at minute later descend
ing to the ground to begin preparations for break
fast.

And presently the smell of coffee began to pene
trate the camp and to float out upon the still air, until

BREAKFAST. 1 6$

it reached the men as they worked with their horses or
gathered in little groups, talking of the distance to the
next water, or the time it would take them to reach
their destination, and it brought them back to their
several camp fires and families.

And then the odor of frying ham or bacon mingled
with the smell of coffee boiling ; and these men and
women and, children gathered about a rough box set
upon the ground and ate of the hearty food and drank
of the fragrant coffee, to which such as would added
new milk freshly drawn from the cows belonging to this
or that one of the colonists, and which was passed about
with free hands to those who wished for it.

Then came the packing by the women of the few
utensils used in cooking, while the men hitched the
animals to the wagons.

A quick glance around to see that nothing of value
was being left, and then a succession of sounds and
sentences, snap of whip, "Get up," "Pull out, boys,"
"Keep to the left around the bend of the creek there,"
"Be careful with your guns, you youngsters," the creak
ing of wagons — and the emigrants are again upon their
way, and the first night and morning of their journey
have come and gone.

The first day and the second are the same, and
those which follow are like unto them save as the
succession of rolling and broken prairie, and wood and

166 ON THE MOVE.

streams give variety to the scenery, and as with better
acquaintance little friendships spring up between the
women, resulting in visits from one to the other as the
wagons move on and on along the trail made by herds
of cattle, or by the men who carry the government
mail.

Catching fish in the stream by which they camped,
occasional dashes on horseback in pursuit of deer,
sometimes, though not often, successful, frequent shoot
ing into flocks of prairie chickens, killing so many that
the whole camp ate of them, slipping away and fol
lowing the banks of some wooded stream in a still hunt
for turkeys or deer, until a hard ride to catch up, or if
no horse is used, a long walk after the sun is down, ar>4
darkness covers the prairie with its mantle — these helped
to form diversions and break the monotony of what
might at other times have been a wearisome journey,
and served to keep up the keen enjoyment with which
all entered upon it.

And when finally, after two weeks of such travel and
such life, the spot selected for the settlement was reached,
though all were glad to be able to begin the building of
homes, yet few there were who did not look back over
the short journey with a half sigh at its hours and days
of freedom from oppressive cares, and at thought of the
labor to be performed ere homes could arise in which

LOCATING THE SETTLEMENT.

they might sit them down to rest and comfort without
fear of want.

The location selected for the colony was a beauti
ful country lying along one of the forks of the Canadian
river ; the rich land, abundance of timber suited for
building purposes and fuel, together with the climate,
which is nowhere excelled for healthfulness or comfort,
making it appear a paradise to these people, as indeed
it well might be, or might be made to be.

Having decided upon a location, the next thing to be
done was to ascertain the sectional lines, in order that
each homesteader might select a quarter section for his
own, as each head of a family is entitled under the law
to do, from any unoccupied lands belonging to the
government.

Accordingly a surveyor's chain and tripod belonging
to one of the party, who had done a little surveying as
assistant to a more experienced hand, were brought forth,
and Phil and two or three others shouldered their guns
and started out with them to find a corner post or mark
of some kind which would locate a corner and give them
a start.

After much wandering about and examination of
trees and rocks, and tramping through the high grass,
the party returned to dinner with a huge load of prairie
chickens shot on the wing, but no more knowledge of

108 T. 12, R. 3 W., S. 28.

the location of section lines than they had when they
started.

After dinner they set out again, but at the sug
gestion of some of the older heads left their guns at the
camp.

Again a weary tramp, and the scanning of every
thing which they fancied could by any possibility be a
* 'witness," but still without success, until just as they
were upon the point of retracing their footsteps again
and abandoning the search for the day Phil stumbled
against the stump of an old cottonwood tree, the body
of which had fallen, and together with the stump was
almost hidden in the tall grass. A moment later his
companions heard his cheerful ' 'halloo."

"Here she is, boys ; I've found her."

They came hurrying toward him.

' 'This tree was standing when the survey was made,
and here is where they blazed her; and here, see,
there's the numbers, T. I2,R. 3 W. , S. 28, plain as can
be, though I'll be hanged if I know what it means
exactly."

"That means town 12, range 3 west, section 28."

It was the surveyor who contributed this explanation.

"We are all right now" he continued; "we will
come back here in the morning, and with this for a base,
run out the quarters in this section and as many more
as the boys want ; no trouble to find the other corners,

THE WITNESS. 169

|t>u know. Even if we should miss them a few feet we
t-an't miss them so far but that we can find them easy
»«fiough."

' 'Kind of darned queer that this here stump should
have happened td~ stand exactly on the corner of a section,
dint it now ?" queried another.

The surveyor smiled and scratched his head.

4 'The fact is," he said, "that this is not the exact
corner ; they simply made this the witness. That is,
they marked it to show that there is a corner not far
from here, and that the tree was nearer to it than any
other prominent object ; though for that matter they
would have marked three trees if they had stood any
where near and on different sides of the corner ; in which
^ase the corner would be found somewhere in the circle
<nade by the three 'witnesses."1

"Thunder! I thought you said we could comeback
here in the morning, and starting from this stump find
any other corner we wanted to ; and now it seems we
aint found the corner at all."

1 'Oh, well, we can easily find it I reckon ; it can't be
far away now."

Search was at once begun, but again without result,
and the party returned to camp to report progress, and
get something to eat ; particularly the latter.

The next day search was resumed, and after wal
lowing down the grass over a piece of ground nearly

I/O RUNNING THE QUARTER LINES.

an acre in extent, a small stone with nearly square
sides and about a foot long, bearing the marks of
having been chipped into shape by use of an ax or
hammer, was found set in the ground and protruding
only a few inches above the sod, and the men knew
that this time they had the exact corner and could be
gin the work of running quarter lines with this for a
base.

The remainder of the day and the next day and the
next were spent in running lines and fixing corner posts ;
and then every head of a family proceeded to locate his
quarter section.

Some selected theirs in the open lands lying nearest
the river banks, regarding such as the richest and hence
the most valuable land.

Others chose the second bottom, as being less liable
to possible overflow, or because they liked better the
lay of the land to the south or the west, or for some
one of the many reasons which cause men to differ in
their judgment of what is desirable in a farm, but
all striving to get some portion both of timber and
prairie.

All were satisfied and delighted with the situation
and prospects, and each began such improvements as
are required by law to be made in evidence of the
honesty of purpose on the part of the settler of occupy-

PHIL ARRANGES FOR HIS BOARD

ing the land in person, and for the purpose of making
it his or her permanent home.

For this purpose, as well as for their own conven
ience in living, a house of some kind must be erected,
and to this task ~ the colonists set themselves with
right good will. That was their object in coming, and
now that they were come, they were eager to begin the
work.

' 'Changing work," that is, two or more parties
forming a little company, and all working together first
for one and then for another, enabled them to do their
work easily and pleasantly.

The houses were of logs cut from the timber grow
ing along the river bank, and hauled to the spot by
the doubling up of teams, after having swung the larger
end of the log by a chain under the hind axle of the
wagon.

Phil worked with a man by the name of Jones,
with whom and his wife he had messed ever since the
journey began ; having made arrangements with them to
cook for him, in return for such service as he could
render in the loan of his team or pony ; Jones being
poor and not well fixed so far as teams and implements
were concerned.

Phil was to furnish his own provisions under their
first agreement, but not finding this a convenient way
of doing things, they fixed it up differently ; Jones

172 WITH MRS. AND MR. JONES.

buying Phil's stock of provisions and paying him in
board at so much a week.

For a time and until they got their houses up every
body lived in their wagons or in tents, with which a
number of the colonists had provided themselves, and of
course cooked their meals out of doors.

As for Phil, he was too used to camp life to wish
for any better bed than the ground, unless it rained,
and even then he could have stood it under his gum
blanket without much complaining if there had been
no shelter at hand. As it was, he slept on the ground
when the ground was dry and in his wagon when it
was not.

He could easily have cooked his own "grub," for
that matter, and at first intended to do so, but hav
ing made the acquaintance of the Joneses, who were
very nice people, he decided to accept their offer to
eat with them, made without a desire to receive pay
therefor, and to aid them in return as stated, thus
making it a favor to them equally as much as to him
self.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Jones were past middle life
and without children, and Mrs. Jones was such a
motherly woman, and together with her husband took
so kindly an interest in Phil, that he grew confidential
and told her of his having run away from home and of
his life ever since. He wanted very much to tell her

A DESERTED VILLAGE. 173

about Nettie, and ask her advice about ever going back
to try and find out all about her, but he could not quite
get up his courage to do so.

A site for the town, which everybody expected
would grow into u city in a few years, was marked
off on the high ground just back of the river, and
here most of the colonists made their camps and
cooked and ate and slept, what time they were getting
their houses up, and indeed many of them were in no
hurry to get their houses up, preferring to live in the
wagons for a time until they could first break a bit of
ground, and get something planted and growing upon
which to live, without having to depend too entirely
upon game and fish.

So a month, two months, passed by and many were
still camping out, and still a dozen covered wagons stood
in the * 'village" whose owners had not yet completed
their houses.

But gradually one by one the wagons were drawn
away to the different claims by their owners, until
none remained, and the first town laid out in Okla
homa had become, for the time at least, a ' 'deserted
village."

But if the village was deserted the country about it
was not.

Standing on the little eminence selected for the
town site, one might see upon every quarter sec-

174 THE HOME BUILDERS.

tion for two or three miles on each side, bits of plowed
land — black streaks upon a sea of green. These
were the beginnings of fields which the colonists in
tended should grow into broad fields of grain in another
year.

Some of these were already showing long thin rows
of green peeping through the black earth, the evidence
of springing corn which would ripen into golden ears
yet this first season, and furnish food both to man and
beast through the coming year.

In gardens about each cabin vegetables and vines
were growing, having been planted and cared for in most
instances by the hands of the women and children, while
the husbands and fathers were busy turning broader
acres for broader fields of grain.

Phil planted no garden of his own, but he aided
Jones in breaking up and planting one about the latter's
cabin, and afterward helped keep it clean ; but for him
self he had no use for one since he boarded with these
friends of his.

With the exception of helping Mr. Jones, he devoted
himself wholly to turning long straight lines of black'
across one entire end of his quarter section, and took a
mighty interest in seeing this strip grow from day to day
and week to week.

It was work which he was not used to — this hold
ing the handles of a plow ; something he had never

THE HOME BUILDERS. 175

done since he was a boy, and then only a little while
at a time to satisfy his boyish ambition to do a man's
work.

At first it seemed hard and slow work, tramping
back and forth, turning one furrow at a time across a
whole quarter-section. Used as he was to hard life,
this work tired him. It made his legs ache and grow
weary.

He compared it in his own mind to going up the
trail with a herd of long-horn steers, and he felt in
clined to give the preference to the herding. There
was a bit of excitement there, or at least one did not
know what moment there might be, but there was no
probability of getting excited just following a pair of
mules back and forth from day to day haftging on to the
handles of a plow.

But then he was building a home.

Every furrow turned was a step in the direction in
which lay the happiness he had begun to thirst for.

As furrow was added to furrow, and the black strip
running across the east end of his claim widened, he be
gan to take an interest in widening it still more. Every
furrow turned was so much toward the home he was
beginning to long for.

Each week he could see the long ribbon of black
widen. At first a line which one could hardly follow
with the eye across the claim, then a narrow trail, then

176 SOME LONG BLACK FURROWS.

a road, then a broad band of black reaching from side
to side across the quarter-section lay ready to receive
the seed.

And then came the seeding, the grain having been
brought with them in wagons from Kansas.

The belts of black crossing the prairies on every
claim would have been broader in most cases had the
supply of seed been greater ; but, as it was, enough was
sown to make certain of a sufficient crop to sustain the
colonists and supply an abundance of seed for another
year.

One thing the colonists saw plainly enough ; as soon
as their grain came up they would be compelled to
guard it against being ravished by cattle, of which there
were large herds in the vicinity.

Occasionally the cowboys herding the cattle came
to the settlement and chatted for a time with such
of the colonists as they met or chose to visit at their
houses.

Among the cabins in front of which their ponies
were most frequently to be seen lariated were, naturally
enough, those in which resided young women of marriage
able ages ; for your cowboy is not unlike other men, and
the quickest, if not the only, way in which to convert
him from his attachment to his wild life is to introduce
him to a number of prepossessing girls, and allow him

FRIENDLY COWBOYS. 177

to visit them at their homes, where he can get a glimpse,
however small, of the comforts of domestic life.

Another cabin where cowboys were frequently seen
was that of the Joneses.

Phil having retained sufficient interest in the old
life to make him a pleasant companion to those who
still followed it, friendly visits and an occasional meal
eaten in company, either at the Jones cabin or at the
camp of the herders, were natural and pleasant to all
concerned.

Several times some of the cowboys hinted some
thing to Phil to the effect that the settlement was not
looked upon with friendly eyes by the owners of the
large herds of cattle, but to this Phil gave very little
thought or attention.

He understood easily enough how men with large
herds would not be greatly pleased to see others coming
in and appropriating any of the range they were ac
customed to herd over, be it ever so little, but then htf
could not help that.

This was government land, and as such any citizen
had a right to make a home upon it, and eventually
to receive a deed to 16o acres which he should have
improved.

He intended buying a few cattle himself as soon
as he got his claim fairly opened. He had $700 yet
on deposit in a bank back in Kansas, which he meant to *

1/8 WHAT CAN THAT BE?

invest in that way, and let them be growing into a
fortune while he continued to work his claim. It would
only take a few years — "just two or three," he told him
self — to put him in good shape with a good farm and a
nice bunch of cattle.

And so everybody worked and planned and hoped.

On Sundays and occasionally during week days, they
met in a tent belonging to the leader of the colony, or
in front of it, to hold religious exercises, or talk over
their plans and prospects for the future.

They were as enthusiastic as ever over the situation.

The country was all they had pictured it ; the cli
mate delightful, the soil rich, and they, the pioneers,
the men and women who, when the country became
thickly settled — as it very speedily would be, now that
a settlement was started — would be pointed out by
everybody and honored as the first to come ; in fact, the
founders of a new State, one of the greatest in the
Union.

One day, as a number of them sat thus, in and
around "headquarters," as it was called, a long line of
something — was it cattle or men ? — was noticed in the
distance.

"Reckon it's a fresh herd goin' up the trail," said
one, and no further attention was paid to it for a mo
ment. Herds going up the trail were no new sight to

"THAT'S NO DRIVE." 179

any person in that camp, and therefore did not provoke
any special interest or comment.

"That's no drive," spoke up another, a few moments
later.

"Look there, Cap ! Hang me if I don't believe
that's a company of regulars. Wonder, now, if there's
goin' to be trouble with the Indians. If there is, we
ought to be keepin' the women and children pretty
close, and ourselves well armed, so 's to not let 'em get
in on us unawares."

As it continued to approach, the fact that it was a
company of mounted soldiers riding in ranks became
apparent to all, and as they were evidently coming
toward "headquarters," all were agape with curiosity to
know the cause of their visit, and if there was really
any danger to be apprehended from the Indians.

At last the soldiers arrived in front of the hut and
halted.

"Where is the person in command of this party?"
asked the officer at the head of the troops.

"Wall, now," responded one ot the settlers who hap
pened to stand nearest the officer, and was eyeing the
company of regulars with considerable interest and
attention. "Wall, now, thar aint exactly anybody in
command here — leastwise, nobody entitled to boss any
body — but that there man over there is our leader what

l8O ARRESTED FOR TREASON.

piloted us in here and is kind of a president or gineral
manager like."

At this instant the ' 'general manager" stepped to the
front.

"Did you wish to see me ?" he asked.

"Yes," returned the lieutenant, "and not only you,
but all the members of your company. I have orders to
arrest you for treason and conspiracy against the gov
ernment, and to remove your families from out the ter
ritory. "

Then, turning to his men :

"You, Sergeant and Corporal, take each twenty-five
men and go and bring in the other members of the com
pany, together with their families. I will remain here
with the rest of the troops and guard these prisoners.""

ARRESTED.

CHAPTER XII.

TAKEN TO PRISON.

«' Arrested for treason? How? What? I don't
understand !"

« 'Colony broken up !"

* 'Officer must be drunk !"

"Will they take us to prison?"

"What does it all mean, anyhow?"

"Must be trying to scare us for a joke !"

Such were the exclamations of one and another as
they heard the order for the arrest ' 'for treason and con
spiracy" of every member of the colony.

But there was no joke about it.

It was a sober fact, as they very soon learned.

Those present at headquarters were not permitted to
return to their homes and families, but were kept under
close guard and threatened with being shot down if they
made any attempt at escape.

The squads of soldiers sent out by the lieutenant

I$2 DRIVEN LIKE SHEEP TO MARKET.

in command proceeded to the different claims, arrested
such of the men as were not already under arrest,
and peremptorily ordered them to hitch their teams to
their wagons, and at the point of the bayonet com
pelled them to load up their household goods and drive
to headquarters.

The women and children were either hustled in with
the household goods, or were driven like so many sheep
behind the wagons.

The cries and screams of the children and the tears
and pleadings of the women were alike unheeded, while
the curses and threats of the men were answered with
orders to "dry up" or take what would follow noncom-
pliance.

Phil was at work on his claim when the troops halted
in front of the headquarters.

His claim was nearly a mile away, and he could see
little of what was going on and had no idea of anything
serious happening. But, chancing to glance that way,
he saw there was a commotion of some kind. Recog
nizing the presence of a body of horsemen, he supposed
it to be a company of cattlemen and cowboys on a hunt
for horse thieves or estray cattle, and so gave it no fur
ther attention until he saw a squad of cavalry coming
toward him.

"I wonder what 's up now?" he queried mentally,
"Cowboys and Indians been having some trouble, 1 sup-

PHIL DOES AS PUTNAM DID. 183

pose. Wonder if they think any of the settlers were
mixed up in it any way.5'

He saw them halt in front of the Jones cabin and
converse a moment apparently among themselves, and
then a portion of them dismounted, while the others
rode on in the direction of where Mr. Jones was at work
plowing, not very far to the right of where Phil himself
was at work.

A moment later he heard screams issuing from the
cabin, and saw Jones drop his lines and run toward the
house, and instantly he began stripping the harness from
his own animals.

Springing upon the back of one of them, he dashed
away across the plowed ground in the direction of the
Jones caur!n, leaving the other animal loose and running
wild.

Phil n3.dv as yet, no clear idea of what was happen
ing, but hearing the screams and seeing Mr. Jones on the
run, he knew, of course, that something was wrong, and
was hastening to the assistance of his friends. He had
a confused idea that the soldiers must be drunk, and
might be committing he knew not what kind of an out
rage upon the family. But these misgivings only accele
rated his speed to the rescue,

Coming on at full speed, he rapidly neared the little
cabin, and was within a few rods of it before the soldiers
had noticed his approach, Then they leveled their

1 84 "HALT AND SURRENDER P

weapons at the undaunted but astonished " boomer,"
and gave the order :

" Halt and surrender !"

He did not halt, however, but rode on and up to the
cabin at a gallop. Springing from his animal, he was
instantly seized by as many soldiers as could lay hands
upon him.

Phil's first impulse was to resist, and indeed he had
already nerved himself for a struggle, when, seeing both
Mrs. and Mr. Jones standing together just within the
cabin door apparently unharmed, he refrained from
struggling.

"What is the meaning of this outrage?" he fiercely
demanded. * ' What are you doing here ? I will report
you to your superior officers and have you all court-
martialed,"

Phil thought the soldiers were drunk and engaged in
plundering, and he was wildly indignant.

But they laughed at his threats, and began pitching
the household goods out of the cabin.

For a moment or two Phil looked on, with fast-rising
anger, at what he regarded as wanton destruction of his
own and his friends' property.

Mrs. Jones stood with her face buried upon her hus
band's shoulder, weeping, only raising her head as, every
few seconds, some piece of household furniture came

AN EXPLANATION ASKED. 1 8$

tumbling out of the cabin, propelled by the hands of the
men in uniform within.

At last Phil turned to the Sergeant, who appeared to
be in command, and asked, as calmly as he could, for an
explanation of this strange affair.

"It means," replied the Sergeant, "that we have
orders to arrest every member of the colony and to take
them out of Oklahoma. That 's all I know about it, and
that 's all I can tell you."

* ' But what for ? What have we done ? I do not
understand it," persisted Phil.

The Sergeant retorted, none too good-naturedly : "I
tell you I know nothing more about it than I have just
told you. If you want to know any more, ask some one
who is better informed."

And with that Phil was forced, for the time, to con
tent himself.

He was ordered to catch his other mule, and then to
go to the field for his harness, which he did, being
accompanied by two of the soldiers, who told him that
he might take his plow if he liked. But this Phil chose
not to do, and left it standing in the furrow. He could
not believe the affair was anything else than a monstrous
blunder on the part of somebody, but he had not the
faintest idea of the identity of the blunderer.

When he had returned to the cabin with his mules
and harness Phil was ordered to hitch to his wagon, that

1 86 A SCENE WORTHY A MASTER ARTIST.

stood nearby, and then was sent, together with Mr. and
Mrs. Jones and their wagon, into which had been tossed
their household goods, under guard to the headquarters.

Arriving there, they found that already many others
of the settlers had been run in, together with their fami
lies and household treasures, and that more were arriving
constantly.

When all were assembled there was a scene worthy
the brush of a master artist.

From some of the wagons the canvas covers had been
removed, while upon others they remained as they were
when the colony arrived at the settlement, and into these
had been piled household goods of every description
owned by the settlers. Cook stoves, beds and bedding,
chairs, boxes and trunks — any thing and every thing-
thrown in as they came to hand, without regard to order,
economy of space or possible damage to the goods.

Seated upon these piles of goods, or standing about
the wagons in groups, were the women and children —
the former crying and talking in one breath, and all to
gether ; the children clinging to their mothers' skirts and
asking to know what it all meant ; the women asking the
same question of one another, and each of all.

Silent and sullen, some of the men stood with hard-
clenched fists, and eyes which h&d a dangerous light in
them, while others were moving about among comrades,
lettering denunciations of what they termed an unparal-

WHO 'S A TRAITOR ? 1 87

leled outrage by the army of the United States on peace
ful citizens, and demanding that they be at once set at
liberty.

Finally the leader of the colonists obtained permis
sion from the officer in command of the soldiers to talk
to the settlers. Mounting a wagon and calling them
about him, he explained, as well as he could, the situa
tion.

" You have all been arrested for trespass," he said,
"and in addition charges of treason and conspiracy are
made against myself and a few others. This much I have
learned from the officer here in command of the troops."

" Who 's a traitor?"

' ' Who 's trespassing ?"

4t I sp2r.t four long years helping to put down trea
son against the government."

' ' What right has the regular army to arrest peaceful
citizens, anyway, I'd like to know ?"

Such were the expressions that came in reply from
one and another of , the excited and angry men, as with
upturned faces they pushed and crowded close about the
wagcn from which their leader was striving to address
them.

' ' No one has committed any trespass in settling here,
and no one, 1 am sure, is guilty of treason or conspiracy
against the government. On the contrary, many among
as gave some of the best years of our lives to upholding

1 88 SOMEBODY HAS BLUNDERED.

the old flag and putting down rebellion, and it is an out
rage almost beyond endurance that we be accused of
treason against the government we fought so long and
so hard to maintain. It is an outrage, too, that we are
being driven from our homes ; but I can not think it i?
other than the result of a blunder, and that it will nof
be made right in time.

" From what I can learn from the officer here, it ha?
been represented to the government at Washington thaf
we are upon land belonging to the Indians — therefore,
trespassers. If such were really the case, it would be
the duty of the government to protect the Indians in
their rights ; but such, we know, is not the case, and
hence we can only conclude that somebody has made a
most grievous blunder.

" That this somebody ought to be held responsible
for the blunder is true, of course, and no doubt he will
be ; but the fact that we know them to be mistaken in
supposing us to be trespassers will not excuse these
officers and soldiers from obeying their orders, which are
to convey us all out of the Territory. We must, there
fore, submit quietly to the orders of the government,
trusting and believing that when the truth comes to be
made known at Washington we shall be exonerated from
all blame, and reparation for our trouble and losses
made to us.

1 ' I urge, therefore, that each of you bear this hard-

THE MEN ARE PACIFIED. 189

ship as courageously and uncomplainingly as possible,
and that you be not down-hearted. Every thing can,
perhaps, be explained and set right as soon as we reach
Fort Reno, whither, I am told, we are to be conveyed.
If not, then we will appeal direct to the government at
Washington. "

He further told them that the officers would permit
them to unload and repack their goods in their wagons,
so as to prevent unnecessary breakage or serious dam
age of any kind, and enable them to make such arrange
ments as were possible for the comfort of the women
and children on the journey, and closed his remarks by
expressing the hope that thirty days hence would see
them all back again working upon their claims.

A cheer went up when he said this. And, thus paci
fied and encouraged, they became, in a measure, recon
ciled, and began at once the work of repacking their
wagons and making such arrangements for the comfort
of their families as the circumstances would admit.

There were still to be heard mutterings of anger and
threats of revenge to be taken upon the author of their
woes, whoever he might prove to be, when they should
have discovered who he was ; but the deportees no longer
felt any particular resentment toward the soldiers, whom
they regarded as being but tools in the hands of others,
compelled by military law to obey orders without asking
any question as to the right or wrong involved in the

190 A JOHNNY REB.

matter. After having gotten their goods in proper shape
for hauling and eaten a meal prepared on the spot by the
women with such facilities as they could muster, they
even began to feel cheerful and to crack jokes about the
wiatter.

''Here, you Johnny Reb !" called oiie to another—
an old army comrade. "You climb down out of that
wagon and let that chuck be, B«in' as you 're a rebel
and a prisoner, we will have to put you on short rations,
I reckon."

"Glad you did n't mention the matter earlier," the
other replied. "I've just got away with a pound of
jerked venison and three big potatoes, so I can stand
short rations for a spell — till next meal, any way."

••How the sweet potatoes even

Started from the ground —
As we went marching through Georgia."

Thus sang one — evidently in memory of old army
times. Then a half-dozen struck in on the chorus :

M Hurrah 1 Hurrah ! We bring the jubilee.

Hurrah I Hurrah for the flag that makes you free !
So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea —
As we went marching through Georgia."

4H — 11 of a jubilee we Ve got," called out one more
'surly than the rest, yet himself beginning to feel the mel
lowing influences about him.

"Wonder how the Cap'n will look with f rope about

BANKED ON HIS BEAUTY.

his neck, any way. Be kind of a surprise to the old
man to be hanged for treason, I reckon." This was
ventured by a man between bites, as he stood with a
piece of corn bread in one hand and some cold meat in
the other. And then others chimed in :

"'Spect they '11 turn Cap loose with four rods start,
and then run him down and lasso him."

' ' Bet he leads 'em a good long race if they do. The
Cap 's mighty lively on his pins."

' ' You fellows better be sayin' prayers for your own
selves. You 're just as likely to be called on to furnish
the entertainment at a foot race or a hanging bee as the
Cap is.''

* « And how about yourself ?"

''Oh, they '11 let me off on account of my good
looks. They would n't hang the best-looking man in the
Territory, no way it could be fixed — so I am perfectly
safe, you see."

This last, from the champion homely man in the col
ony, was regarded as a good joke by everybody, and all
laughed heartily. This raised the spirits of even the
surliest several degrees, and a feeling of comparative
cheerfulness took possession of the little company.

The cavalcade had now formed in line, and the ' ' ex
traordinary march was begun."

The Lieutenant led the way with a portion of the
troops, while the rear was brought up by the others of

TAIL OKLAHOMA!

his company of deporters, under the command oi an
orderly.

The colonists were not permitted to carry their arms,
which were all stacked into one of the wagons and then
guarded by two of the regulars, who tied their horses
behind the wagon, while they themselves rode inside
with the property in their charge.

Thus guarded, the company proceeded on its way in
the direction of Fort Reno, and at dusk camped upon
the open prairie and spent the night in their wagons or
upon the ground, guarded by sentries regularly stationed
about the camp, and as regularly changed every two
hours.

Fort Reno lay west and a little north of the settle
ment and just within the edge of the Cheyenne and
Arapahoe Reservation, and a weary-dreary way the un
happy colonists found it. Especially did the women and
children suffer, as they were allowed few privileges, and
rode hour after hour all the days through, cramped up
in their seats in the wagons, by the side of which the
men were sometimes allowed to march, while their
wives or some of the older children drove, but from
which they were not allowed to stray, for any purpose
whatever, beyond the reach of the carbines of the ever
watchful guards.

Arrived at Fort Reno, they were turned over by the
Lieutenant who had been in command of the company

CONSIGNED TO PRISON. 193

which arrested them to the authorities at the fort, the
commandant of which proceeded to question the leading
men among them as to their purpose in settling within
the borders of Oklahoma.

They, each and all, replied that their purpose was to
make for themselves homes upon land belonging to the
government of the United States, in accordance with
the law giving to each head of a family who would settle
upon and improve it 16o acres of land. They were told
in reply that the land in question — that is, Oklahoma —
belonged to the Indians, and had been leased by them
to certain men for grazing purposes, and that, while the
government had no interest in the lessors, it was bound
to protect the Indians in their rights, and that it was for
this purpose that the settlers had been sought out and
placed under arrest.

Replying for them, their leader denied that the land
in dispute belonged to the Indians, and offered to show
that it was the property of the United States under a
treaty which had been made in 1866, but he was not
permitted to do so.

He then demanded an immediate trial for himself
and his companions; but this, too, was denied them.
Capt. Paine and four others — of whom Phil Johnson was
one — were confined in cells connected with the barracks,
while the rest of the men, together with the women and
children, were held under guard outside.

194 THE LEADER'S QUERY.

The five men were kept thus confined for five days,
and were then released. They and those who had been
kept under guard outside were ordered to hitch their
teams to their wagons. When this was done, the women
and children were told to "climb in," and the whole
company, still under guard, moved off in the direction of
the Kansas State line.

Another weary jaunt of nearly four days, and then
they were halted on Kansas soil, drawn up in line and
told that they were at liberty, but that they must not
return to Oklahoma on pain of more severe treatment
the next time, if they did so.

"What shall we do, men?"

The leader of the Oklahoma colonists was the que
rist, and his words were addressed to the members of
the colony as they stood where the regulars had left them
— gazing first at the retreating troops and then up at the
faces of their wives and children, peering from beneath
their wagon covers with looks of mingled hope and
anxiety.

"What shall we do, men ?"

For some seconds there was no response, and then a

PHIL'S READY ANSWER. 195

voice from down near the end of the line called out with
a ringing clearness :

" Move we strike straight back for Oklahoma and our
claims."

Phil Johnson had spoken. Instantly came back the
response from the other end of the line :

"I second the motion."

An enthusiast sang out :

' * That 's the way to talk it ! I 'm with you every
vime. Hip, hip ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Phil
Johnson 's all right !"

This was taken up by others, and for several minutes
the prairie rang with the cheers of the men, with which
were mingled the shriller voices of the more courageous
of the women and the piping tones of several brave
children.

But, with the sober second thought came a sense of
what they had lost, and how illy they were prepared to
make the return journey at once ana without recruiting
their stock of provisions.

What little store they had on hand when the army
swooped down upon them had been eaten or destroyed
since that time. If they returned now without providing
themselves with more, it would be necessary for them to
depend entirely upon game for subsistence, not only dur
ing the journey, but for an indefinite period after they
reached their claims. Their growing crops would most

STOPPING TO THINK.

likely be found trampled down and destroyed by the
herds of the big cattle men.

All things considered as they were, the advisability of
delay was at least debatable.

Finally they decided to go into camp on the spot and
talk the matter over after supper.

THE COUNCIL.

CHAPTER XIII.

GATHERED ABOUT THE COUNCIL FIRE TO PLAN FOR THE
FUTURE — AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.

After supper the men gathered around the camp fire
of their leader, prepared to discuss the situation and
decide upon their future course.

Some sat on the ground and some on chunks of wood;
some made seats of their feed boxes; two or three leaned
against the nearest wagon, while still others threw them
selves at full length upon the ground. Nearly all lit
pipes and smoked as they talked or listened to what the
others had to say.

And as they talked one grew angry at the wrong done
them, and raised his voice in wrathful denunciation of
all who were in any way responsible for the outrage per
petrated upon them.

Then the women came and formed a circle back of
the men and watched and listened. And the children

(197)

198 ABOUT THE COUNCIL FIRE.

came and clung to their mothers' skirts and listened and
watched also.

The camp fire flared with the night breeze. Back
and forth it waved — red one moment and the next took
on a bluish tint. Long, pointed tongues of flame leapt
up and lapped out, as if in search of something to feed
upon, and, finding only the darkness, bit at it and sank
down again.

Some one drew forth a brand and tossed it farther
into the flame, causing a shower of sparks to rise; these
snapped and crackled and darted hither and yon for an
instant, and then went out.

A wolf away out on the prairie sent forth a dismal
howl, and another wolf answered from the opposite side
of the camp.

Then one man" arose and passed out through the
/ circle, and went to see if any of the tethered animals had
become tangled in their ropes. Finding none such, he
returned and resumed his former place.

Meanwhile the women and children kept their posi
tions at the back of the circle, and the men talked and
planned.

But these were not men of many words and slow to
reach a conclusion. A little thought, a little exchange
of opinion, and their course was decided upon. They
would halt for a few days where^they were. There were
water and feed at hand, and they would camp at that

APPEAL TO THE PRESIDENT. 199

spot. Leaving their families with proper protection, a
portion would go to the nearest settlement and procure
needed supplies, while their leader, with one or two
others, should make an effort to place the whole matter
— the fact of their right to make homes upon the spot
which they had selected, and the wrong and indignity
which had been done them — before the proper authority,
so that they might not be again disturbed; and then they
would return and begin anew the work of improving
their claims.

Accordingly, the next morning certain of the wagons
were unloaded of household goods, and the owners put
their teams to them and started out for the purpose of
purchasing supplies. The leader, with Phil Johnson and
one other, mounted and rode away to perform the mis
sion assigned them.

The next day, about noon, the three appeared before
the judge of a court in one of the border counties, and
wrote out and made oath to the facts in the case as they
believed thorn to exist.

First calling attention to the fact that the law per
mitted, and was supposed to encourage, the settlement
of unoccupied government lands for the purposes of cul
tivation and occupai cy, they cited the treaty under
which Oklahoma ha^ been ceded by the Indians to the
government of the Tnited States, and followed this with
a detailed account c f the manner in which they had been

2OO "WHERE FROM, STRANGERS?"

evicted from the claims which they were occupying in
good faith under the law.

Having made this statement in duplicate, they next
attached their signatures and made oath to the truth of
the facts therein set forth, and mailed one copy of it to
the President of the United States and the other to the
Secretary of the Interior, at Washington.

This done, they remounted their horses and started
upon their return journey.

Late in the afternoon, while riding at their usual gait
— a long, swinging gallop or lope — they overtook and
were passing a number of emigrant wagons, when from
one of the wagons there came an inquiry regarding the
distance to be traveled before reaching water and good
:amping ground. Reining in their horses, they gave full
answer to the question. Other questions naturally fol
lowed, and finally one of the emigrants was asked :

"What part of the country might you come from,
strangers ?"

"Indiana."

"What part of Indiana?" queried Phil, who until
now had taken no part in the conversation.

"From down on the Wabash — south half of the
State."

Phil spurred his nag and reined him close up to the
emigrant's wagon. Leaning eagerly forward, he peered
into the face of the man who was driving. He was an

THE M'KINLBYS. *oi

oldish man and covered with the dust of a long drive,
yet Phil knew him now, and wondered that he did not
know him the instant he saw him.

There was just the faintest suspicion of a tremor in
Phil's voice when ° spoke again. He said :

''Mr. McKinley, I reckon you don't recognize me.
I am Phil Johnson, and my folks used to live neighbors
to you years ago, when I was a boy. "

Mr. McKinley — for he it was, and no mistake — for an
instant looked at him without speaking. Then, turning
half-way around in his seat, he called to some one back
in the wagon :

" Here, Net ! And you, Marm ! Here 's Phil John
son — him they used to call the three P's. Reckon you
remember him, both of ye."

And then Phil — whose heart was making most frantic
efforts to escape from his body, first by way of his throat,
and, failing in that, by knocking a hole in his ribs —
heard a rustling within the covered wagon, saw a hand
thrust out and the flap of the wagon cover raised, and
heard a voice saying :

" Is it really you, Philip? Well, who'd a-thought
of running against you, 'way out here in this wild wil
derness ?"

Such was Mrs. McKinley's greeting.

Phil wished Nettie had been the speaker. He wished
she would speak now, so he might know how to speak

201 NEWS FROM THE OLD HOME.

to her, for suddenly he felt that he did not know how to
address her unless she first spoke to him.

But in spite of the awful throbbing of his heart, Phil
managed to reply to Mrs. McKinley, telling her it was he
and no other, and also to mumble something about being
glad to see them.

And still Nettie had not spoken.

Through the opening made by the upturned flap, he
saw a portion of her dress, but that was all. Mrs. Mc
Kinley filled the opening with her own person pretty
completely, as she leaned forward and talked to him.

Mrs. McKinley was a good talker when she wished to
be. And just now, for some reason, she did wish to be.

Phil's parents, so she told him, were still living on
the old place, and were well when she left there — some
three weeks ago last Thursday.

"They thought you must be dead, Philip — not get
ting any answer to their letter."

"Did they write?" asked Phil. " Did they get my
letter ?"

' ' They got the one you sent from down in Texas
somewhere — the one in which you said you were going
to Kansas with a drove of cattle for somebody. That 's
the only letter they ever got. They answered that one
right off, for they were awful anxious for you to come
home. And they told you about every thing and every
body — so your mother told me — and urged you to come

"IS THAT NETTIE?" 20$

right home as soon as you got their letter. And then
they waited and waited, but heard nothing from you ;
then they writ again several times, but they never heard
any thing more. Ihey thought you might a-been killed
or something, 'cause they never heard from you again.
But Nettie — she did say she knowed you was n't dead,
and that you 'd come back some time, shore."

" Is — is that Nettie in there ?" asked Phil, with some
trepidation, when Mrs. McKinley had paused to take
breath.

' * Why, Lor* — yes. Nettie, you have n't spoken to
Philip yet. You have n't forgotten him, have you ?
Crawl over here and take a look at him ; he 's growed
powerful."

And Mrs. McKinley took her daughter by the shoulder
and drew her forward, where she could both see and be
seen. She said :

•' How do you do, Mr. Johnson ?"

To save his soul, Phil could only answer :

*' I 'm pretty well. How do you do ?"

He would have given his pony — and Phil thought a
^reat deal of that pony — to be able to say something'
more and to say it better, but he could not. He had been
thinking what to say to Nettie all the time her mother
was talking to him, trying to decide whether to be digni
fied and lift his hat and say, formally, " I am pleased to
meet you again, Miss McKinley," or to say «' Hello, Net-

204 PHIL KICKS HIMSELF — MENTALLY.

tie, " and take her hand and squeeze it a little, and thus
re-establish their familiar relations at once.

And here he had only said: "I 'm pretty well.
How do you do ?"

It seemed so ridiculously idiotic, he told himself a
minute afterward, that if his pony was only warranted to
kick on proper occasions, instead of improper ones, he
would get right down then and there and ask to be duly
kicked.

And Nettie said never another word, but after a few
moments drew back from the opening, and left Phil with
only the sight of her skirts to console him — the same as
before she had spoken.

But what Nettie lacked in conversational powers on
that occasion her mother made up for. The moment
Nettie withdrew her head from the opening in the wagon
cover her mother's filled the space, and she resumed her
narrative, giving him items of news from the old neigh
borhood mingled with incidents concerning their own
family, and telling why they had left the old home to
come " out West."

"The ferry is still there," she told him, "but mostly
it is n't used any more, as a bridge has been built across
the river only a half mile below.

"That was the reason we came West — one of the
reasons, anyway — though Nettie was alwavs iir^png us to
come. "

MRS. M'KINLEY EXPLAINS MATTERS. 205

Here Phil pricked up his ears and listened with all
his might.

"You see, Nettie has n't run the ferry for ever so
long. She was up to Terre Haute to school three win
ters ; taught in the old school house in the summers to
get money to pay board and schooling with.

''But she did n't like teaching there, where every
one knew her. The children were harder to manage,
seemed like, 'cause they all knew her so well, and so she
wanted to come West and teach. But Mr. McKinley
would n't move till it got so the ferry did n't pay us any
more, because of the bridge. Then we decided that we
would come.

4 * We 're going to pre-empt some land somewheres,
and as soon as we get settled like we 're going to try and
get a school as nearby as we can for her to teach. The
other girls can do the work, you see. They are now in
Mr. Sommers' wagon, on ahead there. The boys are in
some of the others' wagons, too.

"But you have n't told us any thing about yourself
yet — where you 're living and what you 're up to. Driv
ing cattle yet ?"

Phil told her that he had been in New Mexico for
two years, and since that he had been in Oklahoma,
where he had a " claim," and that he was about to return
there.

He also told her that he had failed to get his dear

2O6 PHIL GROWS ANXIOUS.

mother's letter, and had not known what to think at not
hearing rrom home ; that he feared his parents were
either dead or had moved away, and that had he known
they were living and anxious to have him go home he
would have done so.

He was desirous of talking more about Oklahoma.
He wanted to suggest that Mr. McKinley's family join
the colony and go there too, but he some way could not.
He thrilled through and through at thoughts of having
Nettie near him again ; of being able to re-establish the
old familiar relations, and of what that might lead to —
later on.

But the meeting had been so sudden and unexpected,
and Nettie had seemed so cool and formal, that he could
say nothing except in reply to questions from Nettie's
mother.

He kept trying hard to think of something to say to
Nettie, but he could not — or, rather, he could not mus
ter the courage to voice his thoughts. His failure to say
any thing better than "I 'm pretty well ; how do you
do ?" when she spoke to him first, discouraged him from
making another attempt.

" She must think me a fool, or else the most bashful
man alive," was his mental comment. "Confound it
all ! If she had only called me Phil, now, /nstead of
'Mr. Johnson !' It was calling me 'Mr. Johnson* that
took me o# my feet — it was so confoundedly formal/'

MR. M'KINLEY HAS AN IDEA. 207

While Mrs. McKinley was thus entertaining Phil her
husband was talking with Phil's companions, who, with-
out exactly knowing it, were doing all that could be done
to induce Mr. McKinley to regard Oklahoma and the
spot selected by the colonists as the most desirable plac<»
in the world for him to locate in.

Nettie's father listened attentively to the description
* given of the extent and fertility of the prairies, the
abundance of timber and the salubrity of the climate.
He evinced considerable interest in the statements made
with regard to the abundance of game, but it was at the
mention of fish that he became thoroughly alive — alive
all over.

Fish meant a river ; abundance cf fish must mean a
pretty large river, and a large river meant

1 ' Going to lay out a town there ?" queried the ex-
ferryman.

" Yes. Town already laid out. All we lack now is
the people."

208 HEADED RIGHT.

' ' Going to be a pretty good-sized town, I s'pose ?
Lots of travel back and forth across the river ?"

* * Not a doubt of it. Just as soon as it becomes
known that there is an abundance of government land
there people will rush in by the thousand, and the coun
try will settle up rapidly. "

4 ' Be a pretty good place for a ferry, won't it ?"

Phil failed to catch the reply, but a few minutes *
later, when the wagons halted for the night, Mr. McKin-
ley was overheard saying to his wife :

"Marthy, I believe Oklahoma is just the place we
were looking for."

This was music to Phil's ears. He said to himself :
"The leader is headed right."

CHAPTER XIV.

PHIL FEASTS HIS EYES — THE M*KINLEYS CONCLUDE TO
LOCATE IN OKLAHOMA.

Phil and his companions went into camp that night
with the emigrants from Indiana.

To have induced Phil to do otherwise would have
required greater persuasive powers than his companions
possessed, even had they cared to exercise such powers,
which they did not ; though before overtaking the travel
ers they had intended to go five miles farther before
camping. They had delayed a little in chatting with the
emigrants, and it was now fairly late, and here were
water and fuel and all things needful for their purposes;
besides which there was a prospect of inducing these
people to join their colony, which of itself furnished in
ducement for the other two to remain in communication
with the emigrants.

As for Phil ? Well, if asked to go on, the odds would

2IO NETTIE.

have been a thousand to one that he would have declared
his pony was lame, sore-backed and generally done for —
in fact, could not travel a mile farther.

Maybe a suspicion that Phil would prove obstinate in
the matter helped to move his companions to decide it
would be best to go into camp with the emigrant party.
*This is not known. Be this as it may, they swung them
selves from their saddles the moment the wagons came
to a halt, and prepared to stake their horses out and to
care for them.

Phil's pony seemed to realize that his master was in
a hurry to get him taken care of that night, for the mo
ment Phil's foot was out of the stirrup the pony made
an effort to remove his own saddle by dropping on the
ground and rolling. And when he was compelled to get
up and allow it to be taken off in the usual way, the ani
mal refused to be rubbed down in a manner so emphatic
that Phil accepted it as evidence that he ought not to
fool away any time on that kind of a job. Accordingly,
he tethered him out without rubbing him down, and then
hurried around to where the McKinleys were preparing
supper.

Nettie was stooping over a fire just started when he
approached, but arose on hearing his coming footsteps.

Then it was that Phil noticed how tall and graceful
she had grown to be. He had not seen her fully before
— not even her face, which had been half concealed by

BEAUTY AND GRACB. 211

the wagon cover — but now he saw both face and form
fully by the light of the camp fire, and he felt that even
his imagination had utterly failed to do full justice to her
beauty.

And Nettie McKrnley was beautiful. She possessed
the beauty of youth and innocence — yes, and intelli
gence.

To her natural strength of mind, inherited from her
mother, she had added education. Her education was
not extensive and broad, it is true, but was such as the
schools of an ambitious and thriving little city, anxious
to keep pace with the world in educational as well as
other matters, could furnish.

From her father she had inherited the dignity which
at times sat upon him as an ill-fitting garment, but which
rested on her with a naturalness that added to her face
and form an expression of womanliness and goodness
which might well have charmed another than a frontiers
man like Phil, who had known little of women and less
of women possessed of grace both oi body and mind.

True, Nettie exhibited little of either grace or dignity
in her first meeting with her girlhood's sweetheart, after
their long separation ; but the fact must be borne in
mind that an emigrant wagon, where one is compelled
for lack of room to sit in a position that is more or less
cramped, is not the most favorable place for the exhibi
tion of grace and dignity. ^Besides, the meeting was so

aid JUST THE TWO.

entirely unexpected, and Phil was — as Mrs. McKinley
expressed it — "growed powerful," and in his cowboy
costume, to which he still clung, with a Winchester rifle
lying across his lap, looked so much like the brigands of
whom she had read and so little like the boy in patched
clothes and straw hat who used to help her run the ferry
that there is small wonder if she failed of making as
good an appearance as under other circumstances she
might have done.

But now she was upon the ground, where graceful
dignity was possible, and she had recovered from her first
surprised start at the meeting. When, on rising from her
stooping position in front of the little camp fire, she saw
Phil approaching she was the personification of grace
and dignity. With much cordizJity she said :

'* I am glad you and your friends are to camp with us,
Mr. Johnson. We want ve^y much to hear about your
adventures since you left the old neighborhood ; and we
can, I am sure, tell you much that will interest you about
your father's family and others whom you used to know. "

Phil would have given worlds to feel that he could
answer with equal dignity and self-poise, but his life and
vocation had not been such as to givo b:m confidence in
the presence of such a woman az he felt Nettie to be ;
and, besides, there kejf,t corning up thoughts of that last
trip which they h> I m&de .together on the ferry boat the
afternoon before /** &ifcU in which he ran away from

THE ICB BROKEti. SI 3

home, to begin & life of perilous wandering, £hd he could
not feel at ease because of it,

Yet Phil Johnson was naturally self-confident and
manly ; and now he gathered his mental forces and an
swered, with some stiffness of manner, that he could not
think of going on without first learning all they could tell
him of every one he had ever known back there.

The ice thus broken, they fell into a conversation
which soon put them on as familiar a footing as could be
under the circumstances.

Mrs. McKinley soon joined them, and with her came
the younger members of the family — boys and girls, most
of whom were but toddlers when Phil and Nettie were
quite well-grown children. But now these were big boys
and girls — almost men and women.

After all the rest came Mr. McKinley, who shook
hands with Phil, now that shaking hands was not such a
difficult matter as when one was in the saddle and the
other was sitting on the spring seat of an emigrant
wagon.

There was a good bit of cordiality in his manner, not
withstanding the sense of dignity which he felt belonged
to the man who was commissioned by two States to run
a ferry had not all left him with his leaving the inter
state business.

When all preparations for such a meal as they could
get under the circumstances were about completed, Mis.

214 TALK OF OKLAHOMA.

McKinley suggested to her husband, who had beerft too
busily engaged talking to think of it, that he find Phil's
companions and invite them to supper — a suggestion to
which he responded with alacrity, although Phil assured
them that it was not necessary, as they had provided
themselves with food before leaving town, and had it
safely store away at the backs of their saddles.

Nevertheless, Mr. McKinley hunted them up, but he
found them already eating with some of the other emi
grants, and so he returned to his own camp fire without
them.

After supper Phil's companions sought him out, and
they were introduced by name to Mr. McKinley and his
family.

Then others of the emigrants gathered around, and
they asked questions about Oklahoma, about the trouble
which the colonists had with the military authorities and
about other portions of the country with which their new
acquaintances were familiar — through all of which Phil
waited and watched for an opportunity to speak with
Nettie out of hearing of the others, though knowing all
the time that if such a chance were tc occur he would be
no more capable of saying acy but the most common
place things than he was of flying. He was not even
quite sure that he would be able to say any thing, but
none the less he wished that they might be alon^/ if only
for a minute.

PHIL GROWS MISERABLY HAPPY. 215

To be alone with Nettie would, he felt, bring her, in
some way, close to him; give him a kind of possessor-
ship, as it were; a possessorship such as he had when as
boy and girl they ran the ferry boat together and were
recognized by everybody in the little village as being
partners in everything and as having a perfect right to
be together.

But no opportunity of speaking with Nettie apart
from others occurred, nor indeed of addressing her at all
except as he included her with others of the family in
some questions relating to those he had known or events
which had occurred in the vicinity of his old home.

Occasionally Nettie answered, being best able to do
so from her better knowledge of those earlier compan
ions of whom he wished to know, and that was all. And
when the little crowd began to disperse, and when Phil
finally felt compelled to say good-night, he knew that he
had received no sign to tell him whether Nettie remem
bered him as he wished to be remembered.

But he was miserably happy — never had been so
much so in his life. He rolled himself up in his blank
ets by the side of his comrades, but if he slept or not is
only known to the sentinel stars that "kept their watch
in the sky."

Only this much is known: After tossing restlessly
for an indefinite period, Phil thought of his pony, which
had refused to be rubbed down when unsaddled, and he

216 PONDERING.

got up and went to him and curried him, when he stood
with his legs spread out and his nose almost touching the
ground — asleep.

The sleeping pony awoke with a little snort when his
master spoke his name, and then quietly submitted to
having his sweat-dried coat rubbed clean with a handful
of grass and a smooth stick, which Phil managed to find
by feeling around on the ground in the darkness.

After rubbing down his pony Phil returned to his
sleeping comrades. But instead of lying down on his
blankets, as they lay, he gathered them up and went and
spread them at the roots of a tree a little way off, where
he lay down again and there remained until morning.

So soon as he saw that the family was astir the next
morning Phil took his stock of provisions over to the
McKinley wagon. He had not forgotten that in the
other days he had always a friend in Mrs. McKinley, and
he was shrewd enough to guess that she was still his
friend.

Phil had now had a little time to think matters over,
and he felt that, having been received kindly, he would
have only himself to blame if he did not drop at once,
into the old-time relationship with the family.

In this reckoning of the family he did not include
Nettie, however. If he won Nettie for his wife he must
first prove himself worthy of her. He felt sure of that.
Even if she remembered him as he hoped she did, he

SPARRING FOR AN OPENING.

knew now that she would not acknowledge her love until
he had proven to her that he was capable of some higher
calling than that of trailing Indians or herding long-horn
steers.

What Philip sighed for now was an opportunity to
prove to her that, though unlearned in books, he was yet
the equal of most other men in ability and in moral and
physical courage. He meant to make himself the equal
of the best. He could do so with her to help him — so
he told himself ; and he meant to learn what she would
prefer him to be — what her standard of manhood was,
and to make that his standard.

Not that he had not strong convictions of what was
just and right, as between man and man, for he had. It
had been said of him more than once, and by men who
knew him intimately, that there was no squarer man on
the range than Phil Johnson.

But of many things he was ignorant — just how very
ignorant he did not know, but he meant to find out. He
meant to learn by watching Nettie, if possible for him to
be near her, and to be in all things what she would have
him be.

And, now that he had come to himself, he knew that
the way to begin was to accept to the fullest the friendly
interest shown him by the family and do as nearly as pos
sible as he would have done when a boy helping Nettie

218 AGAIN EN RAPPORT.

row the ferry, and that was to go to a meal with them as
if one of their own family, if so it happened that he was
necessarily present at meal time.

It was, therefore, the result of well-digested thought
that brought him to the McKinley wagon with his pack
of provisions and tin cup for coffee that morning.

"Mrs. McKinley," he said, " I supposed you would
expect me to breakfast, so here I am. I Ve brought
along my own stock of provisions, so if you happen to
be short I '11 not rob the family. I expect you remem
ber something about my appetite, and probably noticed
last night that it has grown no less since I ate at your
table when I was a boy. "

That Mrs. McKinley was pleased with his frankness
and desire to resume his old relations with the family
even modest Phil thought he could see. At any rate, she
treated him exactly as she used to do — with a kind of
motherly solicitude — which made it very easy for him to
feel at ease, and so appear to the best advantage.

And Phil was as good-looking and as manly-looking
a fellow as one meets in a day's travel. Standing 5 feet
IO in his boots, well formed and muscular, with a good
head set firmly upon his shoulders, mustache of brown
inclining to red, with brown hair and blue eyes, Phil ap
proached the ideal man. It is doubtful if Nettie had
ever seen a more manly form than the sun-burnt and
sombrero-topped young fellow who came and took the

MORE ABOUT OKLAHOMA.

bucket of water out of her hand as she was coming up
the creek bank; and there must have been something in
her face which showed that she was conscious of this
fact, for Phil suddenly felt himself to be more of a man
than ever before and more worthy to be her husband.

Together they walked back to the wagon, chatting
easily and freely, both of the past and the present. At
breakfast Phil managed to secure a seat upon the same
log with Nettie, and close by her side. And Phil was
not conscious of what they had for breakfast, and can
not tell to this day.

The talk while eating was principally of Oklahoma
and the advisability of the McKinley family joining the
colonists.

Phil told them, as nearly as he could, the facts about
the country and the prospects for its early settlement.
He knew enough of the ways of the owners of large
herds of cattle, and of the necessity of their keeping
control of great tracts of land for herding purposes, to
understand something of the danger which the colonists
were in from that quarter, but he could not conceive it
possible that, when the facts were known to the authori
ties at Washington, ary one would be allowed to inter
fere with those citizens who were seeking to make homes
npon the public lands, and he therefore felt safe so far as
fear of further trouble with the military forces of the
government was concerned,

230 PLANNING TO KEEP NEASt

Naturally, he was intensely anxious to have McKin-
ley's family join the colonists, for only in this way could
he hope to keep Nettie by him.

True, he would have given up his claim and selected
another in the vicinity of any spot where the McKinleys
might have chosen to pre-empt, in Kansas or one of the
territories, but to do so would be to indirectly declare his
hope with regard to Nettie, and to do it in a way which
he felt would hardly be manly under the circumstances.

Such a move would be too clear a declaration of his
desire to be in her society not to be accompanied with a
direct offer of marriage, and he felt that the time to do
that had not come. Therefore, he must either persuade
them to go to Oklahoma or submit to being separated
from Nettie almost as soon as he had found her, and de
pend for success in winning her upon correspondence by
letter.

He was sure she would not refuse him permission to
write to her, but he was not accustomed to writing, and
he doubted his ability to show to advantage in a corre
spondence such as that would be. Yet, above all other
things, he disliked to be separated from her, now that
they had met again.

Nettie took but little part in the discussion of the
proposition to go to Oklahoma. Beyond asking Phil if
he thought the country would settle up rapidly, so that
good schools would follow, she said nothing.

MR. M'KINLEY'S VISION.

Her father once asked her squarely whether she was
in favor of the family going or not, but her mother very
dextrously parried the question for her, and she was not
obliged to answer it.

In the end it was decided to go. Mr. McKinley was
in favor of it, because he believed that as soon as a ter
ritorial government was formed he could procure a char
ter for running a ferry boat across the river ; the boys
favored it, because there was plenty of game and the
trip promised excitement ; and Mrs. McKinley favored it
because — well, if the truth must be known, because she
thought her eldest daughter's happiness would be made
secure by it, without injuring in any way the prospects
of the younger children.

Mothers, be it known, are acquainted with the ways
and the hearts of girls, and quick to understand and
sympathize with them in their heart troubles and joys.
If Nettie loved Phil, had loved him and clung to his
memory all these years, it is reasonably certain that her
mother knew it.

Mrs. McKinley was wise in her unlearned way, and
was a good judge of character. She knew Phil when a
boy, and she knew his parents and from whom they were
descended. She had confidence in Phil — in his integrity
of character and in his ability to make his way in life-
Therefore, she was not inclined to do that which would
needlessly separate the young people, now that they had

222 MOTHERS' WISDOM.

been brought together again, until they had full oppor
tunity to know whether the feeling of their childhood
remained to them in their manhood and womanhood.
For thoroughly sound good sense and womanly wisdom,
give me the mother whose life has not been all it might
have been of ease and comfort ; give me the mothers of
the Wabash and other agricultural districts.

To say that Phil was rejoiced at the decision arrived
at by the McKinleys would be a waste of both time and
words.

He wanted to look at Nettie and see how she received
the decision of her parents when it was finally made
known, but he could not muster sufficient courage for a
moment, and when he did look at her she had turned
away, and appeared to be mighty busy at that particular
moment.

He felt pretty certain, however, that she was not
sorry, and so he was content.

Before they broke camp that morning, Phil wrote a
long and loving letter home, in which he told of his joy
ful meeting with the McKinleys, of his failure to get the
letters addressed to him, and promised faithfully that as
soon as he got his claim fairly in shape he would pay a
visit to the old place "down home." He promised, fur
ther, to spend several weeks at least with those so dear
to him.

Mrs. McKinley also wrote to Phil's mother. Just

TWO FAMILIES ADDED. 38|

what she wrote in that letter only two persons were sup
posed ever to know. But it is safe to say nothing was
written that would make Mrs. Johnson feel ashamed of
her son.

Only two families from the half dozen who composed
company of emigrants with whom Phil and his
friends camped that night decided to go to Oklahoma,
and of them one was Mr. McKinley's. The others con
tinued their journey westward, and settled near Garfield,
in Pawi:ee county, Kansas. Beyond this mention their
fate bears no relation to this narrative.

After giving directions as to the route to follow in
order to reach the camp of the colonists, Phil and his
companions hit them and galloped on ahead.

Gladly woia\ Phi! have remained behind and piloted

TH£ COMMISSIONERS RETURN.

them through, except that there was really no need of it
and he felt that it would be wisest not to run any risk of
seeming to force his company upon the family.

The three horsemen arrived at the camp of the colo
nists a little afternoon of the same day, and the wagons
bringing the new accessions to their numbers reached
there just at sundown.

So Phil had the pleasure of seeing Nettie again be-
fove ht, stapt that night

CHAPTER XV.

BACK TO THE CANADIAN — HAVING BUILT A NEW HOUSE,
PHIL CONCLUDES TO DEDICATE IT.

The journey back to the settlement on the Canadian
was made without incident, so far as the company at
large was concerned.

To Phil and Nettie every day, and almost every hour,
was rilled with incidents — the incidents of their hourly
meetings and partings, of his riding by the side of her
father's wagon as they journeyed along, of a spoken
word, a glance, a simple flower which he stooped from
his saddle to pluck and hand to her.

And then the evenings spent about the camp fires, in
which memories of the trifling incidents that made up
the days and years of their childhood were recalled and
lived over again in all their sweetness. All these were
mere passing incidents of a flitting evening, unnoticed

226 FRONTIER CRAFT.

and uncared for by others, but to these two young peo
ple they were things to be thought over and dwelt upon
after they had retired for the night and before the morn
ing risings.

Phil professed still to board with Mr. and Mrs. Jones.
But his real status as a boarder with the Joneses was
about like this : Having reinstated himself with the
McKinley family on something like the old down-home
basis, he did as he had been wont to do when a boy. He
ate with them about as often as a-nywhere else.

The two McKinley boys were now approaching man
hood, and one of them was beginning to watch with im
patience for the appearance of down upon his upper lip.
Both these boys at once ' 'took to" Phil, as the saying is,
being caught by his evident knowledge of frontier life
and by his splendid accomplishments as a horseman and
rifle shot.

As much as possible they put themselves in his com
pany, and to them he gave lessons in frontier craft — the
"signs" of the different kinds of game with which the
country abounded and the best method of securing it.

His rifle was always at their service, and also his
pony, and many were the attempts made by one or the
other of them to bag a deer or antelope, droves of which
were often seen, as the line of wagons, one following the
other, moved away across the prairie. And, unskilled
as they were, they were not always without reward for

HOME AGAIN. 227

their efforts. At least, their success was sufficient to
sustain their interest and excitement in the sport. Of
course, when the boys failed to keep good the supply of
game, Phil and others succeeded, so that fresh meat in
variety was always abundant in the train.

Phil was now happily miserable — happy in the belief
that he was regarded with favor by his sweetheart, and
miserable because he could not be in her presence more
than about half of their waking moments. But he man
aged some way to continue to exist, and even to avoid
being called crazy by anybody in the company, though
just how he did it he could not have told. Certainly he
said and did some things which only a crazy man or one
madly in love would have perpetrated.

* * *

A cheer broke from the lips of the colonists when
first they neared, once more, the spot from which they
had been so ruthlessly driven — the spot whereon they
had begun to make themselves homes.

It was at the close of a day long and warm, and they

WEN AND HOW.

were grown weary of the journey and eager to get back

and be at rest and at work lipon their claims.

This forced journey had not been to them like the
one by which they had first come to this spot.

Then they were filled with joyous anticipations of the
future, with which were mingled feelings of love for, and
pride in, their country as the possessor of such unbound
ed resources and so glorious a Constitution — a Constitu
tion which guaranteed to every citizen, no matter how
humble, a right to life and liberty and a home upon the
soil, provided only that he was willing to fashion that
home with his own hands. There was a sense of secur
ity, a mantle of peace, resting upon them then — a feel
ing that peace instead of war and love in place of hatred
constituted the normal condition of men, and that with
in that condition of peace and good will they could em
brace all races of men.

Such is ever the feeling produced by conditions in
which hope of a good time to come is founded upon the
belief that justice is enthroned and rules over all, and
that labor will receive its perfect reward.

But now ?

Now they were returning to homes from which they
had been driven by the very power which they revered
more than all other earthly powers — by the government
of which they had been so proud ; in spite of the Con*
stitution in which they had placed such implicit trust.

ANXIOUS HOURS. 399

True, they did not believe the wrong to have been
an intentional one on the part of the government. It
was a blunder, doubtless ; it had arisen out of a misun
derstanding of what and who they were, and of the
exact locality in which they had located their claims.

But, nevertheless, the annoying and costly wrong had
been done them, and the instrument by which it had
been accomplished was a company of government troops
which had been stationed on the frontier professedly for
the protection of just such as they — the protection of
citizens seeking to make homes for themselves and build
up great States on the unoccupied lands of the smiling
West.

This fact hurt, in spite of themselves.

The knowledge of the source of their wrongs took
from them the feeling of absolute security, and left in its
place the smart of injustice, which, however much they
compelled themselves to make excuses for it, still rankled
in their hearts and made the sun seem a little less bright,
their hopes for the future a little less gay, their confi
dence in themselves a little less perfect.

The colonists were anxious, too, to know how much
damage, if any, had been done to their crops, planted
and up before they were dragged away; to know whether
their rude cabins had been destroyed or not.

These lovers of peace and domesticity longed to be
in possession, full and complete, of their homes and

"HOME, SWEET HOME,"

their claims, and to continue the work which they had
begun with such enthusiasm only a few short months be
fore; and they greeted with a cheer the first sight of the
belt of timber fringing the river, beyond which their
cabins lay, and, touching up their now somewhat jaded
animals, they pushed forward with a more lively step.

And then some one — some woman — began singing
"Home, Sweet Home."

Clear and low the music and the words floated out
upon the evening air, and mingled with the scent of the*
flowers and the grass, upon which the dew was begin
ning to fall and the harvest moon to shed its soft rays
as, like a ball of silver, it arose above the horizon.

Oh, how thrilling and ennobling is the music of a
woman's voice, whose notes express the yearnings of a
pure heart !

Thus ran the old song — the great American home
song:

"'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam.

Be it ever so humble, there 's no place like home.
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,

Which, seek thro' the world, is not met with elsewhere."

A child's voice, piping and clear, like the notes of a
robin, joined that of the woman in the middle of the
stanza, and when the chorus was reached other voices of
both men and women joined in, and added to the volume
of the music and sent it flying across the prairie to be

BLACK AND BARE. 231

broken into echoes against the line of timber upon the
river bank.

" Home, home — sweet, sweet home !
There 's no place like home 1
There -^no place like home I"

Uncultivated voices these, did you say ?

Granted.

But they were voices strong, clear and sweet ; voices
rilled with a pathos born of deep feeling and strong emo
tions ; the voices of men and women who longed for the
sweets of home as the roe panteth for the clear waters.

They forded the river with the full light of the moon
shining down upon them, passed through the strip of
timber upon its farther bank, where the shadows were
black, and only here and there a ray of silver found its
way through thick foliage to the damp ground ; made the
little rise upon the other side, where the timber gave way
to the prairie, and emerged upon the site of the town
which they had laid out with such high hopes when they
first came, and near to where the cabins of two of their
number had stood.

But the cabins were not there !

The spot where they had stood was a bit of bare,
black earth, and that was all. Even the ashes to which
they had been reduced had been blown away by the
winds.

The whole party camped there that night. As one

f 39 NOT SO.

end another of the canvas-covered wagons emerged from
the shadows and moved on and up ir.to the prairie and
the moonlight they halted, and their drivers got down
from their seats and unhitched their teams and picketed
them, with scarcely a word spoken to wife or child or
comrade.

None felt it worth while to drive their wearied teams
farther in any faint hope that their own cabins might
have been spared, for they knew perfectly well the mo
tive which had prompted the destruction of the two
cabins which had stood on the spot near where they now
were, and that it existed equally for the destruction of
each and all the rest, and that in all probability all were
destroyed. Nevertheless, when their animals had been
cared for, one and another of their number slipped away
on foot and visited their separate claims, but only to find
their worst fears proven true. Their homes were gone.
The earth where their cabins had stood was bare and
black and desolate.

But did these men weep and wring their hands, and
weakly moan over the desolation wrought — over cabins
burned, over crops trampled into the ground by the
hoofs of thousands of half-wild cattle ?

Not so !

Some angry words, some oaths, some threats of what
they would do if the perpetrators of these new outrages
should be incautious enough to fall into their hands —

PHIL'S FIRST CABIN. 333

and that was all. There was no crying over spilled milk,
but no more milk was to be spilled.

They built other cabins as they had builded those
destroyed by the selfish greed of the cattle kings. The
ground where the growing corn had been trampled and
devoured they sowed to wheat.

The corner stakes which marked the boundary lines
of their separate claims they re-established where they
had been removed. They foreswore the pleasures of the
chase, or hunted only as they had need of procuring
food, and worked steadily and hard.

They spoke not over much of the past at first, and
then less and still less, and then not at'all, but only of
the future and of the good time coming.

As for Phil, the loss of his cabin was not a heavy
affliction, and he was not suffering greatly for the want
of it. The burning of a dozen or a hundred cabins all
belonging to him, if he had possessed so many, would
not have made him unhappy just then.

His corn was trampled and destroyed, of course.
This was a much greater loss than his cabin, which had
not been a very valuable one, and had not cost a very
great amount of labor.

Being without a family and boarding with a neigh-
bor, he had considered it necessary to build only such a
house as would meet the requirements of the law. A
few logs put up without much hewing or nice care and

234 MR« M'KINLEY'S LITTLE WEAKNESS,

roofed over with poles and long grass — a house in which,
in fact, he kept his plow and whatever other implements
of tillage he had, and allowed Mr. Jones to store his
also, but in which he slept occasionally, that he might
comply with the letter of the law, the spirit of which he
was complying with in breaking the sod, and in whatever
way he made clear his intentions honestly to make it his
permanent home — this was the kind of a house Phil had
owned, and such another he could build, if he wished,
in a week's time, with a little help from some of the
neighbors in putting the logs in position.

But Phil did not hurry to rebuild. Instead, he gave
assistance in rebuilding to Mr. Jones, and to others who
had families, and were in more immediate need of home
shelter.

The McKinleys were strong handed of themselves.
True, the old gentleman was not over fond of work, as a
rule, but now he awoke to the spirit of the occasion and
of those with whom he was associated. With the help
of his two sons, he soon had a very comfortable double
cabin erected on the claim which they had fixed upon.
This claim abutted upon the river at a point where it
would be easy to establish a ferry, when he should have
secured a license to do so from the Territorial Legisla-

j*-

ture which was to be.

To erect a ferry without a license, probably, did not
occur to him as possible, or if it did he did not care to

MR. M'KINLEY'S RECIPE. 235

do so. The owning of a ferry without a charter signed
and sealed in due form with the big seal of the State and
with a ribbon attached to it would carry no dignity with
it. It was recognition by the Commonwealth as a per
son fit to be intrusiTed with the responsibility of the high
position which Mr. McKinley coveted, and not the work
or profits of the business.

Heretofore, at least, Mr. McKinley had worried him
self very little over the problem of how to make a living
for the family. That was a duty which he felt belonged
by right to his wife, and with which he never interfered
to any great extent. He probably reasoned that, as it
was the generally accepted theory and one everywhere
reduced to practice that the wife should cook the food
for the family, and as in order for her to do this the food
must first be procured, it followed naturally that whoever
did the cooking should also procure that which was to be
cooked.

Mr. McKinley indorsed and adopted the recipe which
opens with the admonition :

" First catch your hare."

Thus Mr. McKinley's recipe for all manner of cooking
was :

"First get something to cook."

Having furnished this recipe, he felt that his duty,
so far as it related to providing food and raiment for his
household, was fully performed. All that yet remained

2 36 A WOMAN OF SENSE.

for him to do was to properly sustain the dignity of the
family, which in his opinion could best be done by secur
ing recognition from the State in the shape of a charter
or license of some kind, such appearing in his mind to
be in the nature of a certificate of character, a formal
acknowledgment from those in authority that the person
certified to was one worthy of being held in high esteem
by them, and hence by all.

He had insisted on maintaining the ferry across the
Wabash long after it had ceased to pay for the trouble
of tending it, and had only consented to leave the town
when his charter expired and he learned that he could
not get it renewed because of the fact that a ferry at that
point was no longer needed by any considerable number
of people; and now his anxiety for the rapid settlement
of Oklahoma arose apparently from a desire to see the
Territory organized and a Legislature elected, which
would be endowed with authority to grant him a certifi
cate of respectability — or, in other words, a charter to
establish a ferry across the Canadian River at the point
where he had located his claim.

This little weakness of Mr. McKinley did not, how
ever, interfere to make either himself or family inhos
pitable or unsociable. Indeed, its members were more
than ordinarily sociable, both among themselves and with
others.

Mrs. McKinley was a woman of much natural ability

PHIL'S BRIGHT PLOW.

and good sense, though entirely without education, and
was quite capable, as a general thing, of both catching
and cooking her own hare, and she respected, and taught
her children to respect, this fear which their father had
of compromising his dignity, and to treat him with a mild
species of formality quite sufficient to satisfy his idea of
what was right and proper, and so prevented any rasp^
ing of tempers on anybody's part, and made theirs one
of the pleasantest of families in which to remain, either
for a short or long period of time.

Phil soon found that he was not alone in his admira
tion for the beautiful eldest daughter. Neither was he
the only one who was a frequent and apparently welcome
visitor at the spacious and inviting double cabin on the
river bank.

Meantime he kept industriously at work on the im
provement of his claim.

Phil had found his plow in the furrow where he left
it when he was arrested by the soldiery, and had again
hitched to it, and resumed his plowing when he had ren
dered such assistance in the erection of new cabins as he
felt was necessary to those who had families. He kept
this plow bright by constant use until the time for seed
ing was over.

Then he began the work of erecting a new house,
which he meant should be a little better than the most
of those built near him,

238 SLIGHTLY JEALOUS.

He felt under no need of making great haste, for he
still boarded with Mr. Jones and his wife, and he had not
reached a formal understanding with Nettie. In truth,
Phil was a little jealous, at times, of some of the other
young men of the colony. Generally, however, he was
hopeful, and even confident ; and, as he had to erect a
house of some kind in order to keep good his claim under
the law, he decided that it should be one as nearly wor
thy of Nettie as could well be, considering the circum
stances. So he hewed all the logs of which it was to be
built in such a way that the walls would be smooth both
inside and out, and notched and laid them up with care.
Then he carefully chinked and plastered them as best he
could.

He also made a wide shed or porch at the rear of the
house.

This was done by allowing the third log from the top,
in the body of the house, to extend over at the back some
eight or ten feet. Then by putting posts under these at
the end and a girder across from one to the other, and
extending the rafters upon that side clear down to the
girder, it was ready to be roofed over with <( shakes,'*
rough shingles, split or rived from straight-grained trees
— the same as those with which the main body of the
house was covered.

The autumn was far advanced when Phil's house was
completed. He felt a little proud of it, as it was the

WANTED— A BIRD. 2 39

best one in the settlement. At least, this was the own
er's estimate of his handiwork.

And now if Nettie would consent to become his wife
his happiness would be complete, and he felt that he
could not much longer delay asking the question, upon
her answer to which his future happiness or misery solely
depended.

He thought over the matter a great deal— thought of
it all the time, in fact. But, like many another lover,
he was loath to

" Put his chances to the touch,

And win or lose it all."

Here, again, was procrastination the thief of time.
Poor Phil ! He waited for some word or look from Net
tie which should give Him better courage and a basis for
hope.

And so, wailing and hoping, the days went by, and a
week had elapsed since his house was finished. Still he
had not asked Nettie to share it with him.

Finally one of the young men with whom he asso
ciated said to him :

" I say, Phil ! Why don't you have a dance and a
party over at your new house ? Dedicate it, you know ?
Joe Anderson will fiddle for us, and we can have a way-
up time. Say you '11 do it."

Phil jumped at the idea, and wondered he had not
thought of it before.

240 PHIL GOES TO INVITE NETTIE.

He would invite everybody — which would, of course,
include Nettie. Maybe, when once she was over there,
actually within his own house, he could find some way of
telling her how much he loved her, and how he had built
the house with the hope that she would share it with
him.

He told the friend who had suggested the party that
it would be all right, and together they fixed upon a time
for it to come off. Then Phil told him to invite every
body he saw, and to tell them to invite everybody they
saw, so that no one in the settlement might be missed.

This preliminary arranged, Phil set out for McKin-
ley's cabin to invite Nettie and the rest of the family.

•JOS-

CHAPTER XVI.

fi RATHER STRANGE BETROTHAL FOLLOWED BY HASTY

PREPARATIONS FOR A FIGHT.

4 * Nettie and the other girls are gone over to a neigh
bor's," Mrs. McKinley told Phil when he inquired for her
at her father's cabin. Then he started out to find them
and escort them home.

He found them at the house to which their mother
had directed him, and with them he ate supper there.
Then they all started to walk home.

As they walked the younger girls went on before, but
Phil and Nettie lingered.

At first their conversation was on the things of which
they had been talking while at the neighbor's where they
were visiting. These were some trifles — the newest hap
penings among the families constituting the colony ; the
contents of a letter some one had received from friends
in the East ; then of their own friends, and of things

242 COMING TO THE POINT.

which had happened when they were children ; of the
old home in the older times.

Then Phil told her of how his house was finished and
ready for occupancy, and of how they were all going to
have a frolic there some evening soon, and that he want
ed her to let him come for her and see her home again
afterward.

To all this Nettie assented with so sweet a grace that
Phil grew bold.

He told her, with much stammering, how he longed
to make her his wife, to have her love him and share his
home ; how he always had meant to have returned some
time to the'old home and to her ; how, not hearing from
home, he feared to go, lest he had been forgotten or lest
he find her married to another ; how, since he had met
her that afternoon in the emigrant train, he had thought
of nothing else save how to win her and to be worthy of
her afterward.

To Phil's impassioned story Nettie made no reply,
but instead walked by his side with her head turned from
him, and gazed away off across the prairie and the river,
as if looking at some distant object.

Seeing that she turned away from him, Phil thought
Nettie was indifferent to his suit. This made him des
perate, and he pleaded the harder. He told her that for
all his imperfections — his lack of education and polish —
he would try to even up with a fuller measure of love ;

"YES." 243

told Jier AOW, with every blow struck upon his new house,
he had sent yp 3. fervent prayer that she might share it
with him and make it bright and cheery with her pres
ence.

But still Nettie walked w*tfi head averted and made
no answer.

Phil cast his eyes in the direction she was looking.
He Sb.w that which caused him to stop in his walk sud
denly and his cheek to pale, though the tan upon it was
as thick as the sun and wind could make it.

Nettie stopped also, and for a few minutes they stood
side by side, gazing away across the river, where could
be seen approaching a body of horsemen in uniform, and
riding at a sharp trot. Then Nettie turned to Phil, and,
putting her two hands in his, she looked him in the face
and said :

' ' Phil, I lo^e you. I have always loved you and be
lieved in you, and always will ; and I am ready to be
your wife and share your home. But not you nor any
of us will have a home tomorrow. "

And Phil answered not a word, for he knew she spoke
the truth. He, too, had recognized the approaching
horsemen as United States cavalry, and he knew they
could have but one errand there ; that they had come a
second time to evict the settlers from their homes. And
he released Nettie's hands without even offering to seal
their betrothal with a kiss.

244 OTHER STRANGE THINGS.

"A strange betrothal," did you say ?

Well — perhaps.

Strange conditions environed them.

Those are strange conditions which induce — yes,
compel — men whose souls are tall and strong and white
to leave the settled portions of the country, those loca
tions where the genius of the race has achieved its
grandest triumphs over the forces of nature, and where
wealth is a thing of so little value that it is heaped up in
stacks and measured by millions, and go out into the
wilderness, where there is absolutely no wealth, in order
that they may obtain shelter and food for themselves
and their families.

And yet more strange is it when they have done this
and are peacefully seeking by their own labor, upon
God's own land, to build homes for themselves and those
they love, that there should come bands of armed men
bearing aloft the ensign of the country of which these
home builders are citizens, and burn their houses and
drive them from the country.

Strange, indeed, are these things — so strange that
one scarce can believe them true. But when one knows
them to be true, there is nothing that can follow which
can appear strange, or which can not follow naturally.

The apple blossom without fragrance, the fruit all
withered upon the boughs, the tree dead and bare in the
midst of green fields and soft waters — even these anoma-

A TRYING ORDEAL. 245

lies cease to appear strange when it is known that those
other things can be, and are.

Nor is Oklahoma the only spot where the joyfulness
of young lovers has been stolen from them in the very
moment of betrothal ; where mothers have given birth
to infants whose gestation was not yet complete ; where
men have clasped the hand of Death and have gone with
him from the sight of those who loved them and whom
they loved, because of these things which are here nar
rated.

There are ruins of coliseums and palaces, of princi
palities and of states, to be seen in Greece, Italy and
many other countries — ruins which appear strange and
unaccountable until we remember that there, too, armed
men drove forth those who, in obedience to the divine
law, sought to make themselves homes and fortunes by
the tilling of the soil.

The thoughts which were now burning themselves
through Phil's brain as he stood there after letting go his
sweetheart's proffered hands were plainly written on his
face, and Nettie read them as from an open book.

She saw the great veins upon his forehead swell, the

246 BOR LOVE'S SWEET SAKE.

fire of determination and hate kindle and flash from his
eyes, the lips draw together, the hands clinch, and the
right hand lift as if to draw a weapon from the belt, and
she was frightened — not at what the fast approaching
soldiers might do, but what Phil might do in defense or
retaliation.

Quickly Nettie's small hands crept back into Phil's
larger ones, and her fingers twined themselves about his,
as if she would hold him back from the desperate deeds
on which he seemed to meditate.

Then he stooped and kissed her upon the lips —
kissed her cheeks and hair, put his arms about her and
spoke lovingly, albeit solemnly.

" Nettie," said he, "I know what your fear is, and I
will do no rash thing. For your sake I will be careful,
and will hold my life and the lives of our enemies of
more value than the pleasure of resistance to a mighty
wrong. It is an awful thing, this feeling that we are be
ing wronged so deeply without power of resistance ; this
being compelled to receive insult and injury without giv
ing a fitting answer. But it must be so. Those soldiers
come in the name of the law, and we must respect the
law ; though if it were not for you, I think — I don't
know — I — I don't understand why we may not be left in
peace here— why the government permits us to be so
wronged."

Nettie, sobbing upon his shoulder, begged him to be

GATHERING FOR DEFENSE. 24?

patient. She assured him all would come right in the
end ; and that maybe, after all, the soldiers were not
come to drive them away.

But Phil knew better than to think this. He well
knew there was nothing else to bring them into that
vicinity in such force, and he felt that the worst might
be anticipated.

He guessed that the explanation which he and others
had sent to Washington had not been properly directed,
or in some way had not reached its destination, and that
the military were acting under their previous orders to
keep the colonists out, and not upon orders which were
newly received.

For a few moments yet the lovers stood exchanging
pledges of continued love and fealty, and might have
remained thus longer but for the sound of approaching
horsemen. So, after a parting kiss, they hastened to
ward Nettie's home.

A moment later several men on horseback, with rifles
in their hands and revolvers in their belts, came flying
across the prairie, headed in the direction of the ford.

These men were neighbors, members of the colony,
who had observed the approach of the soldiers and were
hurrying to meet them. They called to Phil, as they flew
past, to get his rifle and come on.

Looking to the right and left, Phil and Nettie could
see others of the colonists, some afoot and others astride

248 MEN THREATEN — WOMEN WEEP.

horses or mules from which the harness had been hastily
stripped, riding and running and gathering on the bank
of the river. And they, too, hurried as fast as they
could, even running the last part of the way, and soon
reached the ford, at which the people — men, women and
children — were now gathering.

Few of the men but had brought their armsv and all
those who had not were being urged to return to their
cabins for them.

Threats that the soldiers should never cross the river
were heard from some, while others proposed that each
man return to his own cabin, barricade his door, and
refuse to be arrested or evicted under any circumstances.

Some of the women were wringing their hands and
weeping ; others were following their husbands or sons
about, pleading with them to do nothing rash. Infants
were carried in arms, and children crying with excite
ment clung to their agonized mothers.

The leader or president of the colony was not pres
ent, he having, as it chanced, gone out for an afternoon
hunt across the prairie, from which he had not as yet
returned ; and when Phil entered the excited group quite
a number turned to him for counsel and advice, for he
had come to have influence among them.

Gathering about him, they asked : ' ' What shall we
do ? They are coming to arrest us again, and if they do
the cattlemen will burn our houses as soon as we are out

AN EXCITED CROWD. 249

of the way. Our crops will be destroyed and our settle
ment broken up."

" Fight 'em — that 's my advice !" called out one who
had just reached the group.

tl They 're nigger troops, anyway!" shouted one of
the men.

This announcement caused fresh tremors to extend
through the crowd.

' ' I fought four years to free the niggers, " shouted a

colonist, " and I '11 be d d if any crowd of niggers is

going to oust me when I 'm minding my own business
and disturbing nobody."

That this sentiment was generally approved was evi
denced quickly.

"I 'm with you, old comrade."

" Your head 's level there."

"That 's the way to talk it."

These exclamations came indiscriminately from the
crowd of excited men and weeping women and children
gathered upon the river bank, watching the approach of
the colored troops sent to evict them a second time from
their homes.

Phil felt his whole soul respond to this warlike spirit
of the more reckless of the crowd.

He had spent so much of his life among those whose
hands are for ever playing with the butts of their revolv
ers, had seen so much of force and so little of any thing

25O PHIL MAKES A SPEECH,

else, as a governing power, that he hardly knew there
was any other way of opposing the wrong or protecting
the right except with fire-arms.

The slave bred and born in slavery feels but slightly
the weight of his chain as compared with him whose
limbs it chafes for the first time, and while in the full
possession of health and strength and with a knowledge
of freedom's worth.

Phil's whole soul cried out in wrathful protest against
the indignity and wrong now threatening them. His
hand clinched involuntarily, and the fire of mighty anger
flashed from his eyes. But before he had given expres
sion to the thoughts and feelings which were burning for
utterance a small, soft hand from out the crowd touched
his. Looking down, he saw Nettie's anxious eyes and
tear-stained face turned up to his, and at once his anger
cooled, and instead of urging his companions to prepare
for fight he pleaded with them to be patient and keep
cool, and so do nothing rashly.

At first his voice was hoarse and his words came with
an effort, but as his anger died out it took a smoother
tone, and then became soft and flexible, with a strange
power to sway the excited feelings of his fellow back
woodsmen.

Phil felt a mild surprise at this. He was surprised,
first, that he could speak after this fashion, and then
that his words should have such power over his compan-

A NATURAL LEADER. 3$ I

ions. He had not suspected himself of possessing such
oratorical ability, and he knew nothing of the power that
lies in the word, if strongly asserted, to compel obedi
ence ; and he was, therefore, as much surprised at the
effect of his speaking as he had time to be.

Having calmed the excitement in a measure and hav
ing brought order out of confusion, he was on the point
of proposing that a committee be selected to ride forward
and meet the approaching soldiers, when the leader of
the colony arrived, and to him Phil resigned the author
ity with which circumstances and his own recognized
fitness had momentarily invested him.

This man whom the colonists called their leader was
.aot one having any autocratic authority over them. He
was the one who presided at their meetings held for the
purpose of deciding upon business of interest to the col
ony, at which each head of a family was entitled to a
voice and a vote.

He was their guide and spokesman. He was their
leader in the sense of one who goes ahead. But he was
not one who had autocratic power to compel others to
follow. If they followed, they did so because they were
pleased to follow, confident that they were being led in
the way they themselves had decided to go, and not be
cause they were ordered to do so.

But this man was a natural leader of men as well.
He had that quick perception of what is necessary and

ON COME THE TROOPS.

best to do on occasion, and also jin air of knowing that
he knew, which showed itself in every word and move
ment, and inspired that confidence in others which in
times of unusual happenings gave him a power that was
autocratic so long as exercised within limits which per
mitted those over whom it was exercised to retain their
self-respect unimpaired.

This man did not await the appointing of a commit
tee. He took command as by right, and with one word
produced quiet. Then he said, in a voice that betrayed
no trace of excitement or fear :

"If the rest of you will remain here, Mr. Johnson
and I will ride forward and see what the troops want.
We will report to you as soon as we ascertain the situa
tion."

To Phil he said :

"Come with me. If you have no horse here, one of
the men will lend you his."

With this Capt. Paine turned away and rode down
the bank into the river.

Phil borrowed a horse and joined him before gaining
the opposite shore, and together their animals clambered
up the bank and cantered away, side by side, to meet
the troops, now only a few hundred rods distant.

When they had approached quite near, the Lieuten
ant in command of the troops, who were part of a black
regiment that for some months past had been stationed

"WE 'VE COME FOR YOU AGAIN." 2J3

on the frontier, rode forward accompanied by an orderly,
and both sides saluted with proper courtesy.

Then, wheeling their horses, the two colonists fell in
line with the Lieutenant and orderly, and rode back a
little in advance of the company of regulars, whose nags
had dropped to a walk.

The Lieutenant was the first to speak. His manner
was not lacking in politeness, but his words carried an
awful meaning.

" You see that we 've come for you again."

" I supposed that was your purpose," replied the
Seader of, the colonists, ' ' as I could not think of any
other errand you could have down this way. I hoped the
explanation that we made and forwarded to Washington
on the other occasion would prove sufficient to save us
further trouble, but it appears to have failed, in some
manner."

* ' Who gave the order for driving us out of the coun
try ?" asked Phil.

* ' Orders to me came from my superior officers, " an
swered the Lieutenant, "and that is all I am supposed
to know. However, I learned that they originated in
Washington ; indeed, they could not well originate any
where else."

"Do you mean to say," asked Phil, a little excitedly,
" that the government — that is, the President — ordered
that WB be taken out, after the explanation we made

254 PLYING QUERIES.

under oath the other time ?" Though not so intended,
Phil's words nettled the officer.

4 ' I don't mean to say any thing about it, " replied the
officer, hotly. " All I care to know is, that I have orders
from those whom I am bound to obey to take you out of
here, and that you are going."

The words and the manner of the officer rasped both
men, but they managed to contain themselves, although
Phil was compelled to call up Nettie's words and looks
before he could choke back the hot retort that sprang to
his lips.

His companion, more accustomed to self-command,
answered without apparent feeling that he regretted that
such orders had been issued. "Could there be found,"
he asked, * ' some way by which the matter can be held
in abeyance for a time, so the colonists can be left in
possession of their homes until communication can be
held with the President of the United States, who cer
tainly is laboring under a misapprehension regarding the
matter, and an effort made to secure the revocaticp c*
the order ?"

"I have no orders of that kind," replied the Liey-
tenant.

"But could you delay a little? I will send to th*
nearest telegraph office a man mounted on the swiftes*
horse in the settlement, or will go myself, and there tele
graph a full account of the nature of our claims, an<?

NO RESPITE, 355

who we are and just where we are located, to the Presi
dent, and ask him if it is with his approval that we are
to be evicted. If he says it is, we will leave peaceably ;
if he says not, and countermands the order, then you
will be relieved of its execution."

' ' Can't do it, " answered the Lieutenant. * ' I tell you
I have my orders to take you and your families — every
body — out of here, and to take you to Fort Reno. And
these orders I must obey, without waiting three or four
days or weeks, trying to get the President to counter
mand the order."

By this time they had reached the ford on thi Cana
dian River.

Plunging in, the troops crossed the river, and fame
up the opposite bank a few rods below where the f
of colonists stood.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE LEADER AND MR. M'KINLEY MAKE SPEECHES — TIED
TO THEIR WAGONS WITH ROPES.

After talking still further with the Lieutenant, with
out receiving any encouragement from him, or promise
that time would be given, or delay made in the execu
tion of his orders, the two men returned to their waiting
companions, and sorrowfully reported the state of affairs
to them.

"We are," said their leader, "again arrested, and
the officer declares he has orders to again take us to Fort
Reno, beyond which he has no authority, and no knowl
edge of what is intended.

' ' My friends, I know with what feelings of grief and
indignation you learn this. I am myself overwhelmed
with grief and indignation for you and for myself. Why
government permits it is something difficult to under-

(256)

THE LEADER MAKES A SPEECH. 2$f

Stand, but doubtless it is because it has not had full and
complete knowledge upon the subject. It can not be
possible that it is the settled policy of the administration
to turn over this whole Territory, containing about all
there is remaining^pf valuable agricultural land, to a few
foreign cattle companies and Eastern capitalists ; and it
must be, therefore, that when the facts are known at
Washington we will be reinstated in possession of our
claims, and full reparation made us for all the losses we
have suffered or may suffer.

"I have not forgotten that I said this same thing be
fore, when we were arrested, and I thought we had taken
the steps necessary to at least prevent our again being
disturbed. But it seems now that we were not thorough
enough ; that we should have done more, in some way,
to make plain the fact that we are not violaters of the
law, but peaceful citizens, claiming protection from it.

"If we can not induce the officer in command of
these troops to delay, then there is but the one thing left
as. We must again submit to being conveyed out of the
Territory.

' ' We make no promise not to return, and we never
will make such promise. On the contrary, we proclaim
our unalterable determination to come back, to hold on
to our claims and to assert our right, and the right of all
citizens who desire to do so, to come here and take up a
claim and improve it, and live upon it.

2$8 WISE COUNSEL HEEDED.

"I beg of you to be patient. All will yet be well.
We will yet live to see our wrongs righted, and see our
Oklahoma one of the finest States in the Union, and
you who have borne the heat and burden of the contest
shall be honored and rewarded as you deserve.

"I shall be glad now if some of you, say a commit
tee of five, will go to the officer who is in command of
the troops, and see if it is possible to make a compro
mise by which ourselves and families may be benefited.
In doing so, any committee which you appoint will have
but two things to bear in mind :

"First — That we, having an inalienable legal right
to the claims which we have pre-empted, need not feel
ashamed at being arrested, nor at any thing which may
follow.

" Second — That the officer in command is under or
ders from his superior, and to violate them may cause
him to be court-martialed and dismissed the service."

While Capt. Paine was thus speaking, many of the
men crowded about him. They listened to his address
attentively and without interruption, but some there were
who held back and were evidently little disposed to sub
mit quietly to being again driven from their claims.

This contingent would have been better pleased had
their leader counseled resistance to the death. Even as
it was, they might have stood out against eviction, but
for the pleadings of the women, who, for the moment?

AN OLD LINE DEMOCRAT. 259

lost sight of every thing else in the fear that their loved
ones might be killed, and with tears and pleadings held
them back from the desperate deeds they might other
wise have done.

The committee of five suggested by the leader was
selected, and repaired at once to where the officers were
awaiting the arrival of their camp equipage, the wagons
containing which had not yet come up.

As no one of the others upon the committee felt any
great confidence in his ability as a spokesman, Mr.
McKinley, who was one of them, assumed the responsi
bility of that position. He felt confident that he could
salute the officer with proper decorum and state lucidly
their mission.

Being, like his father before him, an old line Demo
crat, with a genealogical tree which was fondly believed
to have first taken root somewhere in the sacred soil of
Kentucky, he felt with especial keenness the threatened
indignity of being arrested and evicted by colored troops.
He felt that, if the committee should be unable to pre
serve the rights of the colony, he could at least preserve
its dignity ; and there was a little more than the usual
amount of stiffness in his manner as he addressed the
officer, after saluting him.

With a dignified wave of his hand in the direction of
the people on the river bank, he said :

"We have come, Sir, Mr. Officer, as the representa-

a6o MR. M'KINLEY'S SPEECH.

tives of those people, Sir. Yes, Sir, their represent*
tives, Sir — authorized, as you may say, to speak for
them. And we come a-axin' for justice; yes, Sir, for
justice.

"We are here, Sir, Mr. Officer, a-claimin' rights as
citizens — as citizens, Sir — which has always done their
duty to their country and been loyal to their flag. Yes,
Sir.

"Some of us has been honored by the Common
wealth in which we have lived in the past ; yes, Sir, been
honored by the Commonwealth. If you don't believe
it, just you come down to my cabin, and I '11 show you
a document sealed with the seal of the great State of
Indiana and the great State of Illinois, in which is set
forth the fact — yes, Sir, the fact — that some of us are
known to be worthy of the confidence and esteem of — of
— of everybody, Sir ; which, I reckon, makes us the ekil
of a nigger soldier, if not of them as commands 'em.
And we intend, as soon as the country about here gits
settled up — which will be as soon as it gits narrated
around that this here is gov'ment land — fer to have a
ferry across the river here. Yes, Sir, a ferry ; and we
are a-goin' to build a town up there on that there raise
of ground there ; yes, Sir. We are a-goin' to do things
up as they ought to be done, and to cause this wilder
ness to blossom as the hollyhock — yes, Sir, as the holly-
bock.

WASTED ELOQUENCE. JO

"Now, Sir, Mr. Officer, do you suppose that we are
such rantankerous villains as to go and vi'late the law, if
we did n't know that we had a right to settle here ? No,
Sir — not by a large majority. We are truly loyal citi
zens, Sir — all on us-— and we want you to reckonize that
fact and take your nigger soldiers out of here, Sir — yes,
Sir, out of here — and leave us in peace to set under our
own vine and fig tree."

Considerably to Mr. McKinley's surprise, this perora
tion failed to have any particular effect upon the officer,
except that his face assumed an expression of weariness
and contempt.

Nor did any of the other members of the committee
appear any more able to move him to delay action or to
retire without accomplishing the purpose for which he
had been sent.

He, however, consented to allow the colonists to
return to their homes for the night, the members of the
committee being told to consider themselves under arrest
and to report at the officer's quarters on the following
morning.

Such was the report which the committee was forced
to make.

The evening was now becoming dark — too dark even
to see each other's face distinctly at a few paces distance
— and the little crowd slowly and with heavy hearts dis
persed. Some went directly to their homes, but others

302 TBN DAYS' DELAY.

lingered by the way and stopped to talk over the situa
tion with this or that one of their neighbors. Ail took
with them the feeling that nothing could be done to
avert the calamity which had befallen them, and many
began at once to pack their household goods into shape
for loading into the wagons preparatory to the orders to
move out, which they expected would be issued early on
the morrow.

However, they were not ordered to move the next
day, nor the next, nor yet the next.

When the committee of the day previous, together
with Phil Johnson and Capt. Paine, who had also been
ordered to report as under arrest, did so, a guard was at
once placed over them.

These men were kept thus for ten days, while all the
remainder of the colonists were allowed to come and go
as they chose, but always with athe understanding that
they were to be ordered to move the next day.

Whether the object had in view was to induce them
to leave secretly, and so save the trouble of conducting
them out, is not known. The unexplained delay is a fact
of history.

On the morning of the tenth day after the arrival of
the troops the order to move was actually given, and the
whole array pulled across the river and headed for Fort
Reno.

And now the indignity of bein^g tied with ropes to the

TIED TO THEIR WAGONS. $63

hind end of their wagons and compelled to march in the
dust and dirt, between guards with loaded carbines, was
inflicted upon all who were recognized as in any degree
leaders among the colonists, while the women were
treated, if not witlropen indignity, yet with a lack of the
courtesy commonly recognized as due them.

Crowded into the wagons with their household goods
and compelled to sit all the day through, they and their
children, without opportunity to move about or stretch
their weary limbs, sometimes without water to quench
their thirst, and surrounded by brutal soldiers whose
color, if it did not prevent them from being good sol
diers, certainly added nothing toward inspiring confi
dence in the breasts of these women who were now their
prisoners — such were the conditions and surroundings
under which they were taken back along the trail which
they had once before traversed to Fort Reno.

Phil Johnson was among those tied to the tail end of
a wagon, and again Nettie's pleading eyes and voice pre
vented the enactment of a tragedy.

But the eyes and voice which were so effective in
preventing her lover from rushing upon death in defense
of his bodily freedom, or in revenge for the exasperating
indignity done to him, had no effect upon the officer in
command to induce him to countermand his order to tie
the men to the wagons.

The sagacious Lieutenant had been careful to see

264 DRIVEN LIKE CATTLE.

that all those who were to be humiliated had first been
deprived of their knives and revolvers before the order to
tie them was given.

And thus like cattle were they driven away across the
prairie, along the beautiful table lands and by the clear
streams, until they reached Fort Reno, where such of
the men as were supposed to have influence with their
fellow colonists and would be likely to use it to induce
them to return to their claims if released were again con
signed to military prison.

During the period of their incarceration they were
compelled to sleep on the floor, without blankets or bed
ding of any kind, and without being permitted to talk
with their friends outside or to send letters or telegrams,
or in any way communicate with the government at
Washington or with the civil authorities of the State of
Kansas.

As for the remainder of the colonists, they were sim
ply held in camp by guards, and were fed on rations that
were issued from the commissary department of the army
at the fort.

After five days had elapsed, the larger portion of the
colonists, including the women and children, were again
put upon the march, and were conducted to the Kansas
State line and then turned loose, much as on the former
occasion, and without any formal charge of any kind be
ing made against them.

INTO THE RED RIVER. 20$

After these had been gotten fairly off, those who had
been kept in confinement were brought out, mounted on
their own horses, put in charge of a squad of soldiers
and conveyed the long journey of nearly 150 miles to the
Red River, which ^forms the boundary line between the
Indian Territory and the State of Texas, and driven into
the river by their guards, who from the bank watched
them half-way across and then turned and rode away in
the direction of the fort from which they had come.

Without crossing to the other side, or so much as
getting foot on Texas soil, these men turned about, when
they saw the soldiers retire, and returned to the Territory
side of the river, where they camped for the night.

The next morning they took up the trail of tneir
guards, followed it as long as it lay in nearly a direct line
with their Oklahoma claims, and then leaving it, they
branched off to the right, and two days later reached the
deserted settlement, where they slept one night in the
McKinley cabin on the bank of the river.

They had entertained a faint hope that a portion of
the colonists might have returned there, but it was only
a faint one, and they were not greatly disappointed at
finding norie of them had done so, as they knew that,
even if so disposed, there had probably been scant t^rne
for them to return from the Kansas State line, whiter
they guessed them io have been taken.

Early th« next rr*<)/ning the party began their o\m

266 THE COLONISTS SCATTERING.

ride to the State line, in search of their lost families and
friends.

Just where to look for them they did not know, but,
believing them to be somewhere in Kansas, they struck
out for Caldwell, at which place they were enabled to
learn at what point the troops having them in charge had
entered the State.

Again mounting their animals, after a night spent at
Caldwell, they rode west along the border line between
the State and Territory a distance of nearly fifty miles,
and there found those for whom they were searching, or
a portion of them.

Not all the colonists brought out by the troops had
remained together.

A portion were disheartened. They were out of both
money and provisions and utterly incapable of making an
immediate attempt to again enter Oklahoma and take
possession of their claims, and had moved on up into the
State in search of temporary employment for themselves
and their teams, or had started to make their way back
to the neighborhoods from which they had originally
emigrated.

A considerable number, however, had remained to
gether, and among them were the McKinleys.

Mr. McKinley and Phil found them in camp, and in
possession, with others, of an old shed, which they had
been given the use of by a farmer for whom the McKin-

NETTIE'S RESOLVE. 267

ley boys and several others of the company were at work
shucking corn.

Not knowing what had become of those left behind
when they were themselves conveyed north from Fort
Reno, they had decided to wait where they were until
they heard from them, or, failing to hear from them
soon, to take steps toward their liberation.

Nettie had declared that she would go to Washington
and present the case to the President or to Congress, or
to somebody who had authority, if her father and lover
Were not soon released from prison and permitted to
rejoin them.

In this resolve the brave young woman was rather
encouraged than discouraged by her mother, and it is
probable that she would have made the attempt had they
not arrived within a day or two from the date of their
qppeararce.

268 TOLERABLY COMFORTABLE.

As it was, the family had acted upon the knowledge
that if the two men were released soon they would seek
for them somewhere not far from the same territorial line
across which they had been driven, and the young men
having sought for and found employment, at wages that
would keep the family from want, they had accepted the
offer of the use of the shed in which they were, and
which, with the wagons to sleep in, enabled them to be
tolerably comfortable for the time being.

'HERS THBY AJ-L ARZ.'

CHAPTER XVIII.

PHIL AND NETTIE REUNITED — MR. M'KINLEY ILLUSTRATES
THE DIGNITY OF LABOR.

The meeting between Phil and Nettie on the return
of the former from his enforced trip to the Red River
was not very different from the meeting of other lovers,
and the scene may well be intrusted to the imagination
or to memory.

Nettie was at work in the shed, occupied in common
by four or five families to cook and eat under, they sleep
ing at night in their wagons.

It was neither more nor less than a shed intended as
shelter for cattle from the fury of the blizzards which
occasionally sweep over the prairies in winter, and /with
out which cattle are apt to drift away, and at times to
becoms severely frozen.

This shed stood in a corn field eighty or one hundred

270 MEETING OF THE LOVERS.

acres in extent, and was far enough from the road to ren
der it difficult to see any one that might be approaching
until he was quite opposite to the people standing in the
shed. Therefore, the approach of Phil Johnson and his
party was unobserved until they had entered the corn
field and, riding through the tall corn, were but a few
rods distant.

Then, hearing an unusual rustling among the dried
corn blades, some member looked out, and at once the
cry went up :

"Here they come!"

"Here 's Phil Johnson !"

" Here 's our leader!"

-Here's Mr. McKinley !"

"Here they all are!"

Then wives bounded forward, children came running,
men sprang from their saddles and everybody gathered
about them. Those who were husbands and fathers
kissed their wives and took their little ones in their arms
and hugged them and set them upon their horses or on
their own shoulders, and all asked questions and all an
swered at once, and many laughed and some cried, and
all were for the moment supremely happy.

In the midst of it all, Phil whispered to Nettie to
come and help him stake out his pony, and as soon as
they had put two rows of corn between themselves and
the others he took he? hand and held it close, and to*

READER, FILL fHE BLANK. 3/1

gether they led the pony around on the other side of the
shed and made him fast. Nettie patted the pony's neck
and rubbed his nose, and finally kissed him, at which
Phil made motions signifying that he was as good as the
pony, and then Nettie

But what does the reader expect ? Has he not been
warned that this narrative will not go into the details of
Phil and Nettie's courtship ?

When Phil reappeared avxi mingled with the others
at meal time, he tried to, and possibly did, look as inno
cent of having kissed anybody as his pony, munching his
corn stalks around on the other side of the shed, and no
one should be accused without evidence.

Neither is it known how Nettie managed to get back
to her family and the little crowd in and about the front
of the shed without attracting attention to her coming.

It is thought, however, that she went, first, to her
father's wagon and got therefrom some article that may
or may not have been neeaecl for use in the shed, and
returned there with it, and with a look of knowing as
little of any thing having occurred at the back of the
shed as Phil Johnson or his pony ; and if she had been
asked about it there is no doubt she would have feigned
as much ignorance of the matter as either of them.

That night, after such of the colonists as had found
work in the neighborhood had returned to their families,
an informal talk regarding the future was held, and it

BECOMING SUSPICIOUS.

was decided not to make an effort to return to Oklahoma
until the following spring.

Their claims would not lapse by reason of an absence
of any thing less than six months, and they could remain
in Kansas during the winter, working at whatever they
could find to do to make a living for their families, and
perchance get a little stock of provisions ahead with
which to start life again upon their claims when they
should return to them.

They had learned that they could get employment
with their teams upon a new railroad which was being
built farther up in the State. To that point most of the
stranded boomers repaired, and among them Phil and
the McKinleys.

Before going it was agreed that they should meet at
Caldwell at a certain time, prepared to again enter Okla
homa, with as many added colonists as they could induce
to join them.

There was no talk of not returning by any one.

It was only a question of when they could gather to
gether enough upon which to subsist until a crop could
be raised.

They were beginning to be suspicious that their being
driven out of the country was not wholly the result of a
mistake; that there were those higher in authority than
they had first supposed who were interested in prevent
ing the settlement of Oklahoma and the Cherokee Strip,

NOT DISHEARTENED. 273

and in keeping them as herding grounds for cattle, until
some way could be found or made for making permanent
in the cattle kings the title to these immense tracts, thus
laying the foundations for a landed aristocracy in the
West which would Jraternize with and sustain the stock
and bond holding aristocracy of the East.

This suspicion did not have the effect of influencing
them to abandon their attempts to settle there, and so
redeem the country from the clutch of the cattle compa
nies. On the contrary, it aroused them to a feeling that
they had a solemn duty to perform in connection with
the matter.

If, indeed, it were true that the conspirators expected
to found there an aristocracy based on large land hold
ings, and if it had progressed so far and had become so
powerful that it could compel the use of the standing
army to drive from their homes those who were there by
full permission of the written law, then it was their duty
to do and to suffer whatever must be in defense of their
right to settle upon this land, since they were thus made
the representatives of all the people, and to them was
assigned the solemn duty of preserving the rights and the
liberties of all.

Neither could it matter to them if the civil courts or
the heads of the departments, or if their representatives
in Congress, had been drawn into the conspiracy or been
packed or suborned into unholy support of the awful

274 MR- M'KINLEY ENTHUSED.

wrong which the regular army was being used to perpe
trate upon them.

On the contrary, this only made it the more impera
tively their duty to contend for their claims, since only
by contending for them could they attract public atten
tion to the matter and compel an investigation by the
people into the facts of the case.

It was resolved, therefore, to return ; and if evicted
again to again return, and to continue this, and increase
their numbers, if possible, until their persistency should
provoke the desired investigation.

Even Mr. McKinley was aroused and active in his
efforts to hold the colonists together, and to sustain them
in their determination to return to their claims in the
spring.

Tying him with a rope to the tail end of a wagon,
and compelling him to march there between two files of
colored soldiers, had aroused the lion in his nature. He
was not less dignified than before, but he displayed more
activity.

Mr. McKinley had been heard to say: "I '11 see if a
citizen who has been honored by the people of two great
States can be deprived of his right to settle on the pub
lic domain by a mob of nigger soldiers, commanded by
a dude in a lieutenant's uniform. "

For two weeks those who had gone into camp at the
corn fields remained there, employed in shucking corn for

THE FIRST TIFF. 3/5

neighborhood farmers, and then the whole company
moved farther up in the State. Here the men began
working upon the railroad, getting wages sufficient to
keep their families and lay by a bit for the coming sea
son's need.

The great difficulty was to obtain shelter — houses in
which their families could be kept comfortable — and so
some were obliged to put up cheap shanties and live in
them.

Nettie had been fortunate in getting a position as a
teacher in a country school at fair pay, and consequently
was not at home, except occasionally for a day.

This change in the status of affairs was not at all to
Phil's liking. He desired to be married at once, or at
least that Nettie should remain at home, where he could
see her every day. But she reminded him that at the
time she had promised to share his home she had not
promised to marry him until he had one. Seeing that he
looked a little bit hurt, she put her arms about his neck
and her cheek against his, and so comforted him. After
this she pointed out how much better it would be for
them — for all — that she should teach during the winter,
and thus add something to the general fund with which
the family and he should return to Oklahoma in the
spring to resume the work of making a home, than it
would be to marry, and be under the necessity of spend
ing a portion of what Phil still had in building a cheap

2/6 LOVE'S RUFFLES SMOOTHED.

and comfortless cabin, or by remaining with her father
and mother in the dug-out that circumstances had forced
them to occupy.

And so Nettie went to her school, ten miles away,
and Phil hitched his mules to a road scraper and scraped
dirt for the construction company, or to his wagon and
hauled it. He continued to board with Mr. and Mrs.
Jones, who had secured the occupancy of a pretty com
fortable sod-house, from which a settler of several years
before had moved into a new frame house recently com
pleted.

But as regularly as Sunday came, the Johnson pony
might have been seen heading in the direction of the
Bronson settlement, in which locality Nettie taught the
young idea how to shoot.

And as no one ever saw him when he returned, and
he was always promptly on hand with his mule team on
Monday morning, it is fair to conclude that he lingered
at Nettie's boarding place until rather a late hour each
Sunday night.

Meantime every member of the colony, wherever he
stopped, was making efforts to induce others to join the
colonists that were to locate homes in Oklahoma in the
spring.

Especially was the leader busy in this direction, and
also in seeking to make known to the general govern
ment and to the public at large the true condition of

AN UP-HILL TASK. 277

things, and the facts as they existed with relation to the
title of the lands on which the colonists had laid their
claims.

He found, though, that it was far more difficult to do
this than he had thought.

The Captain and all those associated with him were
already branded by the reports of the military authori
ties at whose hands they had suffered arrest, as well as
by those interested in preventing the truth from becom
ing known, as men seeking to deprive a peaceful nation
of Indians of the rights solemnly guaranteed to them by
the government of the United States.

As a result, when he sought the use of the columns
of the influential and widely circulated newspapers for
the purpose of relating the facts he was refused, or, if
granted the use of one, his statements were denied in an
other column upon authority that appeared to be beyond
impeachment.

He appealed to the civil courts for protection from
the military and for a decision as to his right and also the
right of those acting with him to settle in Oklahoma un
der the homestead law, and was refused.

He appealed to the Secretary of the Interior, and he
could get no satisfaction.

He appealed to a United States Senator from Kan
sas, but got no reply.

Discouraged with his efforts to thus bring the matter

378 THE ONLY REMAINING WAY.

before the public, and convinced that men high up in
authority were interested in overthrowing the law, and
that it was through the influence which they wielded in
government circles that the army was being used to over
awe himself and his companions, and render non-effect
ive the law whereby the people had sought to make the
public lands secure to those who desired to make homes
upon them, there appeared to him but one way remain
ing by which they could protect their rights to the claims
which they had made and call public attention to the
situation to an extent that would compel the relinquish-
ment, by the cattle syndicates, of the grip that they had
upon the country, and so save this beautiful Territory to
the people.

This one remaining way was to raise a still larger
colony, and by persistently returning as often as driven
out, finally compel the public to take such interest in the
question as would eventually bring the entire matter be
fore Congress for settlement, through the introduction of
a bill providing for the organization of that district under
territorial law.

Accordingly, he put forth renewed efforts to induce
others to join the colony.

He rode, wrote and talked constantly.

He got one man interested in a neighborhood and in
duced him to work upon his neighbors to enlist them.

He secured the meeting of a half dozen neighbors in

AN ACTIVE EVANGELIST.

the house of one of their number for the purpose of hav
ing a talk about Oklahoma, and in another place he got
the entire neighborhood interested and rode fifty miles
on horseback to tell them about Oklahoma.

Possessed of considerable property when the idea of
settling in the beautiful country first took possession of
him, he spent it freely in scattering a knowledge of its
beauty and fertility among the people as far and as fast
as it was possible for him to go personally or transmit
information.

He reckoned as of no value time, money and his own
comfort, so he made known the facts about Oklahoma,
and opened the eyes of the people to efforts being made
to prevent its settlement by any except the cattle syn
dicates already there — the kings already in possession,
and using the army to enable them to retain possession,
of the last and most beautiful of all the free lands of the
Grand Republic.

With his own efforts and those of Phil Johnson, Mr.
McKinley and others — all, in fact, that had been of the
colony before — the approach of spring saw a company
many times larger than the old one assembling upon the
border of Kansas, preparatory to entrance into Okla
homa.

From many States and from long distances the addi
tions had come.

Those who had returned the fall before to their old

28O READY TO TAKE THE RISK.

homes had told the tale of the advantages which nature
had showered upon this beautiful spot to make of it the
fairest of lands and the most desirable of homes for all
who wanted to make homes upon a virgin soil.

They had told, too, all the facts regarding the efforts
being made to shut the people out of the/; heritage, and
in this way they had aroused the spirit of hatred ©f op
pression, the love of liberty, the pride in country and the
determination that here, at least, in America, shall there
be fair play.

By the appointed time there had started westward a
long line of canvas-covered wagons, that centered upon
the border of the Indian Territory, and whose owners
announced themselves ready to take the risk of eviction,
imprisonment — yes, even death — in support of the in
alienable right of the children of the Republic to homes
upon the public lands.

For some weeks before the day set for starting they
began to arrive.

First came a single wagon, containing the members
of one small family — a man and his wife. Then arrived
two others and went into camp with the first. Another
and another followed, and then came a score of wagons,
when the camp looked like a village of tents and prairie
schooners.

Among the later comers were the colonists who had
been at work for the construction company during the

NETTIE'S BANK ACCOUNT. 281

winter. Their apparent dilatoriness was understood by
the others.

Understanding the necessity which might arise, they
were anxious to lay in as large a supply of provisions,
and that which could buy provisions, as possible, and so
remained close at work until within four days of the time
set for leaving the Kansas border, en route for their old
claims and homes in Oklahoma, and then drove direct
and without an hour's unnecessary delay to the place of
rendezvous.

With this party came the McKinleys and Phil John
son and the people he boarded with.

Nettie had finished her school and received her pay.
At the request of her mother and brothers, she had put
the greater portion of it in a bank, where it might prove
helpful later on.

She would have passed it all over to swell the family
fund, but they were resolved that she should not, seeing
that it would not be long before she would have need of
it in a home of her own.

Nettie and Phil intended to be married in the fall,
unless they were again driven out of Oklahoma; and even
if they were again deported, it was not impossible that
they would still be married. They did not know for
sure; the happy event must depend somewhat upon cir
cumstances.

For the present they were happy, being where they

282 MR. M'KINLEY'S FOLLOWERS.

could be together every day, and with the knowledge
that they were to be near each other all summer in camp
and in their Oklahoma homes.

And so they had gone to the place appointed for the
meeting of the colony, preparatory to the start for the
land of their dreams, and along with them had gone a
dozen other families from among the new friends whom
they had made during the months they had passed in the
Sunflower State.

Some of these new recruits were men who had been
employed on the same railroad with Phil and the other
colonists. Some were families who had come West the
fall before, and had not yet bought homes, or who, hav
ing small homes, had sold them to join the expedition to
Oklahoma.

These last Mr. McKinley claimed as his especial fol
lowers, he having been the principal factor in inducing
them to join the colony.

Owing to the willingness of his family, both sons and
daughters, to support him in his efforts to maintain the
dignity which he felt belonged to him, as one who had
been honored with a commission to run a ferry boat, he
had not been compelled to work on the railroad, and had
put in most of the time talking up Oklahoma and the in
terests of the colony.

While thus engaged, he gradually came to consider
himself more and more in the light of the real leader of

DECIDES ON THE LEGISLATURE. 283

the company and organizer of the enterprise, and to as
sume a yet more dignified manner.

About this time the idea possessed him that it would
be better and more in accord with the natural fitness of
things for him to become a member of the Territorial
Legislature which was to be, when Oklahoma was set
tled, than to apply for a license to establish a ferry
across the Canadian River, as he had for several months
intended.

In the former event he would be in a better position
to secure the charter for the ferry in the name of one of
his sons, and so cause two generations of McKinleys to
be honored, while in case he applied for it for himself,
the honors done to the family would die out with his
passing.

Not that the old gentleman had any thoughts of his
dying, except as something too far away to be regarded
as a matter of any present importance beyond the prep
aration to meet the Day of Judgment by occasionally,
like the rest of us, repenting of sin long enough to be
tolerably certain that we have repented of it, in order
that we may keep on sinning in a comfortable state of
mind.

On the contrary, Mr. McKinley was never one-half
so active or full of projects in his life, and never before
got so much or so high a pleasure out of existence as he
was enjoying.

284 THE DIGNITY OF LABOR.

Never before this had he felt himself to be an active
leader of men or molder of public opinion. Heretofore
he had waited until his opinion had been asked for, and
then answered in that dignified tone of exaltation which
belongs by right to the judge.

But now he forced his opinions upon people.

He spoke as one having authority to compel men to
hear the truth about Oklahoma and the injustice done to
the colonists by the army, with the sanction of the gov
ernment at Washington — or, at least, without being rep
rimanded or its action overruled.

From talking the beauties of Oklahoma and the com
petence to be speedily won there by labor on the virgin
soil, he finally got to talking of the honorableness and
dignity of labor in the abstract, even going so far as to
shovel sand on the railroad one whole day to prove that
labor was compatible with dignity of person.

CHAPTER XIX.

BACK TO. OKLAHOMA AGAIN — LIFE AT THE SETTLEMENT
— A COWBOY IMPARTS STARTLING NEWS.

But now, just as the colony, thus largely augmented,
Tas on the point of starting, came tidings of the arrest,
by a United States Marshal, of their leader, as he was
on his way to join them from some point farther east,
where he had been attending to some business for the
colony.

This news threw a damper over the spirits of all the
colonists, and caused a few of the new members to waver
in their determination to enter Oklahoma, and two fami
lies actually turned about and sought for homes in other
and undisputed territory.

The majority, however, remained firm. They even
felt that the arrest might bring the whole matter before
the courts, and result in great good by settling at once

(285)

286 IN TROUBLE BUT NOT CAST DOWN.

and forever the question of their right to pre-empt land
in Oklahoma, and in the whole country under dispute,
which was now understood to extend to what is known
as the Cherokee Strip, containing six million acres, and
also to the Public Land Strip, a body of land lying north
of Texas and west of the Indian Territory, and contain
ing, as roughly estimated, something over three million
acres.

With hope to buoy them up, the old colonists — they
who had been among those evicted from their claims on
two previous occasions — were in no way cast down by
the fact of the arrest.

They loved their leader as a brother, and regretted
exceedingly the suffering, both of body and mind, which
he might be compelled to undergo, but still they felt that
good was likely to come out of it, and so they could not
regret the marshal's action, feeling that they should be
glad instead.

Upon the question of whether they should await the
action of the court, and the release of their imprisoned
leader, or move at once under the leadership of some
other member, there was some difference of opinion at
first.

A number of the more timid ones advised staying,
while others asked :

' * How can we wait ?

" What shall we do in the meantime, if we decide to

CONFIDENT OF THEIR RIGHT. 287

wait and have all the points involved settled before we
move ?"

" It may be six months or a year," they said, "before
a decision can be obtained in the courts. Such delays
have often been, and may be again, and if we consent
to wait they may keep us waiting indefinitely.

' * Should we wait, we must either consume the stock
of provisions that we have on hand, and which ought to
sustain us until a crop is raised on our claims, or we
must separate and search for work, in which case we can
not get together again without trouble, and probably will
never all get together again."

And, besides, they knew that the time was already
at hand when they should be planting, for this season's
crop, the ground broken the season before, and also be
preparing new ground for later seeding.

Evidently, if they separated now, they could not
enter Oklahoma before fall, and this delay they were not
willing to submit to.

They felt that their right to go was perfect — abso
lutely unclouded by the shadow of a doubt which had its
origin either in the written law or in the spirit of the
Constitution.

Firmly imbued with this feeling, they determined to
start at once, and leave their leader to follow when he
should have vindicated himself and them in the courts,
and before the country.

288 TRIED AND ACQUITTED.

They knew that if he were where he could give them
advice he would say: "Go." They believed that in go
ing, and thus proving their faith in their right to go and
making more difficult of execution the purpose of their
enemies to keep the matter from reaching the public ear,
they would be doing both their leader and themselves a
service which, perhaps, could not be done so effectively
in any other manner.

Therefore, they called a meeting in the camp, and
formally voted to start without further delay; and some
body had just made a motion that Phil Johnson act as
president and leader for the journey back to the settle
ment on the Canadian River, when, to the surprise and
joy of everybody, their old leader rode into camp, and
dismounted in their midst.

Then went up a cheer which caused all the women
and children in the camp to clamber down from their
wagons or rush out of their tents, and come running to
see what it all meant.

The chairman of the meeting jumped down from the
wagon in which, as presiding officer, he was stationed,
and from which, with a kingbolt for a gavel and a dry
goods box for a desk, he had been preserving order, and
rushed to welcome the returned chieftain, about whom
all were gathering, shaking hands and asking questions
as to how he managed to get off,. and whether he had had
his trial vet.

REGARDED AS SETTLED. 289

And when he told them that he had been tried before
the United States District Court at Topeka, the capital
of the State of Kansas, and declared "not guilty of any
criminal offense," they threw up their hats and cheered
and cheered again, shouting themselves hoarse in their
efforts to express the intensity of their joy.

For now they could go forward with confidence — the
perfect assurance that they would not be disturbed or
interfered with by the military authorities. For is not
the civil above the military in this Republic of ours ?
And had not this leader, as their representative, just
been tried by the civil authorities upon a charge of ille
gally entering and taking possession of land in Okla
homa, and had he not been declared innocent of any
criminal offense in so doing ?

Certainly he had, and that settled it — must settle it;
for such was the law of the land, and such the natural
justice of the case.

Such was the course of reasoning followed by the
colonists, and that night they held a grand jubilee in the
camp, at which speeches were made and songs were
sung, and the glories of the Republic, and of the civil
law, which meted out even-handed justice to rich and
poor alike, were proclaimed in impassioned language.
Pride of country and love for the old flag were rekindled
and made to glow with a brighter flame.

Then all retired to rest. Each member awoke fresh

290 TRAIN MASTER PHIL JOHNSON.

and joyous in the morning, to begin the journey toward
the Promised Land.

They broke camp in the cool of the morning with
song and quip and calls back and forth, and with high
hopes and bright faces.

Phil had been made train master, and upon him had
devolved the duty of seeing that everybody connected
with the colony was made as comfortable as could be,
and that the route followed was such as to lead them
through a portion of the country where water and grass
were abundant.

He was also to fix upon the camping ground at night,
and to give the word of command for breaking camp and
resuming the journey each morning.

One of the McKinley boys agreed to drive Phil's
wagon and mules, thus leaving him free to attend to the
duties of his position, of which he was proud.

Nettie was proud of him.

After his selection for the place at the meeting held
the night before starting, Nettie slipped away from the
circle about the camp fire, and when she returned she
brought with her a red sash which she had made once on
a time for use at one of her school exhibitions.

Coming up slyly to Phil, she threw the sash over his
shoulder, and, blushing and laughing, tied it under his
arms, telling him it was his insignia of office, and that he
must wear it worthily as became a brave knight.

SOME BIG CATTLE RANCHES. 39 1

She then darted away before Phil, whose happiness
was showing itself in every lineament of his face despite
his efforts to look as though that was only an every-day
occurrence, could find words in which to fitly express his
thanks.

Now, in truth, Nettie had some reasons to be proud
of her lover, who, as he cantered back and forth, getting
the wagons into line that first morning, and making sure
that nothing was forgotten or left undone, sat his pony
like a very centaur, and was a lover in whom any girl
might well feel a pride.

Under Phil's direction, the long train of more than
eighty canvas-covered wagons drew out upon the prairie
and wound its way along.

They traveled almost directly south the first day, fol
lowing the line of the proposed extension of the Atchi-
son, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad, and camped that
night on the banks of the Osage Creek, a branch of the
Big Salt, itself a branch of Arkansas River.

Traveling south again, on the second day at noon
they crossed the Big Salt by fording, and, still following
the line of the proposed railroad, late at night of the
third day out, went into camp at Buffalo Springs, on or
near the line between the Cherokee Strip and Oklahoma,
having for the last two and one-half days traveled con
tinuously across lands held, and generally fenced with
barbed wire, by these four cattle companies : William-

292 BY BEAUTIFUL STREAMS.

son, Blair & Co., Snow & Rannalls, Cobb & Hutton and
Hewins & Titus.

Resuming their journey on the morning of the fourth
day, they passed into Oklahoma through lands held by
Hewins & Titus and by Williams Brothers, crossed the
Cimmaron River and, still upon lands held by the Will
iams Brothers, turned to the southeast along the old
Chisholm cattle trail, and, a half day's journey farther
on, entered upon the still larger tract of land held by the
Wyeth Cattle Company.

Thus they continued their journey, making twenty to
twenty-five miles each day, camping at night on the
banks of some beautiful stream, sleeping the sweet sleep
which comes of abundant exercise in an atmosphere in
which there is no malaria, and as a result of high hopes
and consciences unburdened with any sense of wrong
doing.

Traveling by day and resting by night, they came, in
time, in sight of the river flowing by the spot that was
to be their future home — the spot already memorable to
a portion of their members, and one doubly dear to them
because of those memories.

And these old memories started a cheer at sight of
the spot — a cheer which the newer colonists were quick
to take up when they understood its meaning — and once
again the echoes came back from the timber growing
upon the river's banks, and once again all felt that joy

THRICE BUILT HOMES. 293

which abides only within the home. It was natural that
some one should start the song, and again the welkin
rang with "Home, Sweet Home."

The same "assistant" surveyor who had run out the
previously taken claims was called upon to do more of
the same kind of work, and other claims were laid and
their boundaries marked off.

Again new cabins began to rise, not only upon those
claims where twice before had cabins been built, but new
ones on new claims.

The Vandals had again done their work. Not one
house was found standing.

There were soon to be seen cabins of logs, of sods
cut in the shape of bricks and about two feet long and
laid up as bricks are laid, and others made by digging
into the side of some little rise in the ground — "dug
outs" as they are called.

In front or at the side of each cabin might be seen a

$94 LOOKING TO THE HARVEST.

severed wagon, or if not the wagon then the cover only,
&till stretched over its bows of ash or hickory, and serv
ing now as a depository for implements of one kind and
another for which there was no room in the cabin. Oc
casionally the children used them as play houses.

New patches and ribbons of black earth began again
|j> appear in the midst of the wide stretches of green,
the old ones having already been worked over and plant
ed, making the third time that these older colonists had
sowed and cultivated without being permitted to reap a
harvest.

And so the time passed.

The men worked at turning the sod and preparing for
a future harvest of grain, taking only an occasional day
off for hunting, that there might never be a scarcity of
meat in the larder.

The women looked to household affairs and to the
bright bits of gardens about their dooryards.

The children fished in the river, hunted for flowers in
the prairie grass along the borders of the wood, and
while so occupied grew strong and healthy and as black
as Indians from the sun and tan.

By-and-by the corn, which for a time had turned to
green again the patches and ribbons of black, changed
them to brown and gold instead. The first harvest of
the colonists is nearly ready for the gathering.

It is not a large one, but it is the first fruits which

AGAIN A SCHOOLMA'AM. 295

have ripened beneath their care, and they are proud of
it — happy because of it, and because of the promise that
it contains of other and broader harvests yet to spring
from the rich soil of this most beautiful valley in this
fairest of lands, when they shall have had time to turn
some wider furrows across the prairie's rich soil.

The McKinleys, like all the rest, have been busy, and
their claim has some narrow bands of gold and brown,
and some wider ones of black across it, where the young
men have been plowing and planting.

Mr. McKinley's interest in life, as in the prosperity of
the colony, has increased rather than diminished with
the passing weeks, and he has been as busy as the very
busiest — though just what he has done is not so clear,
except that he has helped to imbue the colonists anew
with faith in the dignity of labor and with lofty aspira
tions for the future of Oklahoma, and has selected, at
least in his own mind, the exact site for the new Terri
torial State House, which the first Legislature, of which
he will be a member, will order erected.

Immediately after getting into their own cabins, the
colonists had erected a school house on the site of the
city which is to be, and in this Nettie has been following
her vocation as teacher to the children.

They made a pretty large school, and a pretty diffi
cult one to manage well, but Nettie has had experience
with such, and manages them nicely.

296 PHIL A STUDENT.

The younger ones are kept in only just long enough
to be heard say their ABC lesson or read an a-b ab les
son and then sent out to play, while their teacher gives
her attention to the larger scholars, to whom she is a
companion as well as teacher.

On Sunday afternoons, and usually on one or two
evenings during the week, she gives private lessons to a
young man by the name of Johnson, familiarly called
Phil, in matters not set forth in the school books.

Phil has his new house under way again now, and is
building the same sweet hopes in with the other material
that he put into the one which he built a year ago, and
which was destroyed by order of the cattle kings during
his enforced absence.

Nettie comes over with him on Sunday afternoons,
and together they lay their plans for the future, which is
to begin so soon now — just so soon, in fact, as the house
is finished, and that will be but a little while, only a few
weeks.

A printing press has been purchased and brought out
by the president of the colony, and a little paper devoted
to the interests of the members and to the settlement of
the country about them has been started. Weekly edi
tions of it are struck off and sent here and there and
everywhere, to friends of the colonists and to any who
can be induced to take an interest in this new country
and the development of its resources.

A FRIENDLY TIP. 2Q?

The colony, quite plainly, is already assuming the
airs of an old settlement.

It has faith in itself and in its future, and it has room
in which to grow.

One Saturday afternoon, as the weekly paper, the
Oklahoma Bee, was being distributed to a group of col
onists who had come for it, a stranger appeared, dressed
in the garb of a cowboy.

He was mounted on a cow pony, as the little Mexi
can horses used so largely by the cattle men are called.
He wore the usual complement or revolvers and carried
the customary Winchester rifle lying across his lap be
hind the pommel of his saddle.

Halting in front of the little group gathered about the
board shanty in which the newspaper was printed, he
leaned forward in his saddle and looked the crowd over
leisurely without speaking.

Naturally all eyes were turned toward him, and one
or two of the younger men pitched some half joking
remark in his direction, to which he made no response,
but continued coolly running his eye from one to another
with a look of quizzical curiosity.

At last he said :

"I was wondering, as I rode along, what kind of stuff
you fellows are made of. You don't look, now, like a set
that would show the white feather without first rinding
out -vhat the other fellows had for exchange."

INFORMATION OF VALUE.

For a moment no one answered. Then one asked,
Angrily: " What do you mean ?"

"Oh, not much," replied the other, with an air of
carelessness.

Then the mysterious visitor glanced away across the
country, and after a moment added :

1 ' Got some pretty good claims here, I should say
Pretty good claims. Nice town site, school house and
printing office — every thing getting fixed up just about
right. I should think you fellows would kind of hate to
pull out of here. I should, for a fact."

" Say, pardner, if you 've got any information that 's
of value to this crowd, this is just as good an opportu
nity to dispose of it as you will ever get. Suppose you
speak right out now, and have it over with at once. "

It was Phil Johnson who spoke, and as he did so he
left the place where he was standing in the door of the
printing office, and came close up to the horseman, who
eyed him closely, and then said :

" Your observation is correct, pard. You Ve hit the
bull's-eye dead center, first pop.

" Now, what I 've got to say I can say mighty quick.
So here goes.

"If you fellows mean to hang on to your claims,
you Ve got to fight for 'em.

"Do I make myself understood?"

" No I Speak out plainly about the matter."

THE TALE IS TOLD. 299

"What do you mean, anyhow?"

"Who 's going to jump our claims ?"

Everybody spoke at once, and all crowded forward
and formed a circle about Phil Johnson and the strange
horseman.

The stranger had the appearance of enjoying the
sensation which he was creating.

He again surveyed the crowd with a look of careless
indifference which one could not help seeing was par
tially, if not wholly, assumed.

The man was doubtless a natural lover of the trag
ical, and almost unconsciously sought to gratify his love
of it by the manner in which he imparted the informa
tion he had to give.

"Well," he said, still with an air of nonchalance,
"you fellows can see who I am — tell that by the set of
my clothes.

" I 'm a cow puncher, and I herd for one of the com
panies that own cattle and a range not very far from this
locality. That is, they own the cattle and claim to own
the range — leased it, you know, from some other fellow,
who leased it from the Indians.

' ' Well, I accidentally overheard a little conversation
between a couple of partners — cattle kings, they are
called — the other night, and they were remarking that
your corn fields would make right good picking for their
steers this winter, after the soldiers had run you fellows

300 NOT MY CHUCK WAGON.

out of the country again. Then they chuckled, and ap
peared to like the arrangement."

This choice bit of cattle king pleasantry excited gen
eral indignation, and one of the colonists replied :

" But they can 't run us out. We have a decision of
the court in our favor."

' ' Oh, well ! Just as you fellows think ; this aint my
chuck wagon, of course," returned the stranger. "But
maybe you don't know who 's back of this thing as well
as some other folks. Maybe the military have n't been
informed of the decision of the court, and maybe it
would make no difference if they had. Maybe those who
are back of this thing don't care what the law says, any
way.

' 'But if you know more about it than I do, why,
then I can't see that you need any more information
from me."

He straightened himself in his saddle and lifted the
bridle from the neck of his pony, as if about to ride off,
but they called to him to " hold on," and urged that he
tell them all he knew about the matter, and whether he
was certain that a descent upon them by the troops from
any of the forts in the Territory was positively decided
upon.

They could not believe such a thing possible, and yet
they were quick to take alarm, being made suspicious by
previous experiences.

ORDERS FROM WASHINGTON. 3OI

But the good-hearted cowboy, although anxious to
warn them, had told about all he knew.

He had overheard a conversation from which he had
gathered that a movement was on foot to again drive the
colonists out of the country, but when the attempt to do
so was to be made he had not learned.

He was of the opinion that the date was near at hand
— it might be any day, or it might not be for a month.
He could not tell.

But he was confident of two facts — that the troops
were to be again ordered to remove the settlers out of
the Territory, and that the orders came straight from
Washington.

While an excited talk, which this announcement
created, was taking place among the colonists. Phil put
his hand upon the neck of the stranger's pony, and then
walked a few paces by his side.

"Pard," he said, "you have done us a good turn, I
reckon, though I can't say as it 's pleasant news you Ve
brought. Come, spend the night with me, and rest both
yourself and pony."

"Can't do it. Would if I could, but it is better not.
I told the boss when I left camp that I was just going
for a little canter after some antelope, and I '11 tell the
boys when I get back that I had a long chase of it.

' • I reckon the looks of my pony will bear out that
last statement, if I get in much before midnight."

302 THE COWBOY'S OPINION.

* ' It will be a sad thing for the members of the colo
ny, if what you think is in store for us proves true, " said
Phil.

First satisfying himself that no one but Phil would
hear what he had to say, the cow puncher remarked with
emphasis :

" And if you fellows have the sand to make a fight,
and so bring the question of who owns this country be
fore the world, it will be a sad day for the cattle compa
nies. There'll be 'weeping and gnashing of teeth,'
sure. "

Putting spurs to his pony, he was soon out of sight
in the gathering darkness.

CHAPTER XX.

I ROUGH-AND-TUMBLE FIGHT — MR. M'KINLEY ASSISTS IN
SAVING THE COUNTRY.

The rumor that troops were to be again sent to take
away the settlers spread rapidly, and produced the wild
est excitement.

Instead of diminishing, the crowd about the printing
office constantly augmented, and at midnight was many
times greater than at sundown.

A bonfire had been built early in the evening, which,
flashing out across the prairie, attracted the attention ot
one and another of the settlers.

Every one who saw it wondered what it could mean,
and while wondering grew uneasy in his mind regarding
it and hastened over to his neighbor's house to ask if he
knew what its meaning was. Then the two looked, and
saw the flames leap up and flare out, and a shower of
sparks arise as some one threw on fresh fuel ; saw the

304 THE BALE-FIRE'S GLEAM.

group of men standing by, and wondered yet more what
it could mean.

Wondering and speculating, they heard the hallo of
a third neighbor, calling to them from the road, asking
if they were going up to see what the bonfire meant.

They joined him, and all three went together ; and
so, from every direction, men, singly and in groups of
three or four and a dozen, began to come in and swell
the crowd about the fire, and, hearing the rumors, to talk
loudly of resistance or to keep silent and to finger their
weapons.

The bale-fires built by old-time Scottish chiefs to call
the clans together, the blast by Roderick Dhu on lone
Benledi's side, were scarce more magical in their effects
than was this bonfire built upon a little eminence away
out on the prairies of Oklahoma, albeit there was no
previous understanding that it should be the signal for
the rallying of any clan.

And never did bolder men gather at any bugle blast
or bale-fire's gleam than gathered there that night and
discussed the probability of the story told by the cowboy
being true.

Some asked what could be done ; others told what
they would do in case eviction was attempted.

What they would do ?

What could they do ?

" Can we again submit quietly to being driven from

QUANDARY NO, 3, 30$

our claims, insulted, imprisoned, robbed ? Can we lift
hands against the authority of the government to which
we owe allegiance ? Against men who wear the uniform
and carry the flag of our country ?"

"What can we, do ?"

" Can we see our families rendered homeless, subject
to indignities — God knows what — and make no resist
ance ? Shall we lift no strong hand to defend them or
avenge them ?"

* ' Can we leave this fair land, and with it all our
bright visions of comfort and happiness, because a syn
dicate of rich men, many of them aliens to the govern
ment and enemies of the Republic, want it for herding
grounds for their cattle ?"

Such were the questions they asked themselves and
each other, standing about the bonfire that night in early
December. This is the conclusion they came to :

" Rather than be driven off again, we will fight."

And yet to do so was to array themselves against the
old flag.

Could they do that ?

In their desperation they said they could.

They said the flag had ceased to represent liberty and
justice ; that the government no longer protected the
weak against the strong ; that it was no longer worthy of
respect and reverence.

Yet, within their hearts, the echo of their own terri-

3O6 DECIDE TO FIGHT.

ble words caused sharp pangs, and their awful meaning
caused them to hesitate and grow silent

Could they fight ?

What would they do ?

What could they do ?

It was not until two weeks later that the troops came
detachment from Fort Reno, headed by Lieutenant
Knight, acting under orders of his superior officer.

In regular line of battle the troops advanced, and
they were met by the colonists — armed and ready for the
contest.

The latter had decided that they could not submit to
being again driven from their homes without making
armed resistance.

They had the law, justice and the decision of a Dis
trict Court on their side. So they felt, and they would
fight.

Marching his troops up to within short rifle range of
the colonists, who had thrown up some slight breast
works in front of the printing office and school house
and were waiting to receive them, Lieutenant Knight
sant an orderly with a demand for an immediate surren-

"TURN 'EM LOOSE." 307

der. This demand was refused. Surrender could not be
even thought of.

"Go tell your master to turn his dogs loose !"

Such was the answer sent back by the leader of the
colonists in response to the demand for immediate sur
render.

Turning to the colonists, he added :

"Prepare to defend yourselves."

This was not just what the Lieutenant expected, and
it put a new and not entirely pleasant face upon the situ
ation.

The commanding officer found his force of less than
one hundred opposed by at least an equal number of
determined men, all of them good shots and well armed,
and protected in some degree by the redoubt which they
had thrown up.

An order to his troops to fire would surely be met by
a volley from the settlers, which might wipe out his little
company of regulars at the first round, and would surely
do so before the firing ceased.

His own life would not be worth a rush, once he gave
the order to begin the attack.

Therefore, the Lieutenant concluded that discretion
is the better part of valor, and he decided upon using
strategy. He asked for a parley, which was granted.

The leader, Phil Johnson, Mr. McKinley, Mr. Jones
and Tom Price went out between the lines and met the

$o8 THE LIEUTENANT'S STRATEGY.

Lieutenant, who was accompanied by an escort befitting
the occasion.

The pour-parlers held a long consultation. The Lieu
tenant tried to convince them of the uselessness of their
offering resistance. The pioneers answered that, since
nothing else was left them, they were compelled to fight.
Only by resistance could they bring the question of their
right to settle in those parts before the country, and so
arouse a public sentiment which would save the whole
of Oklahoma, the Cherokee Strip and the Public Land
Strip to the people, which else would remain for ever in
the grip of the syndicates and cattle kings.

After more than an hour spent in this kind o{ argu
ment, the parties separated and the soldiers went into
camp on the spot.

The colonists, not believing an attack would be vent
ured upon and not intending to begin an attack but only
to act in defense of their lives and their property, simply
lounged about, chatting and smoking. But they stayed
close by their arms and kept a watchful lookout on the
camp of the soldiers.

By-and-by the Lieutenant came strolling over to the
settlers' camp, accompanied by an orderly. A little later
a. Corporal and three privates strolled over, and after a
bit a few more soldiers.

Discipline appeared to be pretty loose, considering
that they were regulars, but as they left their arms be*

SCHEMING TO AVOID BLOODSHED. 309

and nothing was thought of it by the unsuspecting colo
nists.

The settlers understood as well as did the Lieutenant
that only as the very last resort was blood to be shed, or
such a course pursued as to compel the country to take
recognition of what was going on.

No John Brown affair was to be made of this thing—
no martyr blood shed if it was possible to avoid it; but
a quiet removal of the settlers, the imprisonment of the
leaders for a time and their discharge without trial after
their followers had scattered. This would raise no
storm. This would never be heard of by the country.
This was the thiMg- intended.

Well knowing this, the settlers thought nothing very
strange when — the attempt to frighten them into leaving
having apparently been abandoned — the soldiers lounged
about without arms, and so strolled over to the opposite
camp, only a few rods away.

The unarmed soldiers mingled freely in the camp of
the settlers and chatted with some degree of friendliness,
for the soldiers had personally no enmity against the
colonists and the colonists understood that the soldiers
were but obeying orders.

At sundown the soldiers were recalled to their camp,
and the settlers slept upon their arms, after eating such
food as was brought to them from their several homes or
as they cooked around their camp fire,

310 LAYING THE TRAP.

Both parties put out pickets — the regulars only for
purposes of discipline, for they knew they would not be
attacked.

The settlers did not know that the regulars would not
attack them, though they did not expect it, knowing that
a more quiet plan would be devised if the commandant
could arrange it.

Next day the soldiers and citizens fraternized in the
camp of the latter, and mingled more freely than on the
day before. That is to say, there were more soldiers —
in fact, about all the soldiers except the guards, who
paced back and forth in front of the Lieutenant's tent
and the commissary wagon. They appeared to have
come over for a friendly talk and smoke with the back
woodsmen.

Lieut. Knight came with them, and after chatting
pleasantly awhile with the president he proposed that he
call together eight or ten of the more influential settlers,
and hold another conference. He said he hoped to con
vince them of the folly of continued resistance, and so
end the matter.

The president replied that he had no objection to the
Lieutenant talking to as many of the settlers as he chose.
He was assured, in advance, that nothing which he could
say would change things. If he got them out of Okla
homa this time he must do it by force, as they were now
determined to make a stand for their rights.

ODD ARMY TACTICS. 311

However, he called Phil Johnson, Mr. McKinley and
a dozen other colonists into the printing office, and told
the Lieutenant to go ahead with his entertainment.

As those inside talked, those outside gathered about
the doors and windows of the little frame shanty, and
listened.

At first those gathered around seemed to be about
equally citizens and soldiers, but after a bit there were
more soldiers and fewer citizens, and gradually these few
were crowded back until a. cordon of soldiers surrounded
the building, and a number had entered it.

Phil Johnson noticed this disposition on the part of
the soldiers to crowd forward, and he grew suspicious.
It was not customary for privates in the regular army to
attend a conference with the officers, even where the
meeting was in a way informal and in their midst, as was
this one.

He felt sure that an attempt was to be made to cap
ture those in the shanty, thinking that by securing them
without bloodshed or the use of arms the others would
capitulate without a fight.

Nor was he wrong in his conclusions, for suddenly, at
a signal from the Lieutenant, the soldiers pressed for
ward and attempted to seize upon the persons of the set
tlers, two or three reaching for one man.

The officer expected to secure them almost before his
intentions were understood.

$12 A ROUGH-AND-TUMBLE FIGHT.

But his calculations for the coup were far too opti
mistic.

Phil Johnson, at least, was prepared, and at the first
move indicating treachery his fist went straight out from
his shoulder, and a man in uniform went sprawling over
the floor in front of his companions, causing several to
stumble and fall.

This prompt action on Phil's part gave his comrades
time to realize the situation.

And now began one of the oddest rough-and-tumble
fights on record — a fight with fists between soldiers of
the regular army, led by a commissioned officer, and a
body of frontiersmen cooped up in a shanty.

Nor was the fighting confined to those inside, for the
settlers outside the printing office heard the sounds of
the melee and attempted to push their way inside.

Being resisted by the soldiers about the door and win
dows, who were acting under orders of a Sergeant and
two Corporals, blows fell thick and fast, and in a few
moments a free fight was going on that would have done
credit to Donnybrook Fair in its palmiest days.

Inside the shanty, a half-dozen settlers, crowded into
one corner by twice or thrice their number, were making
the best fight their cramped condition would permit.
Blows, the force of which was greatly lessened by the
nearness of the combatants to each other, but which
Started noses to bleeding and caused black eyes to sud-

A BAD MIX-UP. 313

denl> ippear and bumps to start forth in profusion upon
heads were being given and taken on both sides.

At the other end of the shanty the combatants had
overturned the cases of type. Some had stumbled over
these c\nd others had been knocked over them, and the
soldiers and settlers were mixed up in an indistinguisha
ble mass.

It was a bad mess of printer's "pi."

Among those entangled were the Captain, McKinley,
Jones and the Lieutenant, though to have picked out any
one of them and separated him from the others would
have app^ired quite an impossibility, as nothing was to
be seen except aa indiscriminate pile of legs, arms and
heads.

Beginning at the bottom, there appeared, as nearly
as could be seen, first a couple of cases of type, then a
man in uniform, then Mr. McKinley and the ink keg,
then another soldier and more cases of type, then Lieu
tenant Knight and old man Jones, then more soldiers
and the leader of the colony with more cases of type and
more men, both in uniform and without it.

After this fashion the battle raged, and for a time vic
tory appeared loath to decide between these unscientific
combatants.

Within the shanty the settlers were getting the worst
of it, so far as could be judged from appearances. As
they were hemmed in ar^d fighting two or three times

314 DESPOILERS RETREAT.

their own numoers, they were at a disadvantage and had
barely held their own.

Outside the shanty the citizens were in the majority,
and they were crowding the soldiers and rolling them in
the dirt. Here and there, on the outskirts of the crowd,
might be found two combatants who had gotten a little
separated from the thickest of the fray and were having
it out by themselves.

But, after a bit, the advantage which the settlers had
became apparent. The soldiers were not used to this
kind of warfare, and had no particular relish for it.
They fought simply because they had orders to fight, and
not because they loved the pastime.

The colonists enjoyed it. It was their opportunity
to even things up a little, and they improved it to the
utmost for five or ten minutes. By this time the soldiers
outside were drawing off for repairs, and those just inside
were reached for, drawn out and forcibly started off in
the direction of their camp.

Then a separation of the mass of arms and legs and
heads on the floor of the shanty began, and was contin
ued until all had risen, or had been picked up and car
ried out.

Next to the last man in the pile to be found and lifted
up was Mr. McKinley.

He was pretty badly battered up, but not in a worse
condition than the soldier underneath him, with whom

WIPING OFF THE INK. 31 5

he had been contending since the fight began. Both had
been bitten and clawed about the face, and both were
covered with printer's ink until neither was recognizable
by his comrades. It was not until Mr. McKinley had
been dragged off the soldier under him and set upon his
feet in the open air that he was identified, and they did
not know him then until he spoke.

Wiping the ink from his face with his hand and then
glaring at the retreating regulars, he drew himself up and
remarked :

' ' I think that particular portion of the regular army
hesitate before again offering me an insult."

The reader may think it strange that a fight with fists
•» such as is above described — should actually occur be
tween citizens and soldiers, and no arms be used. Yet,
'Such a fight did occur ; and there is nothing very strange
about it when all the attending conditions are kept in the
mind's eye.

The soldiers wished to remove the citizens without
taking life. Failing to overawe them, they attempted to
arrest the leaders in a mai. ]er such as would not provoke
the use of bullets.

On the other hand, the settlers respected the fact

3l6 A DRAWN BATTLE.

that those who sought to arrest them wore the uniform
of the United States, and so wished, if possible, to avoid
taking their lives, yet were determined not to be driven
off their claims.

Here, then, was the strongest possible incentive on
both sides not to take life, but on the one hand to arrest
and on the other hand to resist arrest without blood
shed ; and when the soldiers found they could not effect
the arrest without precipitating a fight with arms, they
got out of it as easily as they could, which was not so
easily as they could have wished, as many of them car
ried black eyes and swollen heads and a banged-up front
generally for days.

But many of the home defenders were in the same
fix, so the fight may properly go down into history as a
drawn battle.

Both armies slept that night upon the same ground
which they had occupied in the morning, and both slept
upon their arms.

•:os-

CHAPTER XXI.

MR. M'KINL£Y GOES TO JAIL, AND FINALLY RETURNS TO
THE BANKS OF THE WABASH,

On the morning following the day on which the
rough-and-tumble fight had occurred the soldiers were
withdrawn, and the settlers were at liberty to return to
their families.

At first very few of them were inclined to regard the
result of the fight as a real victory.

True, they had given rather more black eyes and
broken heads than they had received in return, and the
enemy had now withdrawn from the field of battle ; but
still they had a feeling that the end was not yet, and
what added to this feeling was that the soldiers had not
withdrawn toward Fort Reno, whence they came, but
had moved away in the direction of Fort Russell, where
it was known that a considerable body of United States
troops were stationed.

ji8 MR. M'KINLEY'S BELIEF.

Among the few who took a more cheerful view of th«
matter, and who believed that they had really conquered
a peace, was Mr. McKinley. Perhaps he was the only
one who looked at it in that way at the very first, but if
so he soon inspired others with his own views of the
case, and pretty soon one and another began to look at
it as he did and to regard the matter in the light of a
great victory.

He would say :

< ' I tell you, gentlemen, they are licked — licked, Sir
— and they will not come back. And if they do, we '11
lick 'em again. We can do it — do it easy. Why, if you
men outside the shanty had fought the way me and the
Captain and Phil Johnson did, there would n't be any of
'em left now. They were three to one agin us when the
fight commenced — yes, Sir, three to one and more, too
' — but you ought to see the way we piled 'em up — yes,
Sir, piled 'em up. Why, me and the Captain and Phil
Johnson and old man Jones piled 'em up in a pile, and
then fell on to 'em and pounded 'em till we was tired —
yes, Sir, till we was tired. You just ought to have seen
the way we did it.

* 'And as for their retreatin' in the direction of Fort
Russell, that 's nothing strange. They 're 'fraid and
'shamed to go back to Fort Reno, and own that they got
licked. Like as not some of 'em died last night of their
wounds — some of 'em was hurt mighty bad — and they 're

DRESSING THE WOUNDS. 319

just goin* off that way to bury 'em on the sly, so 's not
to have it known. Don't you be afraid ; they aint com
ing back. Reckon they 've got sense enough to know
when they 're licked, if that 's all they have got."

It is never very hard to make men believe that which
they-wish to believe, and the faith which Mr. McKinley
possessed that the regulars had abandoned the contest
and left not to return imparted itself to others, and soon
a voice somewhere in the crowd made an attempt at a
cheer.

Like other cheers which are without support, this
particular " hip-hip" sounded weak to start on, and it
grew weaker as it progressed, but it was not long before
the spirits of the crowd had raised sufficiently to induce
some one else to start a cheer, which this time was
joined in by half the company, and grew in volume as it
went until the last " hurrah" gave indication of having a
good deal of confidence in itself.

Now, while the majority of them were feeling their
spirits rise with the departure of the troops and with the
hopeful view of the situation which Mr. McKinley in
sisted upon everybody's taking, there were those among
them who felt that, now the need for suffering in silence
was over, they would like very much to have their hurts
and bruises attended to.

Among them there were several who had received
wounds of a painful character.

330 PHH- RECEIVES CONSOLATION,

Phil Johnson had received quite a long and deep gash
across the scalp, apparently made by a column rule,
wielded by some one who in the general melee had hap
pened to get his hand on it. Old man Jones, the presi
dent and a dozen others had bruises and cuts that were
painful, though not of a dangerous character, none of
which had as yet received any attention, except that
Phil had bound up his head with a handkerchief.

The handkerchief had answered very well, so long as
there was a necessity of remaining on guard against an
other possible assault ; but, now that the soldiers had
gone, Phil felt that he needed something further in the
way of attention to his injuries. He repaired to the
McKinley home, that being the place where he felt cer
tain of receiving the consolation which his wounds now
required.

Of course, he received it.

Nettie furnished the consolation, and her mother the
iniment and bandages, and between them they fixed
him up as good as new ; in fact, they made him feel that
he should be tempted to have his head laid open every
once in a while, just for the pleasure of having it repaired
again.

Mr. McKinley also required and received careful at
tention at the hands of his wife and daughters.

He was not very seriously hurt — not quite so badly
as he wished he was when he saw that Phil's having his

COMBING OUT THE INK. 3d I

head tied up was accepted as proof that he had been
where the fight raged hottest.

He had, however, some black-and-blue spots on his
person and about his face, from one of which a few
drops of blood had issued and dried, and a sight of the
red stain made upon the cloth with which his wife was
striving to remove the ink from his face satisfied him.
He had fought and bled for his country, and he was now
content.

Two or three hours were required to get the printer's
ink out of his hair and off his person. His wife and
daughters soaped and scrubbed away diligently, without
causing him to utter a complaint of any kind. He felt
that he was having his wounds dressed, and that the time
spent over him was evidence of the undaunted bravery
with which he had led the contest.

Mr. McKinley was now positive that he should never
again run a ferry boat. If he was not called onto organ
ize a regiment for the protection of the frontier of the
Territory when it should be organized, he would accept
a seat in the Legislature, and serve his country there
with a dignity equal to the desperate courage which he
had displayed in fighting for its independence upon this
memorable occasion.

Thus was Mr. McKinley mentally occupied while his
devoted wife was conducting the work necessary to his
physical repair and rejuvenation. Sorry was he when,

322 AN UNSETTLED FEELING.

this task finished, he realized that matters of grave con
cern demanded his immediate attention. His was the
usual regret attendant upon the sudden termination of a
day-dream.

The unsettled feeling among the colonists that came
as a consequence of the events just recorded caused an-
other postponement by Phil and Nettie of their intended
wedding.

There was no one living in the settlement wlio was
legally authorized to officiate at weddings ; and in the
uncertainty of what might be, they delayed their pro
posed trip to a place at which they could be united and
begin their honeymoon.

They felt the better contented to do this now that
Phil was spending most of his time at Mr. McKinley's
house, being for several days quite unfit to do any thing,
and for a still longer period suffering severely from a rush
of blood to the head whenever he bent over ; so that he
made little attempt to work on his claim, but kept him-

SIX HUNDRED STRONG. 323

self closely in the house and suffered himself to be made
much of and coddled without a murmur.

Neither did any of the colonists feel greatly inclined
to go on with their intended improvement.

They tried to^Jiope that the troops had gone not to
return, but they doubted if they had. Even Mr. McKin-
ley could not keep alive their belief that the soldiers had
been too badly frightened to think of returning, and that
the Lieutenant was sure to make such a report to his
superiors as would discourage them from renewing the
attack.

Hence they did little except to secure a small portion
of their crops, and wait and watch for what the future
had in store for them.

Now, if preference could be followed in this narra
tive, Mr. McKinley would be sustained in his belief that
the government was too badly scared to take any further
steps in the matter of removing squatters from Okla
homa ; but a stern resolve to adhere to the facts compels
a different course.

The soldiers did return, and they came back six hun
dred strong, being reinforced by a detachment from Fort
Russell ; and, still under the command of Lieutenant
Knight, they surrounded the little band of colonists, who
had learned of their approach and boldly set out to fight
them.

Having surrounded them, the army sat down to starve

$24 NETTIE SEES HER LOVER IN JAIL.

them into submission, a feat which it accomplished in a
week by cutting off all supplies which their families at
tempted to carry to them and by preventing them from
obtaining food for themselves.

And then they compelled them to pack up for the
third time their household goods, put their wives and
children into the wagons, and after setting fire to the
printing office without having first permitted the removal
of the press, type and other appurtenances, conveyed
them out of the Territory in the same manner that they
had done twice before.

At the State line all except the leader, Phil Johnson
and Mr. McKinley were released and told to go where
they would, so they did not return to the disputed terri
tory. These three men were taken to one of the larger
towns of the State, turned over to the civil authorities
and put in jail.

After some delay the leader obtained bail for himself
in the sum of $3,000, and as soon as he had secured his
own release he set about obtaining the release of his two
companions.

Mrs. McKinley had followed on with the family wher.
she learned where her husband was, and thus Nettie saw
her father and lover in jail.

Bail was at last secured for both, and they were then
released. Again arose the question as to what should be
done.

WHO OWNS OKLAHOMA? 32$

Should they again rally their friends and enter Okla
homa at once ?

Where were the colonists who had just been driven
out?

A portion of them, they learned, were still in camp,
or had scattered along the borders of Kansas, awaiting
another opportunity to enter Oklahoma and take posses
sion of their claims. Others had become discouraged or
had exhausted their means, and could not return imme
diately.

Leaving Mrs'. McKinley and the family at the town
where the men had been incarcerated, Phil and the oth
ers went to the vicinity where the larger portion of the
colonists were, and after getting some of them together
asked them what their wishes were regarding an immedi
ate return to Oklahoma.

For themselves, they told them that they were ready
to return at once, but would have to be back at the time
set for their trial.

Many were in favor of going back at once, but others
declared such action unwise. They thought some time
could be spent advantageously in efforts to enlighten the
country regarding the struggle between themselves, as
representatives of the people, and the cattle syndicates,
through the press and by other means.

It had been learned that already a partial knowledge
of the outrages committed upon them had reached the

326 THE WAR CHIEF.

public ear, and that there were several members in Con
gress who would respond to any request to bring th?
matter before that body.

It was finally resolved to refrain for the time being
from again entering the disputed territory, and to devote
the interval to agitating before the country the question:
" Who Owns Oklahoma ?"

Accordingly, arrangements were made for the estab<
lishment of permanent headquarters at Caldwell, Kan
sas, which is close to the territorial line. Fresh printing
materials were purchased, and their newspaper, bearing
now the name The Oklahoma War Chief, was started
again and placed under the editorial management of a
competent person, with orders to give it the widest pos*
sible circulation.

Petitions were also printed, asking Congress to take
cognizance of the matter of protecting citizens in theil
right to settle in Oklahoma.

These petitions, published in such journals as were
in possession of the facts of the case and friendly to the
purpose of the petitioners, were passed from hand to
hand among the friends of the colonists, and, signed by
thousands, were sent rolling in upon the members of the
House and Senate of the United States and upon the
President.

This procedure frightened the cattle kings, and they
hastened to send a representative to Washington to bring

SYNDICATE LOBBY ACTIVE. 327

such influence to bear as would prevent any action that
might be unfavorable to their interests or expose the
means by which they had secured the aid of the military
arm of the government and of the civil courts to enable
them to hold possession of such great bodies of land,
and to drive from their homes, arrest and imprison men
who were acting in good faith, in accord with the home
stead and pre-emption laws of the country and in full
harmony with the practices in similar cases since those
laws were enacted.

Nevertheless, the cattle kings were only partially suc
cessful.

Public sentiment was too far aroused and too much
in sympathy with the colonists to allow the matter to be
left untouched by Congress and the President.

Petitions continued to roll in, and more than one
Congressman received hints from his constituents that it
would be better for his future prospects if he would heed
the demands of the people in this matter.

The politicians at length began to feel that it would
be a good stroke of policy for the new Administration to
make some show of being interested in the people, even
if it went no farther.

Then came the President's order for everybody, cat
tle king and squatter, to get out of Oklahoma.

It was a field day for the colonists when they heard
read the President's sweeping order in the matter.

328 A PARTIAL VICTORY.

Although they were now scattered widely, and only
such as were connected directly with the work of putting
a knowledge of these things before Congress and the
country were at Caldwell, yet this news was to them, at
whatever point located, a note of victory.

The colonists knew that if the cattle were removed
there would be no objectors sufficiently strong to prevent
the acknowledgment by the Interior Department of their
right, and the right of all citizens who wished, to make
homes upon the prairies and along the beautiful streams
of Oklahoma and the Cherokee Strip.

The trial of the Captain, Mr. McKinley and Phil
Johnson for violation of the laws in entering Oklahoma,
never came off. When the date set for the trial arrived
they were present in court, but were discharged without
a hearing, although they strongly protested against the
nolle prosequi.

The colonists were anxious to be able to prove again,
as once before they had proved in the District Court at
Topeka, that there was no law under which any citizen
could be punished for entering upon and improving the
lands in question, and they denounced as unjust and an
outrage their arrest, removal, imprisonment and arraign
ment, only to be discharged without opportunity to show
proof of their innocence or expose the flagrant violation
of civil law by the military in persecuting them at tile
bidding of the cattle kings.

A FARCICAL TRIAL.

But in nothing were they allowed opportunity to
make themselves heard by the court. They were simply
told that, since their followers had vacated the disputed
territory, they would not be prosecuted. And in spite of
their protest against this attempt to convict them with
out trial, they were compelled to bear it.

After the farcical ending of this pretended trial, and
after it had been decided that the colonists would not
return to their claims at once, but would await the action
of Congress, if action could be obtained within such time
as should be considered at all reasonable, Mr. McKin-
ley's family thought it best for them to return to theii
old home on the Wabash, and await the further move
ments of the colony. They had not sold the old place
when they left it — principally because no one wanted to
buy it at much of a figure.

The little old town of yore was still a little old town,
and the few acres which Mr. McKinley owned possessed
no value other than as agricultural land. Not knowing
how the West might please them, they had decided not
to accept the only offer they had had for it, which was
from a farmer who owned land adjoining, and would in
all probability be as ready to purchase it a year or two
later as then.

To the old home, then, Mr. McKinley 's family had
returned, with the exception of one of the boys, who
obtained work with the team in Kansas, and decided to

33O PATIENT LOVE.

remain there until such time as the family would return
to enter once more upon their Oklahoma claim.

Phil and Nettie had again postponed their wedding,
but only for a little while.

When Phil decided that he must remain in Kansas
for a time, and help to start the movement which was *.o
bring a pressure to bear upon Congress to compel action
in relation to Oklahoma, Nettie and he talked the mat
ter over and came to the conclusion that, inasmuch as
Phil must be constantly moving about for some months,
it would be best not to marry until this part of the work
was performed. Nettie decided, therefore, to return with
her parents to the old home, and there wait for Phil's
coming.

Equally with Phil, Nettie felt interested in the settle
ment of the question of right involved in the contest in
which they were engaged with the cattle syndicates.

The wrongs done to the colonists, of whom she had
been one, the insults and injuries heaped upon her father
and lover, the memory of their having been tied with
ropes like criminals — all these things had aroused the
spirit of resistance within her, and she was as ready to
iiiake sacrifices for the good of the cause as was Phil
himself.

And, besides, Nettie was in love with her Oklahoma
home — or Phil's home, which she was to share with him
—and she wished to be able to return there with him.

FRATERNAL COLONISTS. 331

and with her father's family and the other colonists,
among all of whom had grown up bonds of friendship
which made them seem nearer than any could seem who
had never rejoiced together in prospective peace and
prosperity, as they, had done, or sympathized with one
another over the disappointments and losses that for the
time had broken up all their plans and hopes.

She was, therefore, anxious that Phil and others
should do all that could be done to bring about a peace
ful removal of the difficulties standing in the way of the
colonists' return and their permanent settlement of the
country.

Nettie and Phil had spent one last evening together,
taken one last kiss, exchanged vows of eternal constancy
and adoration, and she, with her father and family, had
returned to the old home, while Phil started out. on his
mission.

But he went with a light heart.

Just so soon as he could do the work he had under
taken in behalf of the colony, he also was to return to
the old home — to his father's home — and to Nettie, who
would then become his wife.

He went forth, too, with Mr. McKinley's blessing, for
the dignified old gentleman's heart was warm toward his
prospective son-in-law.

Phil was brave and ready, and the old man, in spite
of some little weaknesses, was fully capable of appreci-

33* WHO KNOWS?

ating courage and honesty of purpose ; and, besides this,
nobody treated him with more deference than did Phil.

Perhaps the reverence which, in his boyish days, he
had felt for the great man who held commission from
two States to run a ferry boat on the Wabash had never
quite deserted Phil.

Still, beneath his appearance of ingenuousness were
inaudible whisperings of policy, telling him it was wisest
to keep on the good side of the father of the girl whom
he loved.

Naturally, he had a high sense of the respect due to
men older than himself. In the case of Mr. McKinley
he probably saw more clearly than did others of his inti-

•

mates a true inward dignity in the man, to which the
outward dignity of his manner was but an ill-fitting gar
ment.

When the old gentleman came to bid Phil good-by
his lips trembled a little and his voice had the suspicion
of a tremor in it.

The two men, the old man and the young one, had
been in prison together ; they had ridden together many
a weary mile between lines of soldiers — their guards ;
they had slept side by side upon the green sward of the
prairies, and — yes, they had fought and bled together in
a cause sacred to both. In addition to these strong ties,
Phil was soon to be the husband of the old man's beau
tiful daughter. And now that they were to be parted for

PHIL'S PATRIARCHAL BLESSING. 333

a time, he would give the boy his blessing. Straightway
he proceeded to do so.

His lips trembled a little at first, but he fought hard
against a display of emotion, and before he had finished
speaking all his dignity of manner and fluency of lan
guage had returned to him. He said :

"Go, Philip, and do the work which is for you to do.
You have my blessing — the blessing of a man who has
been honored by having shed his blood for his couni/y
and in defense of the sacred rights of the people to set
tle in Oklahoma,"

CHAPTER XXII.

£ FARMER- LOOKING INDIVIDUAL, WHO ALSO ENDURES A
THREE-PRONGED FRONT NAME.

Phil was one day sitting in the office of a little hotel
in one of the frontier towns of Kansas, whither he had
gone on colony business, when a stranger dressed in the
garb of a farmer entered.

This farmer-looking individual was a man apparently
55 or 60 years of age, well formed and preserved, and
wore an unusually jovial countenance.

He paused for a second upon entering the door, and
glanced around the room, as if hoping to find there some
one to whom he could impart the impression — which he
held — that this is as good a world as any one need wish
to live in ; or, if not that, it was just as well for a body
not to be aware of that fact.

Seeing no audience other than Phil, he nodded famil
iarly and said :

•'Howdy, stranger. Glad to meet ye,18
(354)

A FARMER-LOOKING INDIVIDUAL. 335

To which Phil returned an equally courteous saluta
tion.

Though a stranger to Phil, this man evidently was no
stranger to the house. He was, in fact, a resident of the
vicinity and owned a farm a few miles out in the country.
Being in town on business, he had dropped into the hotel
for dinner, as is the custom of those farmers who feel
that they can afford to spend a quarter for a meal now
and then when away from home at meal time.

After nodding to Phil he walked up to the office of
the clerk and was in the act of reaching for one of those
rusty, ink-corroded pens which usually furnish forth the
desks of such hotels, and with which guests are expected
to perform the next to impossible feat of legibly record
ing their names in the hotel register, when from a door
opening into the room back of the counter the landlord
entered and greeted the new comer with :

" Hallo, Johnson! That you ? Glad to see you —
was just wishing you would happen to drop in. Look
here."

The last two words were spoken in a low tone, and
with a kind of confidential air, and as he spoke the land
lord turned the register around and shoved it in front of
his farmer-looking guest, pointing to some entry on one
of its pages.

Now, this register — supposed to be kept for the sole
purpose of registering the names of guests and the time

33^ A POLYGLOT REGISTER.

of their arrival and departure — had become something
unique among hotel registers. Besides being a record,
more or less accurate, of the arrival and departure of an
occasional traveler from foreign parts — that is, from
parts as far away as the next county seat town, or possi
bly a drummer or two from Kansas City — it contained
the names of all the farmers who occasionally dropped
in to dinner, of all the regular boarders written as often
as it occurred to them to do so, and of all the loungers
about town who made the hotel office their headquar
ters, and who, since they never patronized the house to
the extent of so much as a meal of victuals, felt it to be
a duty which they owed to the landlord to help him to
maintain an appearance of brisk business by writing
their names among those of the guests and the regular
boarders at least once a week, and as much oftener as
circumstances seemed to require it of them.

Some of them did still more to make their presence
agreeable to the landlord and apparent to the traveler
who might chance to register there.

Besides their own names, these occasionally wrote
the name of a chum or of some business man or other
citizen of the place, with a prefix denoting the enjoy
ment of civic or military honors. Others, apparently
less ambitious, contented themselves with simply adding
huge flourishes to their own names or in drawing aimless
lines in ink or pencil across the pages. Still others there

PHIL'S JOHN HANCOCK. 337

were who, with an eye to the beautiful in art, added ink
sketches of the landlord or of any person or any thing
that appeared to them as a good subject from which to
draw inspiration.

Now, when Phil had this caricature of a register laid
before him by the good-natured but unmethodical land
lord, with a request to "give us your ' John Hancock,'
stranger, please," the peculiar appearance of the page
upon which he was thus asked to write his name struck
him as requiring something more than ordinary in the
way of a signature. Appreciating this requirement, he
had written, with all the flourishes he could command
and with a superabundance of ink :

" Philip P. P. Johnson."

This was the first time he had ever written his allit
erative signature to any document as any thing but plain
Philip Johnson. For this reason the peculiarity of the
signature struck him as somewhat odd, and he stood with
the pen still in his hand and looked at it for an instant,
as if to photograph upon his memory some thing which
he regarded as a kind of curiosity, the like of which he
never expected to see again. Then he turned away and
other matters engrossed him.

But now the landlord and his jolly guest were evi
dently looking at that signature and discussing the coin
cidence.

Their heads were close together as they leaned over

338 PHIL'S JOHN HANCOCK CHALLENGED.

the counter from opposite sides, the landlord keeping his
finger upon the open page of the register, at which his
guest was looking intently.

During the inspection of the register Phil heard the
landlord say, in a low tone : "That 's him over there."

Then the deeply interested farmer also put a finger
upon the pie-bald register, and appeared to be making a
thorough study of it.

Phil could see the man's finger move along by steps
or jumps, much as an inch worm " measures " his way
across one's path or along a blade of grass. He was evi
dently studying Phil's chirography, and was moving his
finger from one letter to another in an effort to make
certain that there was no mistake about it.

When he had apparently satisfied himself that it was
what it appeared to be, he turned to Phil, who was sit
ting on the opposite side of the room, and called out :

41 1 say, stranger, if it aint bein' too impertinent,
would you mind tellin' me if this is your John Hancock
that 's wrote here ?"

"I reckon it is," replied Phil, good-naturedly.

" An1 your name 's Johnson, an' you actily claim them
there three P's that you 've got attached to your name as
your 'n, do you ?"

1 ' Yes, I reckon they honestly belong to me, though
I don't often put 'em to use," Phil answered.

"Because," continued the other, as if he had not

PHIL'S REJOINDER. 339

heard Phil's reply, "you see, that 's my name, too, and
I thought I had all the P's in the Johnson dish on my
own plate."

He raised his hand and brought it down on his thigh
with a slap, and gave expression to his appreciation of
his own joke in a loud guffaw, while his eyes twinkled
and danced like those of the Santa Claus of our child
hood days, and his whole body shook with merriment.

' ' Well, maybe you did, " returned Phil, willing to aid
the old gentleman enjoy himself. " Maybe you did have
'em, and they just warmed 'em over for me."

The effect of this sally was to break the old fellow up
entirely.

He placed both hands upon his knees, shut his eyes
and mouth and bent himself nearly double, while his
whole person shook like a man with the ague. Then
suddenly his mouth flew open, and a peal of laughter
that could easily have been heard a block away rolled
forth and shook the building. He straightened up with
a jerk which gave a twist to his voice and compelled his
laughter to end with a kind of " whoop-e-e-e, ah!" — a
sort of a cross between the snort of a mad bull and the
scream of a factory engine. And then his body came
together again like a jack-knife, and the operation was
repeated.

"W-h-a-t — what do your P's stand for, young man?"
he asked as soon as breath would permit.

34O FRESH PEAS.

" Well, you see," returned Phil, who was becoming
interested in the entertainment and anxious to have it
continued, "the fact is I sort of inherited two of them.
They were, so to speak, warmed over for me, in the first
place."

Here the joHy man gave a snort, but held on to him
self out of a desire to hear what Phil might have to say
further.

" I was a triplet," continued Phil (another snort from
the old gentleman), " and when the other two died I was
allowed to keep the names which had been given to all
three — because, you see, they did n't exactly know
which of us had died and which was still living."

"And the names?" snorted the other, making effort
to hold himself down.

"The bunch of young Johnsons were named Philip,
Phineas and Philander," replied Phil.

"Then they're mostly fresh Peas," yelled the old
gentleman. ''Mine are Philip Peter Pendegast."

Away he went again, doubling up like a jack-knife,
shaking all over for an instant and then opening out with
a jerk and a " whoop-e-e-e, ah!"

His hilarity attracted the attention of every man in
that end of the town, and brought a dozen of the least
busy among them around to the hotel on purpose "to
hear old man Johnson laugh."

This was not an entirely new experience with them,

AN HONOR TO THE NAME. 341

for the old fellow was in the habit of coming to town
about once a week, and whenever he was known to be
in town everybody who felt a necessity for having a good
laugh was sure to gather about him.

The old gentleman often declared, with a snort :
"The blues and me have never camped under the same
blanket."

When this last ebullition of laughter had subsided,
the old fellow came over to where Phil sat and shook his
hand.

"I 'm mighty glad to have seed you, young man," he
said. " You are an honor to the name you bear, and I
don't (with a snort) begrudge you the single warmed-up
P of mine which your parients gin you ; and, jnoreover,
I reckon I have got something of more value — consider
ing Peas is so plenty (another snort) in our family — that
belongs to you. Now, if you will go out home with me,
or, if you can't do that, if you will wait until I gallop
out and back, I '11 turn it over to you 'thout sayin' any
thing about what you 've got of mine. Maybe it aint
your 'n, but I reckon it is. It 's a letter which I got
outen the post office at Caldwell, two or three years ago
— or, rather, one of the boys, a young fellow what lives
with us, did — and I forgot all about it till just the other
day.

4< You see, we camped down near there once — when
we first came to the State — and we had our mail come

342 THE MISSING LETTER.

there. This letter I 'm telling you about came there and
was taken out by one of my folks, as I was saying, who
put it in his coat pocket, where it slipped down through
the linin', where my wife found it only t'other day, when
she was a-rippin' the thing up for to make carpet rags
outen.

"She s'posed, in course, it was mine, and having a
natural curiosity to know what was inside, she tore the
thing open. But it was n't for me nor for any of my
family, and I reckon it must be for you.

"I hope the loss on 't haint caused you any special
oneasiness."

"Whether it has or not, you certainly are not to
blame in the matter," replied Phil.

"I have not received many letters — at least, was not
receiving many at the time you got this out of the post
office at Caldwell — and it is difficult to tell what effect it
might have had upon me. But it does not matter now.
I imagine it is a letter from my mother, failing to get
which I wandered off still farther, and have never since
returned to the old home or seen any of my own people
— not one."

" Are that a fact, " the old man commented, rather
than asked. "Wall, now, let me give you a little ad
vice. We are sort of relations, you know — both John
sons, and also we both got part of our P's from the same
patch."

THE OLD LETTER. 343

Here the old man's eyes twinkled, and his body gave
indications of the doubling up process.

"What I 'm wantin' to say to you is this : If that
letter is your 'n, an' was writ by your mother, she 's a
mighty good woman ; an' if you are a good son you '11
not waste any time in goin' back an' givin' her another
look at you.

" You see, wife and I read the letter, 'cause we could
not exactly understand how there could be two Johnsons
with so many P's to their names, and we kept wonderin'
what it could all mean — the finding of it there, and all
that — till finally the boy, who is older now and not afraid
of owning up to any mistakes which he makes, told us
how he remembered getting a letter out of the post office
at Caldwell and losin' it, and then we guessed that this
was that letter, and that it was writ to somebody else.
So we read it all over again, tryin' to find out who writ
it so as we could send it back, but it did n't have no
name signed to it 'ceptin' just ' Mother,' and no place of
startin' 'ceptin' just 'Home,' but it was full of lovin'
messages, and if it had really been writ to me, and she
that writ it was my mother, I 'd feel like skipping back
pretty lively for fear she got tired of waitin' for me here,
and crossed over the river to do the rest o' the waitin'
where maybe it will be easier doin' of it."

"You see," he added, in an apologetical kind of a
way, 4 * you see, wife and I have got a boy out in the

344 PETER AND PENDEGAST DONATED.

world somewhere — we don't know where — and that sort
of enables me to understand how your parients must
feel about you."

There was moisture in Phil's eyes when he put out
his hand again and heartily shook that of the farmer-
looking individual.

When they had shaken hands, Phil spoke with more
than usual deliberation :

' * I am going to start for the old home inside of a
week. It shall not be longer. I ought to have gone a
year ago. In truth, I should never have left my home
on the Wabash."

If there had been no moisture in his own eyes, Phil
might have seen something suspiciously like it in those
of the reminiscent old farmer, as he took his proffered
hand.

"That 's right, young man — that 's right. Go back
to the old folks and let 'em set eyes on ye once more.
They won't be ashamed of your looks — could n't be, if
you looked a heap wuss than you do."

Here the moisture left the old man's eyes, and they
began to twinkle again.

4 'Young man, take your parients my best compli
ments, and tell 'em if they want to use any more of my
P's they 're welcome. Bein' they 've got Philip, they can
have both Peter and Pendegast if they can find ekally
good use for 'em, "

MOTHER'S MISLAID MESSAGE. 345

And again he started off with a snort and ended up
with a whistle.

# *

After eating dinner together, Phil rode out home with
his new acquaintance.

There he was handed the letter written to him by his
mother four years before, and for the first time read the
loving message which it contained.

CHAPTER XXIII.

BACK TO THE LITTLE OLD TOWN ON THE WABASH — THE
WEDDING BELLS RESOUND.

A week later Phil made his report at headquarters,
and then took the next train for his old home in the State
of Indiana.

It all seemed to him as if he were in a dream, as ne
went bowling along across the prairies and by the banks
of the rivers and through the woodlands — seemed as if
his whole life had been a dream, and as if he were not
yet fully awakened.

Possibly it was a dream, and he had not awakened,
but was still dreaming. Perchance that is true which
is taught by the occultists, and which they claim to have
proven, that the real is the spiritual and that which we
regard as the real is but a dream — an illusion of the
senses from which we shall awaken some time, to know
the truth and to live. it.

KIND OF BROWN. S4f

Now, if it was a dream — this reverie <?f Phil's — it
was twice dreamed. For as he rode along he went back
in his thoughts over his whole life. He saw again each
incident which had occurred since his earliest memory —
his boyhood days, the happy days spent with Nettie on
the ferry, the weeding of the truck patch, the hunting
for hogs in the river bottom, the little incidents or acci
dents that brought him joy or sorrow, the running away
and the life upon the plains, the herding and the stam
pede, the circle of cow boys about a hundred camp fires,
the range and the stockade and the herd at the foot of
the Guadalupe Mountains, the attack of the Apaches
and — Brown.

His dream changed a little at the thought of Brown,
and he changed the position of his body to correspond
with it.

" I wonder how Brown is and how he is getting on?
Too bad I did not answer his last letter," he told him
self. ' ( Reckon he 's all right, though ; said he 'd got a
boy, and his name was Phil. Kind of Brown to remem
ber his old pard in that way. But, then, Sam never was
a man to forget his friends. He shall not get far ahead
of me in that way, though. I '11 ask Nettie to name our
first "

Again the current of his dream changed, and away
he went on a new trail.

Arrived at his destination, he got oft the cars at a

348 THE LITTLE OLD TOWN.

station five miles from the little town on the Wabash,
and walked out.

He had not written to let the folks know at just what
time to expect him, and consequently no one was there
to meet him. He preferred walking to being taken out
by a strange/.

Phil wanted to see the old town for the first time
with no one by to break in upon his thoughts with idle
talk, and he wanted to come upon the folks unawares,
so that he might enjoy their surprise, as well as see if his
parents and others who had not seen him since he was a
boy would recognize him.

The country about the railroad station where he left
the train was changed, of course. He expected to find
changes there.

Railroads bring business ; they push and hurry peo
ple ; they whistle and roar and scream at folks ; they
compel them to be up and doing. One can not sleep in
front of a railroad train nor fish from the rear platform.

If a railroad had been built through the little old
town on the Wabash to which he was going, even it
would have been compelled to wake up,, and its inhabit
ants to cease to sit in the sun and fish.

Phil realized this, and he was not surprised to find
the country about the railroad station so changed that
he scarcely knew where he was.

As he drew away from it things began to look more

SCME CHANGES. 349

familiar — enough so that he could at least tell exactly
what and where the changes were.

That is the same log house that was there when he
went away, but the barn has been built since, and the
orchard has grown — that is, the trees have.

They were only just coming into bearing when he
left. He remembered that because, he had once been
tempted to hook a few apples from one of the trees at
the lower end of the orchard, and had been deterred by
the fear that he might be seen from the house, the trees
being so small as not to screen one from observation,
while now the house could not be seen at all from where
he stood.

Over there, a little farther on, somebody had cut a
field out of the river bottom. That must have been
recently, last year or the year before ; the stumps yet
had the bark on them, and the ground had never been
broken with a mould board, but just harrowed over
probably, and seeded down for pasture. Some of the
logs lay yet where they fell, or where ineffectual efforts
had been made to consume them in heaps by fire.

It was almost sundown when he came in sight of the
old home and the little town itself. He did not have to
cross the river to reach it. He almost wished he did,
and by the ferry, and he wondered whether, if he had
had to do so, Nettie would have been there to ferry him
across. She was here now, and living with her father's

350 IS IT MY BOY?

family in the little old cabin, just as they used to when
he and she were children. There was a frame addition
to it now.

As he approached the old home, his father's house,
he began to wonder whether his mother would not be
standing in the doorway, looking out for him, just as he
had found her doing many a time when he had been late
!n getting in from the river bottom, or from an errand to
a farmer's somewhere ; and as he came nearer still, he
looked again, half expecting she would be there in the
door.

And was it really true — this seeming ? Was that she,
his mother ? Was she really looking out, and had she
been watching for him thus all these years ?

Yes, it was she, his mother — older and grayer, but
looking a good deal as she had done when he saw her
last. She has shaded her eyes with her hand now, just
as he had seen her do many times before at his approach,
striving thus to see a little more clearly, that she might
know whether he who approached was her long-absent
Philip.

"Is it Philip ? Is it my boy ?"

The tones were trembling, eager, expectant. So Phil
made haste to relieve her suspense.

' ' Yes, mother, it is your boy — come back to ask for
giveness for having gone away. "

And in another instant she had her arms about her

THE OLD HOME. 351

son's neck, and each was weeping upon the other's shoul
der tears of joy.

' ' Nettie is well, and so are all the rest of Mr. Mc-
Kinley's folks," said Phil's mother.

The first greetings between Phil and the other mem
bers of his father's family were over, and Phil was seated
in front of the old familiar brick fire-place, for which he
used to cut wood when he was a boy. A little fire was
smoldering in the great wide space between the two
jams ; for, although it was Spring again, and the grass
was green and the flowers were in bloom outside, it was
cool indoors, especially as evening approached. So just
a little fire was allowed to smolder away among the ashes
all the day through.

Phil looked down at the chair on which he sat to see
if it was one of the same old splint-bottom affairs, with
straight back, which he remembered as a part of the old
household riches. But it was not. There might possi
bly be one or two yet about the kitchen, or in the bed
chamber above, with the ladder leading to it ; but there
was not one in sight — a fact which Phil regretted.

Every thing else was just the same as he remembered

352

it before he went away. The same bed, with its woolen
counterpane, in which there were woven in varied colors
all sorts of improbable birds and beasts and vegetable
growths, stood in the corner just as it did, and it had
about it, and concealing the floor beneath it, the same,
or what looked like the same, calico short curtains or
11 va(ances."

The same old clock stood upon the mantel, and
swung its pendulum back and forth and ticked away in
exactly the same tone of voice that it had when he first
remembered it. Nothing was changed in the least that
he could see — nothing but the chairs.

" Nettie will be over pretty soon, I reckon. She
comes over pretty nearly every evening to know if we
have heard from you," continued Phil's mother, not for
getting in her own joy at the return of the prodigal that
he must be eager to see his sweetheart.

Oh, these mothers ! Always looking and longing for
the presence of your children ; bound up in them ; ever
anxious for them ; willing even to surrender your own
happiness, that theirs may be increased !

Who, among us all, has ever appreciated the beauty
and goodness of a mother's love ?

Nettie came a few minutes later by the back way,
and into the kitchen.

They heard a little "tat-tat," at the kitchen door,
and then the latch was lifted and Nettie entered without

REUNITED. 353

waiting to be bidden. She came so often, and was so
soon to be a daughter to Mrs. Johnson, that she was
looked upon as one of the family.

Mrs. Johnson had always liked Nettie, and after Phil
went away, and during the years in which they heard
nothing of him, she and Nettie had consoled each other
oftentimes.

Without asking or being told in words, Phil's mother
knew that this girl loved her boy, and for that alone she
was ready to love her in return, though in truth she did
love her for herself, and grew to love her more with the
passing years.

"Come in here, Nettie," called Mrs. Johnson from
the room where they all were, at the same time starting
toward the kitchen and dragging Phil's father along with
her.

Meeting her at the door, she pushed Nettie in and
her husband out, following him herself after waiting only
long enough to hear the girl's little scream of surprise
and joy as she saw who was there and to see Phil ris*
from his chair and stretch out his arms to enfold her.

Then she went to work getting supper. And such a
supper as she got !

From somewhere about the kitchen, or from the cup
board in the sitting room, or from the out-door cellar,
there came forth stores of preserves and canned fruits
and jams and other good things in such profusion as only

354 HAPPY WITH THEIR CHILDREN.

housewives like Mrs. Johnson know how to make, and
as only such set forth with equal lavishness when they
would get a meal for those whom they love or desire to
honor.

He who has never sat as the honored guest at such *
table has missed one of the best things of life, and can
know but little about genuine hospitality.

Nettie came from the sitting room after a time, and
helped about the supper.

Her face was a little more rosy and her eyes brightet
than usual, no doubt, but Phil's mother did not seem ta
notice it. Her own step was lighter, and there was a
glow in her own eyes that had not been there before for
years ; and if there was in Nettie's also, it was nothing
she need to appear to know of or to question.

After supper Mr. Johnson went over to Mr. McKin-
ley's house and brought the whole family back with him,
for he knew they would be uneasy about Nettie if she did
not return soon, and anxious to see Phil if they knew he
had arrived, and for that first evening they could not let
Phil go from beneath their own roof — at least, his fond
mother could not. And so the McKinleys all came over
to the Johnsons.

The McKinleys were not all actually brought over by
Mr. Johnson — not the younger ones. They broke across
lots on the run as soon as they learned of Phil's arrival,
and Mrs. McKinley only waited to throw a shawl over

MR. M'KINLEY EXTENDS WELCOME. 355

her head before she followed after, leaving her husband
to return with Phil's father in a more dignified, though
somewhat hurried, manner.

The greeting between Phil and the younger members
of the McKinley family was a bit boisterous.

They regarded him as a brother, an older brother —
but as one with whom there was no necessity for any
reserve — and they exhibited none in their expressions of
joy at meeting again. Even Mrs. McKinley kissed him,
and turned away to wipe a few tears from her eyes with
the corner of her gingham apron.

Phil was a son to her already, and one in whom she
had learned to repose the greatest confidence and for
whom she had the deepest affection.

Then came Mr. McKinley.

He entered the house with Phil's father, and as those
already there and gathered about Phil gave way for him
the two men clasped hands, and shook long and with
honest warmth.

Then Mr. McKinley spoke :

" I welcome you back to your native town, Philip,
and I have already told your parents and all who have
inquired about you that you are an honor to the place of
your birth ; yes, Sir, an honor to the place of your
birth."

And then, as a memory of the scenes and incidents
through which they had both passed and the kindness

356 WE 'LL BEAT 'EM YET.

and respect with which Phil had invariably treated him
flashed upon his mind, he hastily passed the back of his
hand across his eyes, and exclaimed :

" We '11 beat 'em yet, Philip. We '11 beat 'em yet,
and we '11 all go back to the Canadian River together. A
bill to make Oklahoma a Territory was introduced in
Congress today."

Two weeks later the residents of the little town on
the Wabash were all gathered together at the McKinley
residence, on the bank of the river near the ferry, to see
Phil and Nettie married.

By all the " residents" is meant only the citizens who
are classed as belonging to the genus homo.

The other citizens, free and independent though they
were, had not been included in the invitation, and for
this reason they continued their usual vocations, as on
other days.

The hogs rooted at will in the streets or else went on

NOW MR. AND MRS. 357

excursions to the river bottoms in search for the roots of
the wild pea, the same as they had done all these years
since the little town first squatted there ; and the dogs
lay in the shade and contended with their enemies, the
fleas — just as they will do to the end of this chapter,
which is the end of the story.

The old ferry boat lay fastened to its moorings, with
the same long line of canoes stretched out behind it that
were there when Nettie and Phil used to run it years ago,
for it was still a convenience to a few people. Though
now no one tended it regularly, yet any one who chose
to used it, and to those living close by it was worth the
little repairs which it occasionally needed, as the mend
ing of a broken plank or the replacing of a rope.

But now it was arched over with branches of trees
and decked out with flowers and a flag — the flag of our
country, the Stars and Stripes — which floated from a
pole erected at what was the bow, as the old craft lay at
its moorings.

After the ceremony and after everybody had kissed
the bride, wished joy to the groom and eaten of the wed
ding feast until filled, Phil and Nettie — that is to say,
Mr. and Mrs. Philip Phineas Philander Johnson — were
escorted down to the landing and aboard the boat. As
many of the company as could crowd on board with the
bridal couple did so. The chain was then loosened, and
they swung away across the stream.

3 £8 SUCH AS WILL.

Not once only, but a score of times, did they make
the passage. Now Nettie held the tiller and now Phil,
and now some one else among the gay crowd. When
the dark of evening came they were yet at it, and for an
hour later still the sound of laughter and singing came
floating up from the landing.

At last, grown weary of the swinging back and forth
across the river, the crowd was mustered into line to
escort the bride and groom in becoming style to the resi
dence of Johnson pere. This riding back and forth on
the ferry boat was all there was to be of their wedding
journey.

Neither of the high contracting parties desired more.

' * When Oklahoma is declared open by act of Con
gress," they said, ' ' then we will make a longer wedding
journey, across hill and vale and river and mountain, to
our claim and our home in that fair country ; and such
of our friends as will may go with us."

THE PLAINS.

CHAPTER I.

FROM THE MISSOURI RIVER TO THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS —
THE TREES — THE HERBAGE — THE BUFFALO — INDIAN

WARRIOR AND HIS PONY THE INSECTS THE MIRAGE

— WATER — THE WICHITA MOUNTAINS — THE INDIANS.

It is but a few years ago that every school boy, who
was supposed to possess the rudiments of a knowledge
of the geography of the United States, could give the
boundaries and a general description of the ' ' Great
American Desert."

As to the boundaries, the knowledge seemed to be
quite explicit : On the north, bounded by the Upper
Missouri, on the east by the Lower Missouri and Missis
sippi, on the south by Texas, and on the west by the
Rocky Mountains.

The bounUaries on the northwest and south remained

360 THE PLAINS.

undisturbed, while on the east civilization, propelled and
directed by Yankee enterprise, adopted the motto :

< < Westward the Star of Empire Takes Its Way."

Countless throngs of emigrants crossed the Missis
sippi and Missouri rivers, selecting homes in the rich and
fertile territories lying beyond. Each year this tide of
emigration, strengthened and increased by the constant
flow from foreign shores, advanced toward the setting
sun, slowly but surely narrowing the preconceived limits
of the " Great American Desert," and correspondingly
enlarging the limits of civilization.

At last the geographical myth was dispelled. It was
gradually discerned that the " Great American Desert"
did not exist ; that it had no abiding place, but that
within its supposed limits, and instead of what had been
regarded as a sterile and unfruitful tract of land, incapa
ble of sustaining either man or beast, there existed the
fairest and richest portion of the National domain —
blessed with a climate pure, bracing and healthful, while
its undeveloped soil rivaled, if it did not surpass, the
most productive portions of the Eastern, Middle and
Southern States.

Discarding the name " Great American Desert," this
immense tract of country, with its eastern boundary
moved back by civilization to a distance of nearly three
hundred miles west of the Missouri River, is now known
as ' * The Plains. " The Indian tribes which have caused

AS THE EYE SEES, 361

the government most anxiety and whose depredations
have been most serious against our frontier settlements
and prominent lines of travel across The Plains infest
that portion of The Plains bounded on the north by the
Valley of the Platte River and its tributaries, on the
east by a line running north and south between the 9/th
and 98th meridians, on the south by the Valley of the
Arkansas River and west by the Rocky Mountains.

Of the many persons whom I have met on The
Plains, as transient visitors from the States or from dif
ferent parts of Europe, there were but few who have not
expressed surprise that their original ideas concerning
the appearance and characteristics of the country were
so far from correct, or that The Plains in imagination,
as described in books, tourists' letters and reports from
various scientific parties, differed so widely from The
Plains as they actually exist and appear to the eye.

Travelers, writers of fiction and journalists have
spoken and written a great deal concerning this immense
territory, so unlike in all its qualities and characteristics
to the settled and cultivated portions of the United
States ; but to a person familiar with the country the
conclusion is forced, upon reading these published de
scriptions, either that the writers never visited more than
a limited portion of the country which they aim to pict
ure or — as is most commonly the case at the present day
-»-that the journey was made in a stage coach or railway

362 SOME PECULIARITIES.

car, half of the distance traveled in the night time and
but occasional glimpses taken during the day. A journey
by rail across The Plains is at best but ill-adapted to a
thorough and satisfactory examination of the general
character of the country, for the reason that in selecting
the routes for railroads the valley of some stream is, if
practicable, usually chosen to contain the road bed. The
valley being considerably lower than the adjacent coun
try, the view of the tourist is correspondingly limited.

Moreover, the vastness and varied character of this
immense tract could not fairly be determined or judged
by a flying trip across one portion of it. One would
scarcely expect an accurate opinion to be formed of the
swamps of Florida from a railroad journey from New
York to Niagara.

After indulging in criticisms on the written descrip
tions of The Plains, I might reasonably be expected to
enter into what I conceive a correct description, but I
forbear. Beyond a general outline embracing some of
the peculiarities of this slightly known portion of our
country, the limit and character of these sketches of
Western life will not permit me to go.

The idea entertained by the greater number of people
regarding the appearance of The Plains, while incorrect
so far as the latter are concerned, is quite accurate and
truthful if applied to the prairies of the Western States.
It is probable, too, that romance writers, and even tour-

MISSOURI RIVER TO ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 363

ists at an earlier day, mistook the prairies for plains, and
in describing the one imagined they were describing the
other. But the two have little in common to the eye of
the beholder, save the general absence of trees.

From the Missouri River to the Rockies.

In proceeding from the Missouri River to the base of
the Rocky Mountains the ascent, although gradual, is
quite rapid. For example, at Fort Riley, Kansas, the
bed of Kansas River is upward of l,ooo feet above the
level of the sea, while Fort Hays, at a distance of nearly
150 miles farther west, is about 1, 500 feet above the sea
level.

Starting from almost any point near the central por
tion of The Plains, and moving in any direction, one
seems to encounter a series of undulations at a more or
less remote distance from each other, but constantly in
view.

Comparing the surface of the country to that of the
ocean, a comparison often indulged in by those who have
seen both, it does not require a very great stretch of the
imagination, when viewing this expansive ocean of beau
tiful living verdure, to picture these successive undula
tions as gigantic waves, not wildly chasing each other to
or from the shore, but standing silent and immovable,
and by their silent immobility adding to the impressive
grandeur of the scene.

364 LAND WAVES.

These undulations, varying in height from 50 to $00
feet, are sometimes formed of a light sandy soil, but are
often composed of different varieties of rock, producing
at a distance the most picturesque effect.

The constant recurrence of these waves, if they may
be so termed, is most puzzling to the inexperienced
plainsman. He imagines — and very naturally, too, he
judging from appearances — that when he ascends to the
crest he can overlook all the surrounding country. After
a weary walk or ride of perhaps several miles, which
appeared at starting not more than one or two, he finds
himself at the desired point, but discovers that directly
beyond, in the direction he desires to go, rises a second
wave, but slightly higher than the first, and from the
crest of which he must certainly be able to scan the
country as far as the eye can reach.

Thither he pursues his course, and after a ride of five
to ten miles, although the distance did not seem half so
great before starting, he finds himself on the crest — or,
as it is invariably termed, the ' ' divide " — but again only
to discover that another and apparently a higher divide
rises in his front, and at about the same distance as the
preceding one.

Hundreds of miles — yes, even thousands of them —
may be journeyed over, and this same effect will be wit
nessed every few hours. The traveler who would avoid
this optical illusion must post himself before starting,

THE TREES.

The Trees and Grasses— " Long Forage."

As you proceed toward the West from the Missouri
the size of the trees diminishes, as well as the number
of kinds.

As you penetrate the borders of the Indian country,
leaving civilization behind you, the sight of forests is no
longer enjoyed. The only trees to be seen are scattered
along the banks of the streams, these becoming smaller
and sparser, finally disappearing altogether and giving
place to a few scattering willows and osiers.

The greater portion of The Plains may be said to be
without timber of any kind.

As to the cause of this absence scientific men dis
agree, some claiming that the high winds which prevail
in unobstructed force prevent the growth and existence
of trees and also the taller grasses. This theory is well
supported by facts, as, unlike the Western prairies,
where the grass often attains a height sufficient to con
ceal a man on horseback, The Plains are covered by a
grass which rarely, and only under favorable circum
stances, exceeds three inches in height.

Another theory, also somewhat plausible, is that the
entire region called The Plains were at one time covered
with timber more or less dense, but this timber, owing

366 COTTONWOOD FORAGE.

to various causes, was destroyed, and has since been pre
vented from growing and spreading over that area by the
annual fires which the Indians regularly create, and
which sweep over the entire region. These fires are
built by the Indians during the Autumn to burn the dried
grass and hasten the growth of the pasturage in the early
Spring.

Favoring the theory that The Plains were at one time
covered with forests is the fact that entire trunks of large
trees have been found in a state of petrifaction on ele
vated portions of the country, and far removed from all
streams of water.

While dwarfed specimens of almost all varieties of
trees are found fringing the banks of some of the
streams, the prevailing species are cottonwood and pop
lar trees (populus monilifera and populus angulosa).
Intermingled with these are found clumps of osiers
(salix longifolia).

In almost any other portion of the country the cot
tonwood would be the least desirable of trees. But to
the Indians and also to United States troops, in many
instances which have fallen under my observation, the
eottonwood has performed a service for which no other
tree has been found its equal. That is as forage for the
horses and mules during the Winter season, when the
snow prevents even dried grass from being obtainable.
During the Winter campaign of 1868-9 against the hos«

THE HERBAGE. 367

tile tribes south of the Arkansas, it not unfrequently
happened that my command, while in pursuit of Indians,
exhausted its supply of forage, and the horses and mules
were subsisted upon the young bark of the cottonwood
tree. In routing the Indians from their Winter villages,
we invariably discovered them located upon that point
of the stream promising the greatest supply of cotton-
wood bark, while the stream in the vicinity of the village
was completely shorn of its supply of timber, and the
village itself was strewn with the white branches of the
cottonwood, entirely stripped of their bark.

It was somewhat amusing to observe an Indian pony
feeding on cottonwood bark. The limb being usually
cut into pieces about four feet in length and thrown upon
the ground, the pony, accustomed to this kind of "long
forage," would place one fore foot on the limb in the
same manner as a dog secures a bone, and gnaw the
bark from it.

Although not affording anything like the amount of
nutriment which either hay or grain does, yet our horses
invariably preferred the bark to either — probably because
of its freshness.

The Herbagec

The herbage to be found on the principal portion of
The Plains is usually sparse and stunted in its growth.
Along the banks of the streams and in the bottom lands

368 BUFFALO GRASS.

grows, generally in rich abundance, a species of grass
often found in the States east of the Mississippi, but on
the uplands is produced what is there known as ' * buffalo
grass. " This is indigenous and peculiar in its character,
differing in form and substance from all other grasses.
The blade, under favorable circumstances, reaches a
growth usually of three to five inches, but instead of
being straight, or approximately so, it assumes a curled
or waving shape, the grass itself becoming densely mat
ted and giving to the foot, when walking upon it, a sen
sation similar to that produced by stepping upon moss or
the most costly of velvet carpets.

Nearly all graminivorous animals inhabiting The
Plains, except the elk and some species of the deer, pre
fer the buffalo grass to that of the lowland, and it is
probable that even these exceptions would not prove
good if it were not for the timber on the bottom land,
which affords good cover to both the elk and the deer.
Both are often found in large herds grazing upon the up
lands, although the grass is far more luxuriant and plen
tiful on the lowlands. This fact would seem to be suffi
cient to show a distinct liking for this grass, if not their
preference as a food.

Our domestic animals invariably chose the buffalo
grass, and experience demonstrates beyond question that
it is the most nutritious of all the varieties of the many
wild grasses of this extensive region.

TUB BUFFALO. 369

The Buffalo.

The favorite range of the buffalo is contained in a
belt of country running north and south, about 200 miles
wide and extending from the Platte River on the north
to the valley of the Upper Canadian on the south. In
migrating, if not grazing or alarmed, the buffalo invaria
bly moves in single file, the column generally being
headed by a patriarch of the herd, who is not only
familiar with the topography of the country, but whose
prowess " in the field " entitles him to become the leader
of his herd. He maintains this leadership only so long
as his strength and courage enable him to remain the
successful champion in the innumerable contests which
he is called upon to undertake.

The buffalo trails are always objects of interest and
inquiry to the sight-seer on The Plains. These trails,
made by the herds in their migrating movements, are so
regular in their construction and course as to well excite
curiosity. They vary but little from eight to ten inches
in width, and are usually from two to four inches in
depth. Their course is almost as unvarying as that ol
the needle, running north and south. Of the thousands
of buffalo trails which I have seen, I recollect none oi
which the general direction was not north and south.

37° BUFFALO WALLOWS.

This may seem somewhat surprising at first thought, but
it admits of a simple and satisfactory explanation.

The general direction of all streams, large and small,
on The Plains is from west to east, apparently seeking
debouchement in the Mississippi.

The habits of the buffalo incline him to graze and
migrate from one stream to another, moving northward
and crossing each in succession as he follows the young
grass in the Spring, and in the Autumn and Winter mov
ing southward, seeking the milder climate and open
grazing. Throughout the buffalo country are to be seen
what are termed " buffalo wallows." The number of
these is so great as to excite surprise. A modest esti
mate would give three to each acre of ground throughout
this vast tract of country. These wallows are about
eight feet in diameter and from six to eighteen inches in
depth, and are made by the buffalo bulls in the Spring,
when challenging a rival to combat for the favor of the
opposite sex. The ground is broken by pawing — if an
animal with a cloven hoof can be said to paw — and if
the challenge is accepted, as it usually is, the combat
takes place. After the fight the victor remains in pos
session of the battle field, and, occupying the " wallow "
of freshly upturned earth, finds it produces a cooling
sensation to his hot and gory sides. Sometimes the vic
tory which gives possession of the battle field and drives
a hated antagonist away is purchased at a dear price,

INDIAN WARRIOR AND HIS PONY.

The carcass of the victor is often found in the wallow,
where his brief triumph has soon terminated from his
wounds.

In the early Spring, during the shedding season, the
buffalo resorts to his "wallow" to aid in removing his
old coat. These " wallows" have proven of no little
benefit to man, as well as to animals other than the buf
falo. After a heavy rain they become filled with water,
the soil being of such a compact character as to retain
it. It has not unfrequently been the case when making
long marches that the streams would be found dry, while
water in abundance could be obtained from the '^wal
lows. " True, it was not of the best quality, particularly
if it had been standing long and the buffalo had patron
ized the ' ' wallows " as summer resorts. But on The
Plains a thirsty man or beast, far from any stream of
water, does not parley long with these considerations.

The Indian Warrior and His Pony.

Surely no race of men, not even the famous Cos
sacks, could display more wonderful skill in feats of
horsemanship than the Indian warrior on his native
plains, mounted on his well-trained war pony, volunta
rily running the gauntlet of his foes, drawing and receiv
ing the fire of hundreds of rifles, and in return sending
back a perfect shower of arrows or well-directed shots
from some souvenir of a peace commission in the shape

372 HOW PONIES ARE GRADED.

of an improved breech-leader. The Indian warrior is
capable of assuming positions on his pony, the latter at
full speed, which no one but an Indian could maintain a
single instant without being thrown to the ground. The
pony, of course, is perfectly trained, and he seems to be
possessed of the spirit of his rider.

An Indian's wealth is most generally expressed by the
number of his ponies. No warrior or chief is of any
importance or distinction who is not the owner of a herd
of ponies numbering from twenty to many hundreds. He
has for each special purpose a certain number of ponies,
those that are kept as pack animals being the most infe
rior in quality and value. Then come the ordinary riding
ponies used on the march, about camp and when visiting
neighboring villages. Next in consideration is the "buf
falo pony," trained to the hunt, and only employed when
dashing into the midst of the huge buffalo herds, when
the object is either food from the flesh or clothing and
shelter for the lodges, to be made from the buffalo hide.
In the first grade, considering its value and importance,
is the "war pony," the favorite of the herd — fleet of
foot, quick in intelligence and full of courage. It may
be safely asserted that the first place in the heart of the
warrior is held by his faithful and obedient war pony.

Indians are extremely fond of bartering, and they are
not behindhand in catching the good points of a bargain.
They will sign treaties rjglinquishing their lands and agree

EAGER FOR BARTER. 373

to forsake the burial grounds of their forefathers. They
will part, for due consideration, with their bows and
arrows and their accompanying quivers, handsomely
wrought in dressed furs. Even their lodges may be pur
chased at not an unfair valuation, and it is not an
unusual thing for a chief or warrior to offer to exchange
his wife or daughter for some article which may have
taken his fancy. This is no exaggeration. But no In
dian of The Plains has ever been known to trade, sell or
barter away his favorite "war pony." To the warrior
his battle horse is as the apple of his eye. Neither love
nor money can induce him to part with it. To see them
in battle, and to witness how the one almost becomes a
part of the other, one might well apply to the warrior

the lines :

But this gallant

Had witchcraft in 't. He grew into his seat,
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse.
As he had been encorpsed and demi-natured
With the brave beast, so far he passed my thought.
That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks,
Come short of what he did.

The Insects*

Wherever water is found on The Plains, particularly
if it is standing, innumerable gadflies and mosquitoes
generally abound. To such an extent do these pests to
the animal kingdom exist that to our thinly coated ani-

374 THE INSECTS.

mals, such as the horse and mule, grazing is almost an
impossibility. But the buffalo, with his thick and shaggy
coat, can browse undisturbed. The most sanguinary and
determined of these troublesome pests are the " buffalo
flies." They move in myriads, and so violent and pain
ful are their assaults upon horses that a herd of the latter
has been known to stampede as the result of an attack
from a swarm of these flies.

But here, again, is furnished what some reasoners
would affirm is evidence of ' ' the eternal fitness of
things." In most localities where these flies are found
in troublesome numbers there are also found flocks of
starlings, a species of blackbird. These, probably more
to obtain a livelihood than to become defenders of the
helpless, perch themselves upon the backs of the ani
mals, and woe betide the helpless gadfly who ventures
near, only to become a choice morsel for the starling.

In this way I have seen herds of horses grazing un
disturbed, each horse of the many hundreds having
perched upon his back from one to dozens of starlings,
standing guard over him while he grazed.

The Mirage.

About the first subject which addresses itself to the
mind of the stranger on The Plains, particularly if he be
of a philosophical or scientific turn of mind, is the
mirage, which is here observed in all its perfection.

THE MIRAGE. 375

Many a weary mile of the traveler has been whiled
away in endeavors to account for the fitful and beauti
fully changing visions presented by the mirage. Some
times the distortions are wonderful, and so natural as to
deceive the most experienced eye.

Upon one occasion I met a young officer who had
spent several years upon The Plains and in the Indian
country. He was, on the occasion alluded to, in com
mand of a detachment of cavalry in pursuit of a party
of Indians who had been committing depredations on the
frontier.

While riding at the head of his command he sud
denly discovered, as he thought, a party of Indians not
more than a mile distant. The latter seemed to be gal
loping toward him. The attention of his men was
called to them, and they pronounced them Indians on
horseback.

The "trot" was sounded, and the column moved
forward to the attack. The distance between the attack
ing party and the supposed foe was rapidly diminishing,
the Indians appearing plainer to view each moment.

The charge was about to be sounded, when the dis
covery was made that the supposed party of Indians
consisted of the decayed carcasses of half a dozen slain
buffaloes, which number had been magnified by the
mirage, while the peculiar motion imparted by the latter
had given the appearance of Indians on horseback.

3/6 THIRSTY TRAVELERS MISLED.

I have seen a train of government wagons with white
canvas covers moving through a mirage, which, by ele
vating the wagons to treble their height and magnifying
the size of the covers, presented the appearance of a
line of large sailing vessels under full sail, while the
usual appearance of the mirage gave a correct likeness
of an immense lake or sea. Sometimes the mirage has
been the cause of frightful suffering and death because
of its deceptive appearance.

Trains of emigrants making their way to California
and Oregon have, while seeking water to quench their
thirst and that of their animals, been induced to depart
from their course in the endeavor to reach the inviting
lake of water which the mirage displayed before their
longing eyes.

It is usually represented at a distance "of five to ten
miles. Sometimes, if the nature of the ground is favor
able, it is dispelled by advancing toward it ; at others it
is like an ignis fatuus — hovering in sight, but keeping
beyond reach. Here and there throughout this region
are pointed out the graves of those who are said to have
been led astray by the mirage until their bodies were
famished and they succumbed to thirst.

Water.

The routes usually chosen for travel aero? . he Plains
may be said to furnish, upon an average w»*~

ANIMAL SUMMER RESORTS. 377

fifteen miles. In some instances, however, and during
the hot season of the year, it is necessary in places to go
into what is termed "a dry camp" — that is, to encamp
where there is no water. In such emergencies, with a
previous knowledge of the route, it is practicable to
transport from the last camp a sufficient quantity to sat
isfy the demands of the people composing the train, but
the dumb brutes must trust to the little moisture ob
tained from the night grazing to quench their thirst.

The animals inhabiting The Plains resemble in some
respects the fashionable society of some of our larger
cities. During the extreme heat of the summer they
forsake their accustomed haunts and seek a more delight
ful retreat. For, although The Plains are drained by
streams of all sizes, from the navigable river to the hum
blest brook, yet at certain seasons the supply of water
in many of them is of the most uncertain character. The
pasturage, from the excessive heat, the lack of sufficient
moisture and the withering hot winds which sweep across
from the south, becomes dried, withered and burnt, and
is rendered incapable of sustaining life. Then it is that
the animals usually found on The Plains disappear for a
short time, and await the return of a milder season.

The Wichita Mountains.

Having briefly grouped the prominent features of the
central Plains, a reference to the country north of Texas

3/8 THE WICHITA MOUNTAINS,

and in which the Wichita Mountains are located, a
favorite resort of some of the tribes, is here made.

To describe as one would view it in journeying upon
horseback over this beautiful and romantic country and
picture with the pen those vast solitudes — so silent that
their silence alone increases their grandeur — to gather
inspiration from Nature and to attempt to paint the
scene as my eyes beheld it, would comprise a task from
which a much abler pen than mine might shrink.

The scene was a beautiful and ever-changing pano
rama which at one moment excited the beholder's highest
admiration and at the next impressed him with speech
less veneration.

Approaching the Wichita Mountains from the north,
and after the eye has perhaps been wearied by the tame-
ness and monotony of the unbroken Plains, the tourist
is gladdened by the relief which the sight of these pict
uresque and peculiarly beautiful mountains affords.

Here are to be seen all the varied colors which Bier-
stadt and Church endeavor to represent in their mountain
scenery. A journey across and around them on foot and
upon horseback will well repay either the tourist or the
artist.

The air is pure and fragrant, and as exhilarating as
the purest of wine.

The climate is entrancingly mild, the sky clear and
blue as the most beautiful sapphire, with here and there

FEATHERED CHORISTERS. 379

clouds of rarest loveliness, presenting to the eye the
richest commingling of bright and varied colors.

Delightful odors are constantly being wafted upon the
breeze. The forests, filled with the mocking bird, the
colibri, the humming bird and the thrush, constantly put
forth a joyful chorus.

The sights and sounds all combine to fill the soul with
visions of delight and enhance the perfection and glory
of the creation.

Strong, indeed, must be that unbelief which can
here contemplate Nature in all her purity and glory and,
unawed by the sublimity of this closely connected testi
mony, question either the Divine origin or purpose of
the beautiful firmament.

Unlike most mountains, the Wichita can not properly
be termed a range or chain. They can be correctly des
ignated a collection or group, as many of the highest
and most beautiful are detached and stand on a level
plain " solitary and alone."

They are mainly composed of granite, the huge blocks
of which exhibit numerous shades of beautiful colors —
crimson, purple, yellow and green predominating. They
are conical in shape, and seem to have but little resem
blance to the soil upon which they are founded. They
rise abruptly from a level surface — so level and unob
structed that it would be an easy matter for one to drive
a carriage to any point of the circumference at the base

380 THE INDIAN.

—and yet so steep and broken are the sides that it is
only here and there that it is possible to ascend them.
From the foot of almost every mountain pours a
stream of limpid water of almost icy coldness.

The Indian.

If the character given to the Indian by James Feni-
more Cooper and other novelists, as well as by the well
meaning but mistaken philanthropists of a later day,
were the true one ; if the Indian were the innocent and
simple-minded being which he is represented to be —
more the creature of romance than reality, imbued only
with a deep veneration for the works of Nature, freed
from the passions and vices which must accompany a
savage nature ; if, in other words, he possessed all the
virtues which his admirers and writers of fiction ascribe
to him and were free from all the vices which those best
qualified to judge assign to him, he would be just the
character to complete the picture which is presented by
that section of the country which embraces the Wichita
Mountains.

Cooper, to whose writings more than to those of any
0ther author are the people speaking the English lan
guage indebted for a false and ill-judged estimate of the

GLAMOR OF FICTION. 38 1

Indian character, might well have laid the scenes of his
fictitious stories in this beautiful and romantic country.

It is to be regretted that the character of the Indian
as described in Cooper's interesting novels is not the true
one. It is not a pleasant task to dispel the glamor that
he threw about the noble red man.

But as, in emerging from childhood into the years of
a maturer age, we are often compelled to cast aside our
earlier illusions and replace them by beliefs less inviting
but more real, so we, as a people, with opportunities
enlarged and facilities for obtaining knowledge increased,
have been forced by a multiplicity of causes to study and
endeavor to comprehend thoroughly the character of the
red man.

So intimately has he become associated with the gov
ernment as a ward of the Nation, and so prominent a
place among the questions of national policy does the
much-mooted " Indian question" occupy, that it be
hooves us no longer to study this problem in works of
fiction, but to deal with it as it exists in reality.

Stripped of the beautiful romances with which we
have been so long willing to envelop him, transferred
from the inviting pages of the novelist to the localities
where we are compelled to meet with him — in his native
village, on the war path and when raiding upon our
frontier settlements and lines of travel — the Indian for
feits all claim to the appellation " noble red man."

$82 IN EVERY SENSE A SAVAGE.

We see him as he is, and, so far as all knowledge
goes, as he ever has been — a savage in every sense of
the word. He is not worse, perhaps, than would be his
white brother similarly born and bred, but is one whose
cruel and ferocious nature far exceeds that of any wild
beast of the desert.

That this is true no one who has been brought into
intimate contact with the wild tribes will deny. Perhaps
there are some who, as members of peace commissions
or as wandering agents of some benevolent society, may
have visited these tribes or attended with them at coun
cils held for some pacific purpose, and who, by passing
through the villages of the Indians while at peace, may
imagine their opportunities for judging of the Indian
nature all that could be desired.

But the Indian, while he can seldom be accused of
indulging in a great variety of wardrobe, can be said to
have a character capable of adapting itself to almost
every occasion.

He has one character — perhaps his most serviceable
one — which he preserves carefully, and only airs it when
making his appeal to the government or its agents for
arms, ammunition and license to employ them.

This character is invariably paraded, and often with
telling effect, when the motive is a peaceful one.

Prominent chiefs, invited to visit Washington, inva
riably don this character, and in their ' ' talks " with the

A SUBJECT FOR STUDY. 383

" Great Father" and other less prominent personages
they successfully contrive to exhibit but this one phase.

Seeing them under these or similar circumstances
only, it is not surprising that by many the Indian is
looked upon as a simple-minded "son of Nature," desir
ing nothing but the privilege of roaming and hunting
over the vast and unsettled wilds of the West, inheriting
and asserting but few native rights, and never trespass
ing upon the rights of others.

This view is equally erroneous with that other which
regards the Indian as a creature possessing the human
form but divested of all other attributes of humanity,
and whose traits of character, habits, modes of life, dis
position and savage customs disqualify him from the
exercise of all rights and privileges, even those pertain
ing to life itself.

Taking him as we find him — at peace or at war, at
home or abroad, waiving all prejudices and laying aside
all partiality — we will discover in the Indian a subject
for thoughtful study and painstaking investigation back
through some centuries.

In him we will find the representative of a race the
origin of which is, and promises to be, a subject for ever
wrapped in mystery; a race incapable of being judged
by the rules or laws applicable to any other known race
of men ; one between which and civilization there seems
to have existed from time immemorial a determined and

384 THE INDIAN SUMMED UP.

unceasing warfare — a hostility so deep seated and inbred
with the Indian character that in the exceptional in
stances where the modes and habits of civilization have
bee-n reluctantly adopted such adoption has been at the
sacrifice of power and influence as a tribe, and the more
serious loss of health, vigor and courage as individuals.

CATTLE AND RANCHING.

CHAPTER II.

GAINS IN CATTLE RANCHING — HOW TO START IN THE
BUSINESS — THE STOCK COUNTRY — THE RANGES — THE
RIGHTS OF SETTLERS — THE DASHING COWBOY.

Away from the haunts of men one seldom meets any
of the upper and educated classes, and the pleasures of
social and literary intercourse are for the time super
seded. The life is sometimes pleasant and sometimes
dreary ; there is plenty of exposure and not a little dis
comfort ; there is generally good health, and consequent
good temper ; there are all sorts and conditions of men,
who meet you on perfect equality, whether better or
worse than yourself ; your wants are few, as generally
you have to satisfy them yourself.

It is wonderful how you lop off necessities when they
burden your time and occupations.

You have entered on a new life in a new world. It
(385)

386 CATTLE AND RANCHING.

is not all admirable, for good and evil are everywhere
balanced. With freedom in forming new opinions, you
are apt to grow disdainful of the small niceties of civili
zation. The trammels of society are cast off, leading
to a dangerous drop into rude habits and ill-restrained
language. The impossibility of fulfilling all the refine
ments of the toilet engenders a disregard of personal
neatness. Much can not be helped ; some things might
be avoided.

Young men are naturally the more easily influenced
by their surroundings, and fall too readily into the habits
and tricks of speech most honored on the prairies. This
is the main educational disadvantage to young men start
ing alone in the West, for good breeding has to be nur
tured by descent and association. Coarseness may be
learned in a day.

The Gain in Cattle Ranching.

We have all heard of the gains in cattle ranching.
AS not 30 per cent a common return ?

The fact is pointed out that Maverick, one of the
cattle kings, began with a single steer and a branding
iron. Now his herds browse on a hundred hills.

There is money in that.

How can we do likewise ? The times for these mar
vels of money getting are gone by.

HOW TO START. 387

After the war a vast number of unclaimed cattle were
running loose. They were the spoil of whoever could
rope them. Those who bought even ten years later got
their herds at the very low average of $7 to $8 a head.

If you have plenty of room and good feed, you may
expect 80 to 90 per cent of calves to cows. If, at the
same time, the all-round price advances to $22 or $24,
the chances have been much in your favor.

Now the expenses in a crowded country of searching
out your cattle at the different round-ups and in parts of
the country lying sixty miles from your range foot up
such a total that with less than 5,000 head the stock
owner's profit is far below the normal.

Men still do start with small numbers, but they have
first to seek a very secluded spot, and then must be con
stantly riding around and driving the cattle back on the
home range. This injures the cattle, there is great loss
of labor in doing continually over again the same work,
and the rancher is forced to lay in a stock of hay to feed
his cattle in the Winter time, as he can not allow them
to roam at liberty and shift for themselves.

How to Start in the Cattle Business.
There is still room, and whether you wish to amuse
yourself, find occupation or try a new life there are open
ings. The main point is to be careful and in no hurry;
settle and wait. To be on the safe side, if you have

388 THE TENDERFOOT'S DOOM.

capital leave it at home. Learn the business you wish
to follow by working at it with your own hands. Pay no
premiums, but hire yourself out. If active and willing,
you are worth your keep. At the end of two months,
if he is a sensible man and meaning to get on, your em
ployer will be glad to give you wages, for steady men are
scarce. Many know their work, but few will do it, and
still fewer are to be trusted out of sight.

You will soon be able to save money — a very little,
no doubt, but enough to make you think of investing.

This will set you to inquiring into prices and into the
chances of a return. You will probably by one or two
bad deals pick up experience, and will learn that saddest
lesson — a distrust of men.

After a couple of years you may venture an inde
pendent start. You can take up 16o and 320 acres at a
very little expense, under the government land laws ; or,
you may buy out some one who has pre-empted a claim
suitable to your purposes. Your money will help you to
stock it and buy farm implements.

The tenderfoot who takes his dollars in his trouser
pockets is a lost man.

Every old settler with a poor farm, a worn-out wagon
and horses, a valueless mine or property, will make a
dead-set at the coin, and they are not easily shaken off.
Their tricks are dark but not vain, and their victims are
legion among those not wise in their generation,

TBRRES MAUVAISES. $89

The Stock Country.

In Denver you are in the middle of the stock coun
try. North, south, east and west cattle have been raised
and are still running on the prairies where the grass has
not been fed off.

The prairies include all the unsettled parts. Thfcy
are sometimes grass land, sometimes covered with sage
and other brush, among which grass is found. The term
takes in flat table lands, the slopes of mountains, and
what are called bad lands, which are the wildest jumble
of hills, ravines, small flats of excellent grass, and
stretches of almost bare lava rocks. The name is derived
from the French, who wrote on their maps : * ' Terres
mauvaises a traverser."

In the hurry of business the first two words only were
translated, and consequently left a wrong impression, for
these lands often afford excellent cattle ranges. The
grass is rich, water is to be found in many deep ravines,
and the broken ground gives goo^ shelter against storms.

The Cattle Ranches*

At the cattle ranches, where a half-dozen cowboys
may have to spend the winter, fair-sized rooms are put
up, the accommodations being increased and improved

39O SETTLERS' RIGHTS.

year by year. Bunks occupy one end of the room, a

huge fire-place the other, from which the mound of hot
ashes, topped by two enormous logs, fills the room with
light and warmth. A large area of ground is fenced near
the ranch, in which horses likely to be required are
turned loose. The range lies outside this, its extent de
pending on the cattle man's ideas, tempered by the opin
ions of his near neighbors.

Settlers' Rights.

There are, of course, no absolute rights. The land
is all government — often even that which is fenced —
and there is little attempt to segregate the herds. Some
of the Territories have passed laws acknowledging set
tlers' rights on streams, or to pieces of land they have
inclosed ; but this is contrary to State law, and latterly
a circular was issued in California pointing this out, and
distinctly laying down the law that others could enter on
such land without trespass.

Among stock raisers, however, there is much give and
take. The first settlers naturally try to keep out new
comers. They must end in accepting the inevitable —
that is, so long as there is grass cattle will crowd in.

But the great enemy to stock is the plow. The farm
ers are coming slowly but surely from the eastward, and
parts of Kansas and Nebraska have gone over to tillage.

THE DASHING COWBOY. 391

Stock must give way and disappear into the mountains
and rugged country.

The Dashing Cowboy.

Formerly the man who shouted the loudest, galloped
hardest and was quickest in drawing his "gun" was
considered the most dashing cowboy.

In the days gone by if a cowboy, coming up on the
Texas Trail, had failed to kill his man, he was held to
have wasted his opportunities.

But times are changing for the better.

Now only in the South — for instance, Arizona — is the
term cowboy equivalent to desperado.

CHAPTER III.

CATTLE ON THE RANGES — CATTLE IN WINTER — ADVAN-
TANGES OF CATTLE RAISING OVER HORSE RAISING—
THE ROUND-UP — •" CUTTING OUT" THE COW PONIES

BRANDING CALVES — BRANDING CATTLE INCREASED

VALUE OF CATTLE HAS INTRODUCED MORE CARE AND
GENTLER HANDLING IN THEIR MANAGEMENT.

While roaming on the range the less the cattle are
interfered with the better, particularly in the Winter.
In this half wild state they can take much better care of
themselves and find shelter and food ; whereas, if they
were herded — that is, controlled in any way by men —
they would probably starve.

The cows, which in cowboy language includes all
sexes and sizes, split up into bunches and take possession
of some small valley or slope where water is procurable
at no great distance. The shallowest spring bubbling up
through mud will satisfy a small lot, if they get it all to
themselves— a spring so small that, knowing it must exist

CATTLE IN WINTER. 393

from the presence of the cattle, you would scarcely find
it unless for their tracks, and when you reach it there is
nothing fit for you to drink, and most likely your horse
will refuse the mixture of mud in alkaline water which
pleases the cow.

If water is scarce the cattle must make long tramps,
and the country is then crossed by deeply trodden paths,
which are an unerring guide to the thirsty horseman.
The cattle come down these paths just before the sun
gets hot, have a drink and then lie down till the evening,
when they go off again to the pasture at some distance,
and feed most part of the night.

Cattle in Winter.

In the beginning of Winter the cattle leave the high
ground, and the appearance of a few hundred head in
the valley which the day before was empty tells the tale
of severe cold or snow storms in the mountains.

They like the shelter of heavy timber, which they
find along the banks of streams, and here at some rapid
or at the tail of a beaver dam is their latest chance for
getting water. They can not, like the horse, eat snow,
nor does their instinct suggest to them to paw away that
covering to reach the grass beneath. In fact, the cattle
will sometimes attach themselves to a herd of horses*
sustaining life by following in their footsteps.

394 ADVANTAGES OF CATTLE RAISIN©.

When times are hard the cattle will subsist on grease
wood and eat almost any thing, but until the young
sprouts begin to shoot there is on the prairie little to find
after the snow covers the ground. Bare cottonwood
trees line the streams. On the bark of these trees horses
will manage to keep alive, but the cattle are far less
hardy than the horses. These will come through the
exceptional Winters when 20 per cent of the cattle have
been lost.

The Advantages of Cattle Raising Over Horse

Raising.

In the matter of breeding cattle and horses, the for
mer have some advantages. There is, and must always
be, an increasing demand for beef, and in the disposal of
your live stock there is a great convenience in being able
to ship any number by a train load to Chicago. There
they can be disposed of in a day. Horses must, gener
ally, be sold in small lots. Besides, the losses by horse
thieves, both red and white, are greater than from cattle
thieves.

The Indians often shoot a calf for food in Winter,
being altogether easier to find and better to eat than are
deer and buffalo. Some stockmen believe they lose a
large number from the redskins, but these are decreasing
in numbers every year, and are being restricted continu-

THE ROUND-UP. 395

ally to smaller reservations, in which they are more suc
cessfully watched.

The Round-Up.

A round-up is the general arrangement among cattle
men in a given district to work the cattle by a common
establishment. Each owner sends one or more cowboys
to represent his brand and to take charge of all animals
belonging to his herd.

The management is placed in the hands of an expe
rienced foreman, and the ground to be covered is of a
great extent, occupying the men from a couple of months
to an entire season.

The main plan is, each day, to drive the cattle out of
all outlying valleys into some central level spot. From
the mixed mass the different brands are separated, com
mencing with the largest herd. This mode is a distinct
advantage to the large owners, as the principal object of
the general round-up is to get at the young calves.

While these are being "cut out," as it is called, the
cattle in the main bunch are churned up, so that calves
get separated from their mothers ; and, as the only title
to a calf is that it is following a cow with your brand,
those who cut out last will naturally lose some which
belong to them.

"CUTTING OUT."

" Mavericks."

Any unbranded calf which is found not following a
cow is called a "maverick." All such belong either to
the man on whose range they have been found or are
shared according to local custom.

"Cutting Out."

The process of cutting out a cow and calf is very
pretty, if neatly done. One man can do it, but two men
are seldom too many on the task.

The cowboy rides through the gathering of cattle till
he sees a cow and calf which belong to him. He follows
these quietly, trying to shove them to the edge of the
herd. As he gets them moving he quickens his pace,
and when on the outside he will endeavor to push them
straight out of the mass. But the cow is disinclined to
leave her companions, and generally tries by running
around to break back into the main bunch. This move
the cowboy has to prevent by riding between the cow
and her object.

Cow, calf and horse are soon going their best, and
the cowboy must be ready to turn as quickly as does his
game. He must, however, be careful not to separate
the young one, for should this happen his labor is lost.

"CUTTING OUT." 397

In that event he must let the cow rejoin the herd and
recover her calf.

Each batch of cows thus separated is kept a certain
distance off — say, 200 yards — and is watched by a man
to prevent them rejoining the main herd, or from mixing
together.

If the cowboy has been successful, the cow is soon
blown, and, finding herself checked in doing what she
wishes, will yield. Then, seeing another lot of cattle
which she is not interrupted from joining, she will trot
contentedly toward them, and, having her calf along
side, will settle down quietly.

This cutting out goes on all day long, until the whole
herd is divided. It is hard work on the men, and par
ticularly hard on the horses, which have to be changed
two or three times during the day. The quick turning
and stopping must shake their legs, and certainly bring
on sore backs. Their mouths do not suffer. Riding
with very severe bits, the cowboy has necessarily a light
hand, and hardly uses the reins for turning. The horses
know the work, and a touch on the neck brings them
around at a pace which sends the beginner out of his
saddle. Cowboy and pony should be trained together.

39** THE COW PONIES.

The Cow Ponies.

The cow ponies are rather small animals, and half
disappear under the big saddles of the cowboys, which
often weigh forty pounds.

The progenitor of the cow pony is the bronco, which
came into this region with the cattle driven up from
Texas. They have, however, been much improved in
latter years. The biggest are by no means the best. A
short and compact pony of about fourteen hands works
more quickly than a larger animal.

Some of them, with small and well shaped heads and
bright eyes, are really comely animals. Their manes and
coats are shaggy, showing coarse breeding, and their
tempers are not to be trusted. Each boy, when out cow
punching, rides from six to ten horses, using them in
turns, and without the slightest compunction riding one
horse fifty or sixty miles, of which a good deal may be
fast work.

After the day's duty he takes off the saddle and the
bridle, and without further ado lets the horse loose. The
pony, after a good roll, takes up the scent and rejoins
the herd of horses. His turn for work will not come
around again for several days.

Of course, they get nothing to eat but the grass they
pick up, and they are seldom shod. Their half-wild

BRANDING CALVES. 399

origin is attested by the majority of duns and sorrels.
The heavy saddles are believed to be a benefit to the
horse, as on account of their size and solidity they dis
tribute the weight of the rider and his kit over a larger
portion of the animal's back. There is truth in this, and
for long journeys probably the ease of the big saddle
more than compensates for the extra weight. But in
roping cattle the heavy saddle is an absolute necessity.
There are often two girths. These must be well tight
ened, and even then the jerks try the horses severely.
The end of the rope is held fast by a turn around the
horn, which stands six inches above the pommel. Often
the rider has to hang heavily over the farther side to pre
vent the chance of the whole saddle being turned round.
The big spurs do not hurt the horses. To make them
effective at all the cowboy reaches his heels forward and
spurs his horse in the shoulder.

Branding Calves.

If there is still time, it is best to brand all the calves
the same day, as, after that operation, the cattle may
often be turned loose to run on the same range in which
they were caught. But if the outfit to which they belong
has its principal range at some distance, the batch must
be taken off and driven and watched until they arrive on
their own range. It is not absolutely necessary to have

4OO BRANDING CALVES.

a corral to brand in, but if you can run your bunch into
one it saves trouble. The corral is roughly and strongly
made of posts and rails, about five feet high. It should
be large enough to hold your bunch of cattle and leave
room for working. Just outside a fire is lit, and one man
keeps the brands hot, which he passes through the rails
as they are called for. In a small corral one man on
horseback is enough inside, and he can be dispensed with
unless there are large calves to handle. A man, armed
with a rope lasso, catches a calf by throwing it over his
head. If a little fellow, the calf is dragged to one side,
caught and thrown down, cut and branded in a very
short time. But a calf of two or three months even is
not always easily managed. The noose having been
tightened on his neck, the end of the rope is then passed
around one of the rails. The calf gallops up and down
the arena at the fullest length of his tether, jumping and
bellowing as if he knew his end was coming. By slow
degrees the rope is overhauled, and the length which
gives the calf play is shortened. One of the men will
then go up to it, catching it by the rope around the neck
in one hand, and, passing his hand over its back, by the
loose skin on its flank near the stifle, with the other.

The more the calf jumps the better, and if he is slow
and stupid he will get a shake to arouse him. There
fore, taking the time by the calf, the man seizes the
opportunity of one of his prances, puts a knee under him

BRANDING CALVES. 4OI

to turn his body over, and then lets him drop to the
ground on his side. Another man catches hold of a hind
leg, which is stretched out to its full length. The first
man sits near the calf's head, with one knee on the neck,
and doubles up one fore foot.

The calves generally lie quietly, and do not bellow,
even when they feel the hot iron. But a few make up
for the silent ones by roaring their best.

A good -sized calf gives a lot of trouble. After the
rope around the neck has been drawn up, another noose
is thrown to catch one of the hind legs, which should be
the one not on the side to be branded. This rope is also
passed around a rail, and is hauled tight till the animal
is well extended. Somebody takes hold of his tail, and
with a strong jerk throws him onto his side. A hitch is
taken wilh the same rope around his other hind foot and
the noose is loosened around his throat, but the man
leans his best on the calf's neck and holds his fore leg
tightly. He must look out for the brute's head, as the
calf throws it about, and if it should strike the man's
thigh instead of the ground, as it is very liable to do, he
will receive a bruise from the young horns which he will
not have the chance of forgetting for a good many days.

The brand should not be red hot, and when applied
to the hide should be pressed only just sufficiently to keep
it in one place. The brand, if properly done, shows by
a pink color that it has bitten into the skin, through the

4O2 BRANDING CALVES.

hair. Some of the stock, in the early Spring, have very
shaggy coats, and a brand applied only so long to their
hide as would answer in most cases would leave a bad
mark which would hardly show next Winter.

The calf, when finished with, generally gets up qui
etly, so soon as it feels the rope loosen, and rejoins the
others. The cows seldom interfere to protect their
progeny, but when you do find one on the war path she
makes the ring lively, and all hands are prepared, at
short notice, to nimbly climb the fence or jump over.

To keep steadily at catching, throwing and branding
is hard work. The sun is hot, the corral is full of dust
from the cattle running round and round, and your clean
suit is spoiled with the blood and dirt of the operations.
You may have, besides, a tumble yourself when throw
ing a calf. The process is still worse if rain has fallen,
and the cattle have probably, for want of time the day
they were corralled, been shut up through the night. As
they run round and round to avoid the man they see
swinging his lasso, the whole area is churned into mud.
The animals dragged up get covered with filth, which is
passed on to the men at work.

There is a certain excitement about the business.
The cowboys will work at it very hard and through long
hours. The boss is a great sight, and never tires, run
ning backward and forward between the fire and the
struggling calves. Each time he slaps on the brand he

BRANDING CATTLE. 4OJ

seals a bit of property worth $10 to $15. He would Hke
to work at this all day long. If the corral is very large
the ropes are thrown by a man on horseback. So soon
as a calf is caught he takes a turn with the end of the
rope around the horn of his saddle, and the horse drags
the animal to the right spot.

A cow accustomed to men on horseback will some
times run after her calf with her nose stretched down
toward it — no doubt inquiring the nature of its trouble,
with probably a "What can I do for you?" But when
she nears the men on foot the cow stops, and leaves the
calf to its fate.

If branding is done in the open, one man holds the
bunch together, and the lassoist picks out the unbranded
calves and drags them off to the fire.

Branding Cattle.

If large cattle have to be branded you can not expect
to do any thing without horses. The lasso should be
thrown over the horns only. Three or four men are
required to hold the animal after it is down. When it
comes to an old bull, and he declines to be maltreated,
he has his own way. A couple of ropes thrown over his
horns and tied to a post he snaps like a pack thread. A
brand can be put on him by a man jn horseback with a

BRANDING CATTLE.

hot iron in his hand, following the bull into the thick of
the herd. Jammed in the corner of the corral, the bull
ran move but slowly, and there is time to press the
brand, and to leave a mark. Throwing the big cattle
does them no good. For all purposes it would be a bet
ter plan to arrange the corrals with pens and shoots for
both separating the different brands and for doing the
necessary cutting, branding, etc.

One man should be able to catch, throw and brand a
cow on the plain, but even with two or three men the
object is not always accomplished very speedily. Should
one man dismount, the enraged cow makes for him. If
the rope is held tight there is no danger outside the ring,
but sometimes the'rope breaks, or in the charging and
shifting the man on foot may get between the animal
and the horse. The cow will make a rush, and the man
is lucky if he can escape a tumble and a kick.

When the cattle in one place have been settled with,
the round-up moves on. The camp is broken up, the
wagons packed, and a string of four-horse teams makes
a start.

The cowboys, with their schaps — that is, leather
leggings and flopping, wide-brimmed hats — are trooping
off in different directions, puffing their cigarets and dis
cussing the merits of their mounts.

On both sides moving clouds of dust half conceal a
mob of trotting horses, which are the spare animals that

THE COYOTE'S GLEANING. 40$

are being taken along to the next halting station, where
similar scenes are again enacted.

Soon the place which was lively with bustle is left
deserted, marked only by the grass trampled down and
the heaps of dirt around the old camp.

The coyote will sneak in and have his pickings on the
offal, scraps of leather and ends of lariat. Then all will
be quiet until the Autumn round-up, or even until the
n«xt Spring.

CHAPTER IV.

ON THE TRAIL — NIGHT WATCHING — SHIPPING BY RAIL--
JOURNEY TO CHICAGO.

After the calves, the fat cattle have to be separated
from the herd and driven off in the direction of the rail
way. This drive may occupy one or two months, and it
must be done with deliberation and quietness.

The seed-bearing grasses are very fattening, and the
tendency of all the cattle is to grow rounder and sleeker
till late in the Autumn. This condition is natural and
very necessary to enable them to live through the Win
ter. The steers, mostly three and four years old, having
been collected into a band, are moved slowly from day
to day, care being taken that they cross plenty of grass
and water.

At first they are wild, and even the men on horseback
have to hold back a little distance* showing themselves

ON THE TRAIL. 4°7

just enough to keep the herd headed in the right direc
tion. All galloping and shouting are discouraged, for
nothing must be allowed to startle the steers. A man on
foot would possibly drive the whole herd off into a mad
stampede.

A few old bulls that are past work are often included
in the bunch of fat cattle. A low price per pound is
paid for them in Chicago, but they weigh heavily. On
the trail they are useful as setting an example of steadi
ness. If the steers are kindly handled and never over
driven — being young, fat and frisky — they are ready to
romp. Should they stampede, the bulls — heavy and old
and not easily scared — hang back and look about for the
cause of the run. They will stop, and the steers near
them will follow suit.

The cattle of the northern territories have the char
acter of being easi1]' stampeded, but they seldom run
far. On the other hand, the Texan cattle go for miles.

One or two men must be continually in advance to
drive off the range cattle, which might otherwise mix
themselves with the steers, and give much trouble in
cutting them out.

On the actual journey the herd is encouraged to
string out. The leaders find their place every day, and
it is only necessary to keep them along the right trail.
A boy on either side and two at the end to work up the
stragglers are sufficient, though the line may be over a

40S NIGHT WATCHING.

half-mile long. When halted to feed, the herd should
be surrounded, half the men doing this work in turns,
the other half getting dinner — if in luck's way. But as
it is necessary, both for food and to avoid disturbance,
to take the cattle by the most unfrequented routes, the
wagon may have ten miles to go around in addition to
the march of the herd. In these cases breakfast must
last until supper time, except the snack which the boys
carry with them.

Night Watching.

It is important that the herd should never be left un-
watched. When at night it is thought time, they are
driven onto a bedding ground and bunched up. So soon
as they have steadied down, one or two men are left on
watch, whose duty it is to ride round and round the herd
and prevent any straying. If the weather is not too
cold, the night watch not too long and the cattle behave
well, this is not disagreeable work.

The cool air is refreshing after the long day's heat
and glare. You walk your horse at a little distance from
the cows, with an occasional short scamper after some
rebels. You must, however, keep moving, and show
yourself constantly on all sides.

To hear the human voice seems to quiet the cattle,
and the man on watch will often sing or call quietly.

NIGHT WATCHING.

One by one the animals lie down. You hear a great
puff, as if all the wind was let out of a big air cushion.
It is a steer settling down onto his side. More puffs —
the shadows sink low — and at last there is none to be
seen standing.

The quiet of all these huge animals is impressive,
and seems in keeping with the sleeping earth and calm
sky. The voices of the men in camp hardly reach you.
A flicker from the fire catches the higher part of the
wagon, and just marks its position.

Provided nothing extraneous disturbs the peace, the
cattle will lie still up to n or 12 o'clock at night, while
you circle in the darkness around the black patch on the
ground, keeping a sharp lookout for any shadowy object
sneaking off in the gloom, and often riding to investigate
a suspicious object, which turns out to be only a bush.

Before midnight, under some special ordinance of
Nature, the cows are restless and get on their feet. A
few will try to feed out. These you must drive back
again. But before that time, if holding the first watch,
you have probably been relieved, and are back in your
bed. Each man has a horse saddled and picketed near
the camp all night, for if any thing frightens the herd or
a storm comes on, all hands must turn out and mount.
If the cattle are really away, you must be after them
without delay, and so soon as you can stop them bring
them back to camp — provided, always, you know where

4IO SHIPPING BY RAIL.

it is. Any one left behind will make a good bonfire to
direct the boys, but a dark night with rain prevents your
seeing far, and the camp has often been chosen in a shel
tered spot, which makes it more difficult to discern the
blaze. The main thing is to keep the herd together,
whether still running or halted.

If matters have been well managed, and no serious
disturbances have occurred, the herd makes up and sets
out at daylight. You string them out along the trail,
and take a count, or see that all the bulls and other ani
mals with distinguishing marks show up present at the
roll-call, and move off on another day's expedition.

Shipping by Rail.

When approaching the railway station at which the
steers are to be shipped, three or four days' notice will
secure you a train. At the appointed time the herd is
driven into the railway stock yard.

This is a large inclosure, with passages communicat
ing with pens which hold just the number you can cram
into a car. The pens are placed at exactly the distance
apart of the length of a car.

When the business of loading is commenced the pens
are filled. The steers are driven up a chute and enter
the cars. The last one or two have to be prodded and
forced to find themselves room. They should then all be

SHIPPING BY RAIL. 411

fairly distributed throughout, their haads up and l«gs
clear of each other. A cow hanging its head will get its
horns entangled in some other's hind leg, and when the
head is lifted the leg must come too. A steer may often
be seen caught by a hind foot over a rail five feet above
the floor. This has happened in trying to kick itself free
from the horns of a brother in difficulty, and until the
foot was pushed out there it must have remained.

When all are properly disposed the bar is dropped,
the door shut, and the next pen is emptied into its car.
The top of the palisade of the stock yard is planked, so
that you can walk all around and look down onto the
cattle. When the last ones have been cooped in, the
bell rings and the train starts.

On well arranged lines the cattle trains are run as
fast as any, and allowed to take precedence of most
other traffic, but every day the train must halt, and the
cattle be taken out for several hours to feed and drink.

At most large stations there are cattle pens with
water running through them, and deep mangers all filled
with hay. At these cattle get a chance to eat and slake
their thirst.

On first getting out of their cars they are more dis
posed to lie down than to do any thing else, for while
traveling they are so crowded that they get little rest.
As for lying down in the car, that would never do, and
during any halt of the train the boys accompanying the

412 SHIPPING BY RAIL.

herd must take a look around, and, with their poles,
prod any cow that is resting, and force it to get up. This
is done in their best interests, for any animal once down
can not rise, and is almost sure to be trampled to death,
missing the ultimate glory of becoming beef. The car
casses of those that die in transit are thrown out at
sidings and are eaten by hogs.

The work of loading and unloading along the journey
is very expeditious. The new experience of being cooped
up and shaken, or some instinct of their impending fate,
has sobered the steers. They are no longer the sleek,
shining, frisky inhabitants of the prairie. Bones begin
to show ; their hides are dirty from close quarters and
lying down in pens. They can not eat food enough in
the short time at their disposal, so their sides flatten and
they walk in and out of their cars with the utmost docil
ity and dejection.

Twenty minutes' time is sufficient to load up a train
of 200 or 300 beasts. Each day of a journey the right
number files into the car with less squeezing.

Delays are annoying to the owner, who hates to see
his cattle shrinking. Every pound of flesh lost is money
out of pocket, but so long as Chicago is the main market
for cattle they must travel six or seven days by rail from
the railway point nearest to their range.

EN ROUTE TO THE ABATTOIR. 4IJ

The Journey to Chicago.

The railway journey is as uncomfortable as it can be
to the men accompanying the herd. The only accom
modation is the caboose, which is often quite crowded by
railway working people and travelers by favor of the
conductor. The employes of the railway are often dis
obliging, and the mere fact of the cowboys being of sec
ondary consideration to their charges makes the trip a
disagreeable one.

The night is no time for sleep. At each halt you
must jump out — one man with a lantern, both with
goads — walk along the rough ballast, and peer into each
car to discover a cow which requires stirring up. Having
found an offender you poke her, prod her, twist her tail,
and do your utmost to make her rise. In the midst of
your efforts the bell rings, and the train starts. You
climb up the side of the car onto the roof, and make the
best of your way back along the top of the train to the
rear car. This little trip in the dark is not one to enjoy.
There may be twenty cars, each forty feet long. Before
you have crossed two or three the train is going at full
speed. Only one man has a lantern. You are incom
moded by a heavy overcoat, as the air at night is keen.
The step from car to car requires no more than a slight
spring, but it is dark, or, probably worse, the one lantern

414 UNION STOCK YARDS.

is bothering your eyes. The rush through the air makes
you unsteady ; no doubt your nerves are making your
knees feel weak. It is a hard alternative to get back to
the guard's caboose or to sit down in the cold on the top
of the train until you reach a halting place. Having
tried both, it seems that neither can be cheerfully recom
mended. If you do not climb onto the roof you must
take your chance of jumping onto the step of the last
car as it goes by. This would be the reasonable way if
you were allowed to do it, but as the driver does not care
to look back you must consider whether you are suffi
ciently an acrobat to rejoin.

Having reached Chicago, there is an end of the busi
ness. The cattle are turned into the big stock yards and
sold on commission.

To visit these stock yards and witness slaughtering
there are an important part of the sight-seer's orthodox
duties in Chicago, and need not be mentioned here.

CHAPTER V.

QUEENS OF THE RANCH — BRIGHT WOMEN WHO MAKE
STOCK RAISING PAY.

Of the women who have had the courage to make a
bold departure for themselves some few have been suc
cessful. Conspicuous among the rich women of the
country is Mrs. Bishop Hiff Warren, who is credited with
being the wealthiest woman in Colorado. She is worth
$lo, 000,000, and has made it on cattle, with no other
adviser than her own wit.

Another cattle queen, who is said to have amassed
about $l,ooo,ooo, is Mrs. Rogers, the wife of a minister
in Corpus Christi, Texas. Her husband ministers to the
spiritual wants of a widely scattered congregation, but
Mrs. Rogers, whose talents are of the business order,
went into stock raising on a small scale, experimentally,
some years back. She gave her personal attention to the
business from the start, leaving very little for the over-

U*s>

416 QUEENS OF THE RANCH,

seer. She bought for herself, sold for herself, knew how
her cattle were fed, learned to be a fearless rider, and
was over the range about as frequently as the cowboys
she employed, and more carefully. She enlarged her
enterprises every season, and her business is still growing
today.

Two rich widows, who have inherited ranches from
their husbands, are Mrs. Massey of Colorado and Mrs.
Mary Easterly of Nevada. Mrs. Massey went to Colo
rado as agent for a life insurance company, married a
man with 150,000 head of cattle, and it is said she now
manages them quite as well as he did. Mrs. Easterly
has not a large herd, but her stock is of a fine grade,
and she gets good prices for it. She is worth, proba
bly, $300,000.

Mrs. Iliff, widow of John Iliff, a cattle king, and
Mrs. Meredith, widow of Gen. Meredith of Illinois, are
excellent business worner^, and making money on stock.

Of unmarried women, there are Clara Dempsey of
Nevada and Ellen Callahan of newspaper fame — the
one worth $20,000 and the other less — which they have
earned from the initial dollar, and are young women to
have made so fair a start in the world.

The Marquise de Mores enjoys life on the ranch with
her husband. She is a good shot and fine huntswoman.

The number of women who have gone West and
made money is large, and it grows every year.

CHAPTER VI.

CALIFORNIA AS A CATTLE RAISING STATE — LAWS- -CON
CERNING WATER RIGHTS.

California, after having been one of the best ranges
for stock, is by degrees turning everywhere, except in
the mountains, into an agricultural State.

This of necessity follows from the greater profits of
husbandry and the diminishing profits of cattle farming
to men of small capital. So soon as the soil becomes
valuable and the choicer portions are taken up by indi
viduals, the cattle are no longer free to roam over th«
country, costing nothing for food. They must be looked
after and herded, hay must be put up for their suste
nance in Winter, and a few days in the Spring and
Autumn must be given up by the farmer. His boys are
no longer sufficient for guarding his interests, nor for
keeping track of his property, which are driven by the
inclosing of the former pasture grounds to wander far<
t'faer afislcL

41 S HALCYON DAYS FLOWN.

In the golden days of old, which in California are
days of memory and not of tradition, the quantity of
land actually purchased or taken up, whether under the
laws or merely held by a sort of squatter right, would be
limited to an occasional ranch along the fertile valleys of
the big rivers and to inclosures of meadows where the
natural dampness of the soil or primitive irrigation gave
large quantities of hay.

The owners would let their horses and cattle run at
perfect liberty to feed themselves, and would only round
them up when it was desirable to brand the young calves
and colts or to pick out horses or fat steers for the pur
pose of sending them to market.

There are still a few wide ranges, the property of
companies or of individual millionaires. The land is
owned, however, and if not fenced is constantly ridden
over by the boys, who drive off outside cattle and carry
on a perpetual warfare with the Basque and Portuguese
swners of bands of sheep which have to traverse the
ranges on their way to the mountains or to the railroad.

Those halcyon days of the California stock raiser can
never return.

Land has grown exceedingly in value. Water taken
out of the rivers is led by large canals over a wide tract
of country. Emigrants have crowded in, some purchas
ing small lots of twenty-five to forty acres at high prices
from the pioneer farmers and far-seeing land speculators,

CALIFORNIA LAWS. 419

who by ingenious manipulation of the land laws, backed
by the power of ready money, succeeded in acquiring
considerable tracts at an early date.

California Laws.

So long as a State is but sparsely settled, the stock
interest is sufficiently strong to make laws favoring that
industry ; but when the numbers of farmers have in
creased the law making, following the balance of votes,
is taken into the new hands, and one of their first acts
is naturally in the direction of safeguarding their pock
ets. Whereas, before the land owner had to protect his
crop from the roaming herds, subsequently the stock
raiser is held responsible for any damage caused by his
cattle, and therefore has to look to this. Practically, it
is found convenient by the farmers to protect themselves,
and, either in combination or singly, they soon begin to
inclose the land where the more valuable crops are to be
grown, and in the older settled districts fencing is the
order of the day. The cattle are thus shut out of the
water, and they lose the protection of the copses and
fringes of trees which border the valley streams. They
leave the bottoms and range far back in the mountains,
where they find small springs, and put up with the shel
ter of broken ground.

Formerly timber was cheap, and it was mostly used

42O ALL AGAINST THE STRAN6ER.

for fencing, but now barbed wire of different patterns is
more common.

The laws which concern stock, though they differ in
the. various States and Territories, have been in each
case made by people who know exactly what they want.
From the local standpoint they are excellent — that is,
they suit the majority and benefit the framers. This, no
doubt, appears the best ends of justice to men struggling
for wealth in a primitive society. The basis of equity
may be neglected. Each must look after his own inter
ests, and if a man does not like the laws he can move.

If the stock owners are in power, they say to the
small rancher: "Fence your fields." If the farmers
preponderate, they turn on the stockman and say :
" Herd your cattle." Meanwhile all combine against the
stranger within their bounds.

Laws are useful to those who command the market,
and who can thereby profit themselves or frustrate the
commercial competition of outsiders. At least, such is
the hearsay evidence of the inhabitants and one of the
leading topics of their newspapers. It is a common
saying that the rich man may secure a verdict.

With all this fencing and irrigation the lawyers in
California have their hands full of work, with a harvest
which lasts all the year round.

LAW FAVORS THE LONG PURSE. 421

Water Rights.

The ranchers living farther down a river find the vol
ume of water on which their crops and stock depend
gradually diminishing as the upper reaches are settled
and new canals are laid out. Suddenly, in some par
ticularly dry year, there is no water at all in the lower
channel of the river, and the crops suffer and the cattle

must be driven to the hills.
A

In the old days the injured party was apt to set out
with his shotgun and argue the matter in person. Now
the majesty of the law favors the long purse, and the
man who wins his case recovers just enough to pay his
lawyer.

There is no more fruitful source of litigation than
water rights, and in purchasing land the buyer must be
extremely careful to know that his title to water, and to
a fixed quantity thereof, is undoubted ; otherwise, he
may be called upon by his neighbors to join in a lawsuit
to protect their common rights, or perhaps find that he
has bought the privilege to fight single-handed a large
owner who has strong influence in the courts and is pre
pared to appeal as a pure matter of business.

CHAPTER VII.

SHOWING PROFITS ON CATTLE RAISING IN TEXAS, AS THE
BUSINESS WAS FORMERLY CONDUCTED.

As the cattle business was conducted many years ago
the cost of raising cattle was but a trifle.

To start in business, it was only necessary to have a
good pony and a couple of men experienced with the
lasso to catch mavericks and brand them, the cost being
about 50 cents per head.

These cattle would run at large, feeding on govern
ment pastures, and would be rounded but once a year.
The owner then branded all calves following the cows.
This brand was registered at the county seat, and all the
cattle bearing it were recognized property of the owner
of the brand.

The natural increase of stock is so great that in a few
years a daring and adventurous man would have a large

(4*4

PROFITS IN CATTLE RAISING.

herd arising from the capital shown in the cost of the
brand and the wages of a few men.

In after years the Eastern capitalists began to em
bark in the cattle business. They bought these registered
brands, figuring five head of cattle to every calf branded
at the last round-up. The price usually paid for this
stock averaged $10 per head, so $9. 50 per head profit
was realized. Some of these herds had increased to
50,000 head.

Many of the cattle kings of Texas started in this
way, and still hold their stock, and are now the million
aires of Texas.

But the days for starting in the cattle business in this
simple fashion are now past.

The Eastern capitalist, though termed ' ' tenderfoot "
in this section, is very wary of how he invests, and pre
fers to see the cattle rounded up and counted before he
parts with his money.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE PROFITS ON CATTLE RAISING AS THE BUSINESS IS
AT PRESENT CONDUCTED.

The cost of raising cattle at the present time is more
than in olden times. More attention is given to provid
ing them with shelter in the Winter months and furnish
ing them with hay.

Yet the stock matures better and is of more value
because of this care and attention, so the stockman is
fully compensated in the additional price that his stock
will bring in the markets. The average cost of raising
three-year-old cattle in large numbers is about $4.50 per
head. This stock may be marketed in Chicago at an
additional cost of $6 per head, making the cost, laid
down in Chicago, $10.50 per head.

The average weight of Texas cattle sold on the Chi-

(424)

PROFITS IN CATTLE RAISING. 425

cago market is about 900 pounds, and the average price
is about $3 per hundred, leaving a net profit to ranch
men of $16. 50 per head.

Another way of making money in the cattle business
by those who are familiar with the " ropes" and market
in Chicago is to purchase droves of fat cattle from the
ranchmen and ship to Chicago. One who understands
his business and is a judge of stock may make on a fair
market in Chicago $6 per head in this way.

The popular and surest way of succeeding in the cat
tle business is to locate a ranch near a good water right
and start in the business yourself. For instance, one may
purchase loo cows, and the increase from this stock in
ten years would amount to 2, 500 head. This stock could
all be marketed in Chicago in thirteen years. It wil/
cost the ranchman $4 per head there on the ranch, oi
$lO,ooo. It will cost him $6 per head to ship to the
Chicago market, allowing 3 per cent for loss, which will
make the gross cost to him, laid down in Chicago. $lo
per head, or $25,000 for the bunch of 2,500.

These cattle would bring, at the present low rates in
Chicago, $3 per hundred, or $2 7 per head, making, after
deducting cost and expense, a grand total of $67, 500.
The ranchman's net profit would be $42, 500.

These figures show what can be done in ten years,
with a start of only loo head of cattle. The ranchman
will have, in addition to this — as it will require thirteen

426 AVERAGE PROSPECTS.

years to market the same — the increase of the last three
years.

These figures are based on the present depressed con
dition of the cattle markets of the world, which is hot
likely to continue always.

A war of magnitude in Europe would increase prices
of stock, and would have its effect on stock and beef
sooner than on any other commodity, with the possible
exception of pork.

In that case the value of these cattle would be not
less than 50 per cent greater than estimated.

It is proper in any business to consider the average
prospects for and against the chances of success.

Besides, the ratio of increase of the world's popula
tion is greater than the increase of cattle, as pasturage
is growing less by reason of the plow. All these causes
will tend ultimately to advance the price of beef and
improve the chances of success.

CHAPTER IX.

ADVICE TO COWBOYS — WAGES PAID TO THEM AND THEIR
NECESSARY EXPENSES OF OUTFIT.

Wages received on The Plains in the capacity of a
cowboy vary from $15 to $60 per month, according to
experience and the section of country in which employ
ment is sought.

The farther North you go the better the wages, but
the expense of living is greater, as the clothing must be
heavier, and other expenses are greater than they are in
the Southern country.

Formerly it was the habit of the cowboy to spend
from $300 to $500 in an outfit for himself. For exam
ple, a $loo saddle, a $75 revolver, a $25 silver-mounted
hat, expensive belts and sometimes as much as $25 for

a horse.

(427)

428 ADVICE TO COWBOYS.

But the cowboy has learned that it is better for him
to save his money, and start with an outfit costing not
to exceed $loo, never forgetting . that part of this money
should be expended for a good revolver, as this weapon
certainly commands respect on The Plains.

If you are industrious and watchful of the interests
of the man for whom you are working, you will soon be
getting better wages and be given an opportunity of in
vesting your savings in cattle.

The owner of the drove will allow your cattle to run
with his. Possibly he may charge you $1 per head per
annum for this privilege.

At the low prices for which cattle can be purchased,
if you pave your wages and do not spend your money for
whisky, gambling or sprees of any kind, you will soon
have quite a herd of cattle of your own.

In a few years, if you maintain your habits of sobri'
ety, economy and thrift, you will have a competence.

SHEEP.

CHAPTER X.

•JHEEP DRIVING — SPANISH MERINOS — PROCURE CERTIFI
CATE FOR TAXES — THE OUTFIT — TAKING THE HORSES
THROUGH MOUNTAINS HIRING DRIVERS.

Texas has lately been a good outlet for some of the
surplus stock of California. Young sheep have been
bought and sent by rail half way, and afterward driven
into that State.

For many years previously large bands have left both
the northern and southern parts of California for the
newly settled States of Colorado, Wyoming and Mon
tana. The numbers run up to many hundreds of thou
sands each year.

The bands start from every county, but generally
cross the Sierra Nevada over three main passes. The
pass north of the Central Pacific Railway is the outlet

(429)

43O SHEEP DRIVING.

for sheep from the Sacramento Valley. Southeast of
San Francisco the sheep cross a little to the north of the
Yosemite. Those from the direction of Los Angeles
torn the lower end of the range, and, taking a north
ward direction, subsequently join the second route. The
second trail joins the first near the head waters of the
HumboMt River. From here the trail crosses a corner
of Idaho and Utah, and then splits. One road leads
north into the western portion of Montana and the other
goes east into Wyoming and Colorado.

If rain does not fall, the sparse grazing to be picked
up in ordinary years along the road, on which animals
must depend while traveling, has totally disappeared
after the passage of a few herds. There is naught but
dust, under which sheep for a time will continue to find
scraps and pickings, though not a blade is observable to
the human eye. This, of course, does not last long.
To buy sheep in such a season is a mere lottery. Rain
may fall, and then your transaction turns up trumps.
Rain may hold off, and then your sheep, unless singu
larly well managed, will weaken. Once they begin dying,
they depart by hundreds.

Spanish Merinos.

The better bred sheep have been mostly improved
with Spanish merinos, They are small sized sheep, but

CERTIFICATE FOR TAXES. 43 1

carry a heavy fleece. They are thought more hardy than
French merinos and are close feeders, finding something
to eat on the most barren looking plains.

Certificate for Taxes.

Before starting, have the man of whom you purchase
procure two certificates that the taxes for the year have
been paid on them. These certificates should come from
the county office. They are the most informal docu
ments, merely stating that Mr. John Doe or Richard
Roe has paid his taxes for the current year.

Nothing is added to say that the sheep taxed are the
same which are now your property, or that they bore a
particular mark. Often they are not dated.

I will, however, speak well of them, for I was once
called on to show my tax receipts, and after some very
proper objections to the informality of the documents
they were allowed to pass.

People moving from one neighborhood to another
should carry their tax receipts along with them, as they
are liable to be stopped, wherever there is a collector,
and asked to show cause why they should not pay the
county taxes on the value of their horses, wagon, and
outfit, and also something in the shape of poll tax upon
each individual for the construction and improvement of
roads throughout that particular county.

432 FLIMSY WAGONS — RECKLESS DRIVERS.

The Outfit.

Besides the sheep, it is necessary to get an outfit.
This ordinarily consists of a wagon and pair of horses,
two riding ponies, cooking and eating utensils, saddles,
harness, a few tools and a stock of food to start with.

When the boys shall have thrown their bedding and
bags in the wagon, the whole will make a solid load for
the team.

The wagons all over the West are imported. They
are very much alike, regardless of the makers, and vary
mainly in diameter of wheels and size of axles. The
driver's seat has a pair of springs and hooks onto the
sides of the wagon box. The body is painted green and
the wheels and working parts red.

You will see them in dozens at most railway stations,
lying in parts. , They are quickly put together.

There is a large demand for these wagons. They are
much lighter than the ordinary English farm wagon, but
they are weak and do not last. Their early break-down
is due to the hastily dried wood of which they are made.
The usage they receive is rough. They are frequently
loaded far beyond the maximum which even the makers
will guarantee, and are rattled along with four horses by
a reckless young fellow, who cares not for his employer'?

THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS. 433

property nor his own neck, over a nominal road full of
ruts, washouts and boulders.

But our lad has driven from the time he could hold
the reins, and he is at home on the box. Perched up
there, with one foot dangling over the side and resting
on the handle of the brake, he sends the team along.

The wagon leaps and swings and sidles, steered as
well as may be past the big boulders and then checked
through the washouts by a heavy pressure on the brake.

The journey is lively, and the driver has quite a time
in recovering his seat when thrown out by a jolt or slid
to the farther end by the sway in turning a corner or in
changing his ruts.

This is something like driving, and as a science is far
ahead of any skill called into play in the jog-trot travel
along our hum-drum and excellent roads.

Taking Horses Through the Mountains.

There is a heavy expense in taking horses through
the mountains, for not only is barley expensive, but, as
there is little grazing, hay has to be freighted out to the
different points, and varies from 1^ to 3j cents a pound.
When it comes to feeding big horses, thirty or forty
pounds do not go far.

I receive a letter from my temporary foreman, sent
by the hand of a traveler who has just crossed, saying

434 THE HIND-END MESS BOX.

that he has hired a range, besides entering upon other
transactions, and asks for a big sum of money. This is
a serious matter. If I will only give him time he will, I
feel sure, like an electioneering agent, study my interests
by getting rid of any amount of money with the greatest
industry. I therefore determine to leave the wagon at
the foot of the pass, and to ride over the team horses.

A large sheet of canvas, which serves as a tilt to the
wagon in rainy weather, is eminently serviceable. On
The Plains, where nothing stands higher than a bush
which hardly gives shade from the hot sun to a dog, this
canvas is stretched from the wagon bows to pegs in the
ground, and gives a little shelter.

A mess box is fitted into the hind end of the wagon.
It is made with shelves, and holds a supply of daily
wants. The door is hinged at the bottom, and when
lowered it is propped by a stick. This makes a fairly
good table, on which food can be prepared for cooking,
out of the dust. But you eat your meals on the ground,
as there is more room for everybody. Besides, at noon
you want the shade of the tilt ; morning and night, the
light and solace of the camp fire.

Hiring Drivers.

The important affair is to hire men. Settlers in Cali
fornia have come to employ Chinese labor almost wholly

HIRING DRIVERS. 435

for indoor work, and to a great extent for any outdoor
work which is continuous — not, as one might suppose,
that there is any economy therein. The Chinaman is a
thoroughly self-satisfied being ; he considers his work
" allee same like Melican man," and lets you know that
he is not to be hired for less than white man's wages. I
would assert that Chinese labor is neither in quantity nor
quality equal to that of the average European. All over
the world the Chinaman is a copyist. He invents noth
ing and improves nothing. His aim is to produce a fac
simile ; he can never excel.

Notwithstanding this inferiority, he is preferred for
the reason that he is more to be depended on — mainly in
the matter of sobriety. As a household servant he looks
clean and is fairly willing, but he is far behind the class
of domestics in European houses on the other side of the
Pacific.

Nevertheless, he has a solid footing in California, and
you find a smutty, yellow-faced cook in small farm
houses, where elsewhere in the States the wife and
daughters do the household work.

In choosing sheep herders, the best will be found
among the Mexicans, Basques or Portuguese. These
latter two do not, as a rule, take service except with their
own people. Their aim is ultimately to possess a share
in the herds, and to rise to the position of owners.

The Mexicans enter into service willingly enough, but

CALIFORNIA WAGES.

they dislike to leave the temperate parts of California.
It is a great advantage when employing them to be able
to talk Spanish. They can seldom be persuaded to join
a drive which takes them off into unknown regions, for
they are profoundly ignorant of the geography of the
world beyond their districts.

There is, besides, little inducement to travel with
stock for good men, who are sure of employment locally.
They have to undergo hard work, exposure and some
privation.

And for what result ?

None !

Every cent a man can earn above ordinary Caliform'a
wages will go to pay his railway fare, even by emigrant
train, on his return to California.

A herd of 5,000 sheep requires about six men, be
sides the cook — an important member of the outfit.

CHAPTER XI.

SHEEP SHEARING — ON THE ROAD THROUGH SAN JOAQUIN
VALLEY— SCAB — DIPPING.

In California the sheep are shorn twice a year. It is
necessary to take their wool off before starting. The
band is driven out onto a barren plain, where a few
tumble-down open sheds guide you to the shearing cor
ral. The first thing to do is to go around and rearrange
panels and make fast ties and block holes, so as to keep
the sheep in the pens.

A mixed band of Mexicans and Chinese do the shear
ing. Each man is careful not to catch any sheep which,
on account of size or wool, is likely to prove slightly
more troublesome.

A badly boarded floor is all the men work upon. The
fleeces, having been rolled up and tied, are thrown into
a long bag hung on a stand, and are filled in by stamp
ing on them. The bags are then carried to the railway,

(437)

438 ON THE ROAD.

where they are either sold to brokers or shipped to an
agent in San Francisco.

On the Road.

Preliminaries are completed and the herd is started
on the road, which lies at first along the railway running
through the San Joaquin Valley. As the land is all
owned, the drover has no right beyond the width of
sixty feet. Where there are no fences it is futile to try
to keep a large flock within such narrow limits. The
sheep will spread across some 200 yards, and so long as
they are kept going it is hoped that the land owners,
most of whom are owners of sheep which have to be
traveled twice a year, will not object. As a rule, large
owners do not trouble traveling bands much. But a man
with a small holding, whose land borders the road, will
mount his horse on the first sight of the column of dust
which announces the approach of a band of sheep, and
ride to meet it. He is all on the fight. First he wants
you to go back, then to go around, and last to manage
the herd as you might a battalion of soldiers, and march
them past his grazing ground in a solid pack, on a narrow
strip of road. It is a lucky day's travel in which you
have not to go through some annoyance and jaw.

Each year driving becomes more difficult, grazing in
creases in value, the fields are fenced, and more land is

SCAB. 439

broken up. It would be difficult to take sheep on the
drive, close along green crops, without their breaking into
them. Here troubles begin with the farmer's opportu
nity of claiming compensation. As a matter in which he
may have to go to law, he must exaggerate the damage.
He can always find neighborly friends who will swear to
his complaint and assess the loss arising from a few hun
dred sheep crossing a corner of his field at the price of a
crop from twenty acres of wheat.

Scab in Sheep.

Before taking the sheep out of the country it is nec
essary to dip them to check scab. The Californians are
not careful in eradicating this disease. I do not know
of any practical system, as in Australia, for dealing with
the malady or for detecting its presence in certain flocks
and compelling the owners to effect a cure. Most own
ers dip their sheep at least once a year, after shearing.
Yet hardly in any band you pass can you omit noticing
marks of the disease on some of the sheep. In some of
the Territories laws have been passed and scab inspect
ors appointed. The attention of the latter is directed
mainly to overhauling bands passing through. Provision
is generally made by the county or State to pay these
inspectors of sheep for detection of scab in sheep.

44<> DIPPING SHEEP.

Dipping — How It Is Done,

The use of a dipping station must be procured. This
consists principally of a trough lined with wood, twenty-
five to thirty feet long, five feet deep and about two or
three feet wide at the top. This is sunk in the ground.
At one end is a shed roofed over to shelter the men at
work. The floor is boarded and has a slight slope to the
trough. At the other end the sheep walk out of the
trough by an inclined plank onto the dripping platform,
which is divided into pens. This is also boarded, so that
the water which runs out of the fleece may fall back into
the trough, and save material. At either end is an in-
closure to hold the sheep that are being worked. Iron
tanks for heating water stand conveniently near, for hot
water must be used with some of the scab-curing ingre
dients. The number of sheep which can be handled in
a morning are folded in a large inclosure. Then smaller
bunches are cut off and penned near the shed, which will
hold thirty or forty sheep. So many are driven in as to
crowd the place tightly. The gate is shut, and two men
step in, standing near the outlet which overhangs the
trough. The sheep naturally turn their heads away and
press more closely to the upper side. This is just what
is wanted. The men catch them one by one by the hind
leg, with a good pull and final jerk drag each one toward

DIPPING SHEEP. 441

the trough, tur,n him around and tumble him, head first,
into the fluid. It is rough work, but they get through
the business at a fair pace.

When properly done, the sheep souses, head first, in
the trough, and comes up turned in the proper direction.
Seeing the others swimming in front, he follows, and
walks up the sloping plank onto the dripping platform.
Sometimes it happens that a sheep will fall in backward,
and floats with feet up in the air, no doubt feeling partic
ularly uncomfortable with the composition of the dip — •
half chemical and turbid with grease and mud from the
fleeces — filling his mouth and nostrils. A man stands
alongside the trough, armed with a long pole which has
a crutch at one end. It is his duty to restore these acro
bats right side up, to push the heads of those not wetted
properly under water and to keep the line of bathers
moving on. When one compartment of the dripping
platform is full, a gate is shut, ,and while the alternate
pen is filling the former lot of sheep stand and shake
themselves, sneeze, cough and generally strive to recover
their mental equilibrium. Soon their turn arrives to be
let out into the larger inclosure. Here they ought to
remain till nearly dry, as the dipping mixtures are more
or less poisonous, and should not be scattered on the
feeding ground, as would happen from wet fleeces.

The dip mostly used is lime and sulphur, which is
effective in killing scab, but makes the wool brittle. It

44% DIPPING SHEEP.

has the merit of cheapness. A decoction of tobacco and
sulphur is also common. Both of these have to be used
with hot water, which is a great additional trouble, as
the appliances at most dipping stations are of the rudest.
A weak solution of carbolic acid and a patent Australian
chemical are also used for dipping. These can be mixed
in cold water. Some men put their sheep through the
natural hot mineral waters which abound in the West.
Each farmer will swear by his own spring. It cures scab
in sheep, removes corns and rheumatism in men, and is
of universal efficacy. He nurses a pleasant dream that
some day its virtues will be apparent to an Eastern capi
talist, who will develop it and create an establishment
like the White Sulphur Springs, with a vision of shares,
purchase money and a snug monopoly for the rest of his
days.

About noon the sheep penned in the morning are
through, and the men knock off for dinner. Although
there are three reliefs in plunging the sheep into the dip,
the work has been hard. The sun is bright and hot, and
the air is close inside the shed. The work of driving the
sheep into compact bunches in the pens is tedious, and
when you have jerked forty or fifty sheep by the hind leg
you find yourself winded and your back aching.

CHAPTER XII.

SHEEP DRIVING FROM CALIFORNIA TO SONORA — TOLLS-
CROSSING THE SIERRAS — THE BEDDING GROUND —
THE SAN ANTONIO DESERT.

After having dipped the band they are -all marked
with a brand, and next day you start off.

Driving sheep is simple enough — in theory. The herd
is marched from day to day a distance of eight or ten
miles, feeding as they go, starting very early so as to
travel in the cool, and, if possible, reaching the banks of
a stream before the sun grows hot. Through the heat
of the day the sheep do not care to feed or to travel. If
full, they will lie down, seeking some shade, or drooping
their heads under the shadow of each other's bodies.
This is called nooning. It may begin- as early as 8 A. M.
in the height of Summer, and last until 4 or 5 p. M. It
is a regular part of the day's business, and is often very
troublesome, when you have a little distance yet to go,

(443)

444 WHEN THE SHEEP BAA.

to find the sheep stopping in bunches, some lying down
and the whole baaing their protest against further exer
tion. If you want to reach your point now is the critical
time. When the sheep baa shout at them and hustle
them a bit with the dogs. Beware of a check, for if the
flock once gets bunched up your chances are over. You
may then let the sheep lie, for they will not travel again
until evening.

There is a disagreeable feeling of helplessness when
handling sheep. They are the boss, and in your own in
terest you must study their whims.

Suppose, however, your arrangements have been
good. You have brought the sheep to water, and they
have been pleased to approve the quality and to drink at
once, without wandering off in search of something
clearer, fresher, warmer or different. It is not always
we can understand their fancies. They will feed again
for a little while, after which you may bunch them up
where you can conveniently watch them. You will see
some standing in a line, each head under the belly in
front. Others gather around a bush, with their heads
together in the shade and tails out. Some lie down to
sleep, but many stand with vacant eyes, noses stretched
to the ground, and ease their feelings by heavy panting.

In the afternoon, so soon as the sheep show a ten
dency to scatter out and feed, they are headed in the
desired direction, and they travel slowly until nightfall,

SHEEP DRIVING. 445

when they are rounded up in a bunch and expected to
sleep. A good driver will, as much as possible, fall in
with the inclinations of the herd, and let them start,
travel and feed as much as they are disposed — always, of
course, with due regard to the prime necessity of getting
over the ground. There are, besides, certain factors of
which the sheep can scarcely be expected to be aware
with regard to the situation of water and feed, and it will
often be desirable to drive them even a couple of miles
after they show a desire to noon, so as to reach water.

Sometimes, to get across a desert, you may drive the
sheep as much as twenty miles a day, but this has to be
done at night if the weather is warm, and can seldom be
ventured for more than two or three days.

Crossing the mountains, the sheep are often as much
as four or five days on the snow without losing many of
the band. After reaching good grass on the farther side
they soon recover themselves.

At night the sheep, if well fed, will lie still ; but as a
rule, when traveling, they should be watched.*

Leaving the main road is not, on the whole, a suc
cess. The feed is better, but on the country road you

*A cruel necessity is disposing of the newly born lambs. New arriv
als are de trop, and more likely to injure the ewes than be of any benefit
themselves. There is nothing to be done but to knock the flicker of life
out of the little things, and drive the mothers on. The latter never make
any fuss. At all times these merinos are careless parents during the first
few days after the birth of their young.

44 6 OBJECTIVE POINT — TOLLS.

are more on your rights and meet with fewer annoyances
from small farmers, whose object often seems merely to
exhibit "cussedness, " though to the credit of the few it
must be said that their intention is elevated into the
region of common sense by the motive of extracting a
few dollars.

At one place you may be amused by a woman run
ning out of a farm house and calling to her husband :

"Give 'em h — 11, Jack."

These are little incidents, but will serve to illustrate
the dislike which farmers have against sheep and. the
petty annoyances they are not above putting in practice
on the drovers.

To see the worst side of the character of settlers in
California, I could not suggest a better plan than moving
a band of sheep through one or two counties. After that
you may try any thing else and enjoy the change.

The objective point of the drive is Sonora, which
stands at the west end of the only road over the Sierra
Nevada Mountains which is passable by wagons in this
part of California.

Tolls — Exorbitant Charges.

There are several rivers to cross, where the only con
venient points of crossing are farmed to some man who
works a ferry and taxes sheep exorbitantly. The rates

HOW FARMERS EVADE TOLLS. 447

permitted by the charter often reach as much as 10 cents
a head for sheep and pigs. This the collectors reduce to
about 3 cents in their printed rates, but are generally
satisfied with about half. Even these amounts, when
they recur three or four times, together with the road
tolls, add a heavy percentage to the original cost of
about $2 per head.

These annoying charges can only be avoided by cross
ing the mountains over out-of-the-way and very difficult
passes, which are known to but few people. The farm
ers who have lived many years near the hills and have
sent their flocks up regularly hazard these passes, not
withstanding the risk of spending several days in the
snow, rather than pay the heavy tolls.

From Sonora onward, except for a few miles at the
beginning, the road runs through the forest, and is quite
unfenced.

This is about the most difficult part of the drive, on
account of the loss from sheep straying into the bush.

Generally a few extra hands are hired, who are often
Indians. The latter belong to the Digger tribe, and some
of them are not averse to work, either on the farm or in
town. They are not all equally civilized, and one of
their little settlements of a few miserable hovels, with
granaries of pine-nuts in the shape of bee hives four feet
high, enclosed by a poor fence made of brambles, cut
down and thrown into a line, gives a notion of their abo-

44^ CROSSING THE SIERRAS.

riginal and miserable style of living. The picture will
be completed by supposing an ancient and wrinkled hag
sitting on a flat rock in the grounds, pounding the pine-
nuts into flour, the mortar being a hole in the rock.

For a few marches out there are corrals, in which the
sheep can be placed at night, and out of which they can
be counted in the morning. This, however, takes so long
a time that, as a rule, it is done only every second or
third day. Counting the black sheep and those with
bells is thought a sufficient check for intermediate occa
sions.

It is quite possible for a bunch of 400 or 500 sheep
to disappear out of a band of as many thousands, and
the ordinary herder will not notice their absence, even
in an open country, where he can see his flock together.

Crossing the Sierras.

Crossing the Sierras, a very small portion of the band
travel on the road. Most of the sheep are scrambling
along the hillside in a parallel direction, browsing on the
young shoots or wildly climbing in search of the young
grass.

With all this bush to contend with, it is hard work to
keep the sheep together, and it is no unusual sight to see
a band, as if gone mad, mounting higher and higher to
ward the hill-top, scattered everywhere in groups of ten

CROSSING THE SIERRAS. 449

to twenty, striving to out-run or out-climb some bunch
with a slight advance, baaing and rushing as if quite dis
traught, and all because they have come on a patch of
wild leek or green snow bush, butter weed or brier.

Now is the occasion for the shepherds to show their
activity. They must outpace the sheep in climbing the
hill, and strive to turn them in fifty places, or they will
have a small chance of collecting the rabble without sus
taining great loss.

In such moments a dog is of more use than three men
— not only that he gets more quickly over the ground,
but the sheep mind a dog, whereas they have no fear of
the men.

When started on one of these escapades, they will
stand and dodge a herder, or turn only so long as he is
driving them. Others will sneak into the bushes, or hide
in some little ravine, while nature aids the troublesome
brutes' in exhausting the men, who are often taken in by
the appearance of rocks far above them, and thinking to
catch a band of strays, do not find out their mistake till
they have had a long climb.

Toward evening the sheep follow well. It would be
as difficult to separate them now as in the day time it
was hard to bring them together.

No longer in search of food, they come down to the
path, succeeding each other in endless line.

For a quarter of a mile the road is a solid mass of

4 5<> THE BEDDING GROUND.

woolly heads and backs, with wisps joining in at inter
vals from out the dusk through some gap in the bushes,
or down a broken ramp in the bank.

The Bedding Ground.

A bedding ground has been chosen already, and so
soon as the leaders reach the farther limit they are all
stopped. The rest crowd in, and are made to close up
their ranks. The men and dogs walk around and check
the usual discontented ones who now want to go forag
ing.

There is plenty of dead wood, and soon a half-dozen
fires blaze at various points, lighting a small portion of
the forest and picking out, with a ruddy glare, the out
lines of the men and*pine trees. By and by cook shouts
4 'Supper!" One man is left on guard, and we gather
around the piece of oil-cloth spread on the ground, on
which are laid the exact number of tin plates. After the
supper is served the watch is settled for the night. We
all turn in, except the cook, who is left washing up and
getting every thing ready for the most speedy preparation
of breakfast next morning.

After ten days' travel through the mountains, the
herders are pretty well tired out by the unwonted exer
cise of chasing vagrant and skittish yearlings along the
steep and rocky slopes, or in slowly pushing their way in

SAN ANTONIO DESERT. 45 1

the rear of a straggling bunch through a labyrinth o{
tangled manzanita or bull brush. Here you have to con
tend each step with the tough branches, forcing the upper
ones apart with your arms, while you feel with your feet
for some firm footing in a mixture of low ground stems,
roots and loosely holding stones.

It is bad enough to work your way down hill, but if
you have to mount upward with a band of a hundred
sheep to watch and bring them back to the road; to head
off those which foolishly fancy an outlet by some small
clearance to one side ; to keep the leaders in view and in
the right direction ; to persuade those lagging behind to
follow at all, you will enjoy no small trial of your calf
muscles, and a moral victory if you repress the bitter
anathemas on the whole race of sheep.

Sheep driving is no dashing occupation. It requires
endless patience.

The San Antonio Desert.

The San Antonio Desert can be crossed in several
places, but nowhere is it less than forty miles wide, un
less you skirt its upper end, to do which you must go
around the sink of the Carson River, which adds to the
length of the whole route.

It is not a desert in the sense of a sandy waste, for
much bunch grass grows in little tufts throughout, but

SAN ANTONIO DESERT.

water there is none, except in rare and tiny springs far
up in the hills.

Along the road you intend to travel there are several
of these small springs, which will suffice for the camp
and the horses. The sheep must do without until you
reach the farther side. For yourselves, too, you must
often carry water.

In this matter of crossing the desert, an ounce of ex
perience is worth a ton of theory.

Sheep should be moved quietly — early in the morning
and late at night.

CHAPTER XIII.

DRIVING SHEEP IN NEVADA — FOOD IN CAMP — THE COOK'S

DUTIES SHEEP DRIVERS' CLOTHING BATHING — THE

SHEEP DRIVER'S BED — TEMPERATURE — SLEEPING IN
CAMP — SHEPHERD DOGS — PRAIRIE DOGS.

It would not be in the least interesting to detail from
day to day the recurring duties and inevitable annoy
ances.

Nevada is a thirsty land. The little water which is
to be found along the road is being monopolized by indi
viduals, so that stock of all sorts — but more particularly
sheep, which are violently disliked by farmers — have a
bad time when following the Emigrant Trail.

Where there are rivers the water is taken out for irri
gation, and the approaches to the banks are fenced. On
some of the down-stream farms the people, after the
Spring freshets, must content themselves with very little
water. The upper sluices may be closed once a week to

(453)

454 FOOD IN CAMP.

allow a supply to run down to them, which supply has to
be ponded, and it then becomes unfit in a few days for
most uses.

Food in Camp.

The food out in camp is simple and coarse. Nothing
but the wonderfully pure air and hard exercise would
make it palatable to, or digestible by, the ordinary mor
tal. There is, however, no choice. Rich and poor,
master and m^n, all sit down to the same provisions,
fare alike, and — enjoy their food.

The stock for camp consists of flour, baking powder,
necessary but more or less deleterious, coffee, tea, sugar
and bacon.

With a wagon we can afford to carry tins of tomato,
green corn and fruit, a bag each of rice and beans, some
dried apples and peaches and a gallon of syrup. These
are luxuries ; more would be superfluous.

The bacon serves the double purpose of supplying
the grease in which to fry any meat or fish that we can
get on the road and of taking the place of fresh meats
when the latter are unobtainable.

The Cook's Duties.

The cook's chief qualities should be cleanliness and

455

dispatch. Skill comes third — it requires so little and the
boys are so hungry. When the meat is fried and the
coffee is boiled, a piece of oil-cloth is stretched on the
ground, and the necessary number of plates, tin cups,
knives, forks and spoons are set out. The word is given:
4 'Grub pile. " Every man washes his face and hands,
and, seizing his convert, he helps himself and eats. The
cook hands around the coffee.

After the meat a clean place is scraped in one corner
of the plate for syrup, fruit or pudding, so long as these
luxuries hold out. The boys are moderate, except when
any thing new tickles their palate. Then they like to
finish it at once. If, then, the wagon comes within
reach they ransack the mess box, and supplement three
hearty meals by an extra lunch. The cook, however,
should be a despot, and stand them off. This raid up
sets his calculations, and may lead to a second baking.
It is the same with whisky. No self-control will prevent
them finishing any given quantity at best speed, though
it is all theirs, and might easily last longer.

Clothing,

While traveling through this parched and waterless
country your condition, as may be guessed, is somewhat
grimy. Your outer clothing is made of canvas, which

456 CLOTHING.

can be bought in every store. The overalls of the herd
ers are generally blue, worn either without undergar
ments or over a pair of cloth trousers or red flannel
drawers, according to the state of the weather. One or
two flannel shirts, usually dark blue, with a turn-down
collar and some ornament, either lacing or buttons, in
front, a brown canvas coat lined with flannel, a felt hat
with a wide brim, strong highlows, and a stick. There
is seldom any difference in the men's working dress torn
the above. These are the kind invariably provided for
the Western market, and the woolen goods are worse
than inferior. The overalls are soonest worn out and to
be replaced.

On leaving every town some of the boys will appear
in a new pair of blue trousers. A light-colored patch,
sown into the waist band behind, represents a galloping
horse as trade-mark, and informs all concerned that the
wearer is, clothed in "Wolf & Neuman's Boss of the
Road, with riveted buttons and patent continuous fly."
Then come two figures — say, 36 and 34 — which refer to
the size of waist and length of leg. If short and stout,
you buy a large man's size and turn up the bottom of the
leg. If, on the contrary, 32 would suit you for waist,
in a country store you are often compelled to take 40, so
as to secure the other dimension. An odd size, however,
leads to a tailoring in camp, which is an unprofitable
employment. For this reason most men start with at

BATHING. 457

least one extra pair of overalls to fit. The patch is left
—either from idleness or as a memorandum of one's
measurements.

For the rough and rusty work of driving, whether on
horseback or on foot, these canvas suits are the most
efficient. They turn wind and dirt, and can be washed.
Where you must follow stock in a cloud of dust and have
the ground as your only seat, woolen outer garments
would be objectionable. In cold weather, therefore, you
put the canvas overalls and coat over the woolen ordi
nary clothes. They make a great difference, and help
immensely in keeping you warm.

Bathing.

Whenever sufficient water can be found and a little
leisure secured, it is a great achievement to have a bath.
Dust is so penetrating that the least said about one's
condition is best said. It is a great consolation that it is
clean dirt, for after having washed thoroughly a quarter
of an hour at the tail of the herd would blacken you as
before. In truth, the occupation is so laborious, the
hours so long and the attention must be so unremitting
that a bath is often out of the question, even after the
proper quantity of water is found, for those who have to
do the work. The middle of the day is the only time
available, as the drives are arranged for the stock to get

A FESTIVE DAY.

water at that time. The wagon generally gets ahead in
order to fill up kegs before the stock come in and tram
ple the stream into mud, which takes but a few minutes
after they arrive. Where no provision is made for the
men beforehand, they must go a half-mile to get clean
water. To bathe in the evening, long after sunset, or
in the early morning, when you should have finished
breakfast by sunrise, is out of the question. First, you
are too tired ; second, it is too cold among the hills, even
in Summer.

You are very seldom camped on water. When by
good luck you find yourself near a deep and slowly flow
ing stream, in which the water is warmed a little by the
sun, it is a festive day.

There is generally feed on the banks. The sheep,
which prefer slightly warm water to a cold rivulet, are
content to stop around. You can then go in for real
luxury — bathe, change and wash the clothes you remove.
In the evening you are again as before — the bath but a
memory.

The natural result of these circumstances is that the
boys seldom look to ablution beyond washing their faces
and hands. They are careful in this.

Barring dust, it is a clean country, and there is fresh
air all around. Dirty men abound, and at least one is
to be found in every outfit ; but his habits are sharply
criticised^ and sharing of bedding or clothes is cai'elully

A DRIVER'S NIGHT TOILET. #59

avoided. It is fate that he should be there. You must
put up with him — at least, for a time.

Beds — Rocky Improvisations.

The bedding consists of blankets or quilted counter
panes. Your pillow is a bag stuffed with your spare
clothing. If possible, the whole should be contained in
a sheet of extra stout canvas, sufficiently long that it can
be spread underneath you, and when brought over to
cover you fully. The width must allow a wide margin,
being tucked under the sides. About fifteen feet by seven
answers well. At night you spread your bed on the
ground, and if the sides are properly tucked in, should
it come on to rain you draw the upper fly over your head
and lie snug ; the canvas is fairly waterproof. In the
morning you turn the edges inward on top, roll up the
bed and strap or tie it tightly. The canvas keeps the
bedding clean and dry, protecting it against dust and ob
jectionable emigrants, who find themselves crowded in
other blankets. Usually the boys sleep in pairs, which
increases their resources and saves weight. The bedding
is the most bulky part of the load in the wagon. Your
night toilet consists in taking off your coat and boots.
The coat you may imagine a pillow, and your boots must
be tucked away safely to keep them dry and beyond the
reach of coyotes, which will steal into camp at night and

460 TEMPERATURE.

carry off any thing made of leather. Without your boots
you would be in a very poor fix on the prairies.

Temperature.

As in all elevated countries, the difference of temper
ature during the day in the sun from that at night is very
great. Although you may work in a single flannel shirt,
it is proper to have plenty of blankets for your bed.

Sleeping in Camp.

It is the cook's duty, after fetching camp in the even
ing, having unhitched the team, to tumble all the beds
out of the wagon onto the ground. Each boy at night
carries his bed to a spot he likes and there unrolls it. He
is limited to some definite direction, from which he is
supposed to assist in guarding the sheep. It is not always
a search which ends successfully. When you start after
supper in the dark, carrying a heavy load of bedding for
the purpose of making your bed, the ground may slope
and be thickly covered with sage brush. There are hol
low and stony places, but no level spot, even six feet by
three. You are a little out of breath with the weight on
your shoulders. It leans against your head, which you
hold sideways. You can not see clearly, and stumble
against bushes or trip over stumps in the dark. You drop

SLEEPING IN CAMP. 46!

your bed carelessly with a flop, and — up jump the sheep.
Having jumped up, they begin to stray from their bed
ground in search of feed. Your first business must now
be to drive them back and watch them till they lie down
and are still again. You may then return to your bed,

i

and after spreading it out as much as can be done in a
narrow space between the bushes, you pull off your
boots and creep inside the blankets.

But where is comfort ? A root stump is under the
very middle of your bed — invisible to your eyes in the
dust, but prominent to your present feelings. It is, how
ever, a very aggressive stump that makes you shift your
quarters. You are far too tired to mind a little bullying.
If by means of bending yourself into a C or an S curve
you can avoid the knotty point it is good enough ; at any
rate, you will not move.

Granted that your expectations are accomplished ;
suppose the sheep have fed and drunk well during the
day, and therefore are not inclined to move that night ;
say that there is no wind storm to disturb you and the
plaintive coyote is dumb — then the hours pass away too
quickly. You wake in the dull gray light of day-break.
A little flame is seen flickering in camp, and the cook's
call is heard : <4 Roll out !" You jump up, but before
you have time to dress and pack your bed the second
call is heard : " Breakfast !" You carry your bedding
to the wagon and dump it down somewhere. Having

462 SHEPHERD DOGS.

washed your face and hands, you take a place near the
fire. Some one throws on a bush to make a blaze, and
you eat a hearty meal of fried meat, bread and coffee.
Long before you are ready the sheep are on the movep
and break up their camp. If they travel in the right
direction you can let them go, but if they are wandering
one man must start at once and take charge. The other
boys finish breakfast, fill their canteens with water, grab
their sticks and follow the herd. The cook is left in sole
possession. He must wash up, reload the wagon, feed
and water the team, and then follow the trail of the herd
and be up with them in time to cook dinner.

Shepherd Dogs.

Well bred and well broken dogs fetch a good price,
if you can hold them till you find a purchaser who is
really in want of such an animal. The day-dream of a
herder is to get a dog that will watch the sheep at night,
for to wake and hallo even a few times makes a bad
night, and no one need envy the man whose fate com
pels him to walk, half-chilled, round and round a lot of
fractious and pig-headed sheep ; to find the same brutes
leading off again and again, bunches watching him, and
standing still as statues in his presence, but stealing out
from the corner on which he has just turned his back. If
he iits down on a stone for ten minutes the whole work

PATIENCE AND PERSISTENCY. 463

may have to be done over again. He comes on a band
that he has already headed back several times. They
wait till the last minute and trot into the herd just about
a yard in front of him ; so soon as he is past they walk
out again.

You must take matters slowly. Impatience would do
more harm than good. The sheep you drove in with
a rush would startle ten times their number among those
which, perhaps, had been lying down. They then pack
and squeeze on the center — heads inward and tails out
ward. The chief culprits have knowingly secured places
quite out of reach. The lot can not remain so, and to
lie down must open out. You have to leave them.

Quietness, patience and persistency — these are the
cardinal qualities. Keep on turning them back until
fchey are all lying down. You may then go to bed.

In the first place, use judgment in choosing your bed
ground. Have room enough for the herd to lie down
without crowding. They will lie more quietly with elbow
room. Any place does not suit a sheep's idea of comfort.

If a big wether sees a smaller sheep in a spot which
he fancies, he will touch him with a fore foot as a signal
to clear out. If the sheep will not take the hint the big
one will butt him out.

On several occasions, when the sheep had been par
ticularly well fed and were proportionately content, they
spread out their ranks till in the morning they were seen

464 EVERY BAND NEEDS DOGS,

lying all around the men's beds, and quite close thereto.
But at these times they did not care to feed at night.

Properly handled, sheep like nothing better than to
carry out their role, which is to grow wool and grow fat.
It is for the men to help them to do so.

Good dogs are of great assistance on a drive. They
are scarce in California in the early Summer, when every
band going to the hills needs two or three dogs. Some
owners pretend they would rather be without dogs.

It is possible that in driving fat sheep on The Plains
the man would work the herd more quietly than would
the average dog, but the dog is a necessity where the
ground is rough and covered with bush, and if the sheep,
attracted by some new food they are fond of, are liable
to scatter, dogs get them in more quickly than any man
can do, and by turning those heading in a wrong direc
tion at once save time and save the sheep an unnecessary
journey.

Sheep, too, will mind a single dog when they would
not be controlled by several men. They watch the lat
ter, and dodge them so soon as their attention is engaged
elsewhere. A dog which has nipped them once or twice
instills a wholesome fear, and for him they will turn at
once.

In bad hands a dog is liable to be rough. A lazy man
will spoil his dog by over-working him, The dog soon
learns bad tricks, when he feels that he is misused, and

THE PRAIRIE DOG. 465

saves himself by cutting across little bunches, instead
of going outside of all.

The Prairie Dog.

Prairie dogs are not common in Nevada. There are
plenty on the prairies in Wyoming and Montana.

Their bark is more like a chirrup.

They are fat and pretty little beasts, as seen sitting
upon the mounds which surround the mouths of their
burrows. They eat the grass very close around their vil
lage, but they are otherwise harmless.

On the other hand, as they are of no use to you as
food, you naturally slight them.

CHAPTER XIV.

DRIVING SHEEP IN IDAHO — THE LARAMIE PLAINS — NEAR
THE GREAT SALT LAKE — HOW TO MAKE MONEY ON
SHEEP IN UTAH.

As you get into Idaho there is a marked improvement
in the country. Grass and water are more plentiful.

There are cottonwood and birch trees all along the
streams and in fringes on the hillsides. Wherever a hol
low has retained snow after its general disappearance
from the ridges of the hills and from open spots the late
moisture has encouraged the growth of every thing that
is green.

But the Autumn is decidedly fading into early Win
ter. The higher ranges have been once or twice capped
with snow ; the leaves are changing from green into col
ors more lively ; the sun, even in the middle of the day,
is occasionally feeble, having probably over-worked itself
in scorching us through the Summer. It is high time to

(466)

THE LARAMIE PLAINS. 407

consider where the sheep shall be wintered. Your choice
lies between taking them south to the country which bor
ders the Salt Lake and pushing on either to Green River
or to the Laramie Plains. The Green River country is
said to have been overstocked for many years, and though
ranges may still be found, good ones are scarce.

Without plenty of feed a band of sheep, more par
ticularly one which has traveled up north from a warmer
climate, would have a poor chance in the extreme cold
of these parts.

The Laramie Plains*

These comprise a portion of the highest table land
between the oceans. Although subject to as bitter cold
as any other place in the Northwest, its exposed position,
liable to be swept by strong winds, enables stock to live,
for the reason that, the snow being blown off, the herb
age is laid bare. This is the case in ordinary winters.

Animals which start healthy and in good condition
pull through on these plains fairly well. But in every
season there are severe snow storms and piercing winds,
during which it is impossible to take out sheep and when
cattle and horses can not do better for themselves than
to turn tail to the blast and drift slowly before the storm.

The chinook, which is a warm wind, blows at times
and melts the snow, but the greatest danger to all stock

468 NEAR SALT LAKE.

is when such a partial thaw is followed by sharp frost
The surface of the snow is then ice-bound, and it is im
possible for any animal to care for itself. To meet these
cases a sufficient quantity of hay must be provided for
the sheep. If this is not done, the chances are that the
whole herd will be starved and frozen to death. Even
with hay in hand, it is not always a good plan to feed it
to the herd, for they will not in future take the trouble
to hunt for themselves, but idle all the day and wait for
the hay in the evening — a proceeding that is exasperat
ing to the most even-tempered herder, but all in a piece
with the general behavior of sheep.

Near Salt Lake.

The climate of the country lying to the south of and
surrounding Salt Lake is much milder than that of the
nearest portions of Idaho and Wyoming. The snow does
not lie deeply, and the plains, besides grass, bear the
white sage, which is very nutritious. The latter, after
it has been nipped by frost, is apparently much relished
by all stock.

A light fall of snow here is an advantage, as it per
mits the herds to push out into the plains, which are
waterless. The sheep can eat snow, and the herders
melt it.

HOW TO MAKE MONEY IN UTAH. 469

On these trips the herders live in a small canvas
house, which is built onto the wagon. In this there is a
stove. The bed is on a low shelf across the hind end.
The entrance is on one side. With the traps and sup
plies of a couple of men, two horses only are required.
The wagon does not move every day, and often the jour
neys are short.

How to Make Money in Utah.

To men who are not averse to a solitary life and do
not fear rough times and exposure this wintering with
sheep may be tolerable.

A man who understands the work, and can be trusted
to do it, should always be able to secure something bet
ter than good wages. There are plenty of men in Utah
who, having saved money, would like to invest it in a
band of sheep. The sheep, to live, must travel Summer
and Winter. It is impossible for a man resident in town
and with a business to see after his sheep in person. He
must look around either for a herder to manage for him
or a joint owner to share in the speculation.

The current expenses are not heavy. Two men can
through the year easily drive 2,000 or 3,000 sheep, with
a little help at lambing time. The returns from wool

47° SALT LAKE CITY.

and increase are not exaggerated at 25 per cent. As the
profit with sheep, much more than with other stock, is
dependent on the care and success of the men in charge,
the man who knows has a power which in some cases
transfers the flock from the owner's hands into his own
in three or four years.

The alternative to the proprietor who can not accom
pany his own herd often lies between seeing his property
destroyed through ignorance or transferred through un
scrupulous acumen.

There is a good opening for any man thoroughly up
in sheep to make his way in Utah.

A short stay in Salt Lake City satisfies most persons.
It certainly may be called a pretty town, the trees and
gardens having a good effect. But how long would the
latter be retained should the land become valuable ? At
present worse places can easily be found, and when the
burning question is settled the town may start afresh*

I think I have given a truthful picture of the manner
of life which must be followed on the trail.

It is not everywhere so dry and dusty as in Nevada.
But, with due allowances for the more pleasant aspects
of affairs in journeying through a better grassed and bet
ter watered country, any one can fancy for himself how
far he is likely to appreciate the life. There may be dif-

AU REVOIR, READERc 4/f

ficulties special to that portion of the territories lying
farther north, owing to heavier timber and bush, into
which sheep might stray, and to the greater cold and
deeper snow which prevail through a longer Winter.

But wherever it is followed the business of driving or
looking after sheep is rude and tiresome. The outdoor
life is healthy and exhilarating. The roughing does not
show too disagreeably.

Young men who are fitted out with good spirits and
manliness have nothing to dread.

The West is a Land of Hope.

It is well to go and try it for yourself.

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