Chapter VIII.

Prompted by Dell, before leaving Chicago I bought some books for the

winter evenings, notably Mill’s “Political Economy”; Carlyle’s “Heroes

and Hero Worship” and “Latter Day Pamphlets”; Col. Hay’s “Dialect

Poems”, too and three medical books, and took them down with me to the

ranch. We had six weeks of fine weather, during which I broke in horses

under Reece’s supervision, and found out that gentleness and especially

carrots and pieces of sugar were the direct way to the heart of the

horse; discovered, too, that a horse’s bad temper and obstinacy were

nearly always due to fear. A remark of Dell that a horse’s eye had a

magnifying power and that the poor, timid creatures saw men as trees

walking, gave me the clue and soon I was gratified by Reece saying that

I could “gentle” horses as well as anyone on the ranch, excepting Bob.

As winter drew down and the bitter frost came, outdoor work almost

ceased. I read from morning till night and not only devoured Mill, but

saw through the fallacy of his Wage-Fund theory. I knew from my own

experience that the wages of labor depended primarily on the

productivity of labor. I liked Mill for his humanitarian sympathies with

the poor; but I realized clearly that he was a second-rate intelligence,

just as I felt pretty sure that Carlyle was one of the Immortals. I took

Carlyle in small doses, for I wanted to think for myself. After the

first chapters I tried to put down first, chapter by chapter, what I

thought or knew about the subject treated, and am still inclined to

believe that that is a good way to read in order to estimate what the

author has taught you.

Carlyle was the first dominant influence in my life and one of the most

important: I got more from him than from any other writer. His two or

three books learned almost by heart, taught me that Dell’s knowledge was

skimpy and superficial and I was soon Sir Oracle among the men on all

deep subjects. For the medical books, too, turned out to be excellent

and gave me almost the latest knowledge on all sex-matters. I was

delighted to put all my knowledge at the disposal of the boys, or rather

to show off to them how much I knew.

That fall brought me to grief: early in October I was taken by ague;

“chills and fever” as it was called. I suffered miseries and though

Reece induced me to ride all the same and spend most of the daytime in

the open, I lost weight till I learned that arsenic was a better

specific even than quinine. Then I began to mend, but, off and on, every

fall and spring afterwards, so long as I stayed in America, I had to

take quinine and arsenic to ward off the debilitating attacks.

I was very low indeed when we started down on the Trail; the Boss being

determined, as he said, to bring up two herds that summer. Early in May

he started north from near St. Anton’ with some five thousand head,

leaving Reece, Dell, Bob, Peggy the cook, Bent, Charlie and myself to

collect another herd. I never saw the Boss again; understood, however,

from Reece’s cursing that he had got through safely, sold the cattle at

a good price and made off with all the proceeds, though he owed Reece

and Dell more than one-half.

Charlie’s love-adventure that ended so badly didn’t quiet him for long.

In our search for cheap cattle we had gone down nearly to the Rio Grande

and there, in a little half-Mexican town, Charlie met his fate.

As it so happened, I had gone to the saloon with him on his promise that

he would only drink one glass, and though the glass would be full of

forty-rod whisky, I knew it would have only a passing effect on

Charlie’s superb strength. But it excited him enough to make him call up

all the girls for a drink: they all streamed laughing to the bar, all

save one. Naturally Charlie went after her and found a very pretty blond

girl, who had a strain of Indian blood in her, it was said. At first she

didn’t yield to Charlie’s invitation, so he turned away angrily, saying:

“You don’t want to drink probably because you want to cure yourself or

because you’re ugly where women are usually beautiful.” Answering the

challenge the girl sprang to her feet, tore off her jacket and in a

moment was naked to her boots and stockings.

“Am I ugly?” she cried, pushing out her breasts, “or do I look ill, you

fool!” and whirled around to give us the back view!

She certainly had a lovely figure with fair youthful breasts and

peculiarly full bottom and looked the picture of health. The full cheeks

of her behind excited me intensely, I didn’t know why: therefore, it

didn’t surprise me when Charlie, with a half-articulate shout of

admiration, picked her up bodily in his arms and carried her out of the

room.

When I remonstrated with him afterwards, he told me he had a sure way of

knowing whether the girl, Sue, was diseased or not.

I contradicted him and found that this was his infallible test: as soon

as he was alone with a girl, he pulled out ten or twenty dollars, as the

case might be, and told her to keep the money. “I’ll not give you more

in any case”, he would add: “now tell me, dear, if you are ill and we’ll

have a last drink and then I’ll go. If she’s ill, she’s sure to tell

you—see!” and he laughed triumphantly.

“Suppose she doesn’t know she’s ill?” I asked: but he replied: “they

always know and they’ll tell the truth when their greed is not against

you.”

For some time it looked as if Charlie had enjoyed his Beauty without any

evil consequences, but a month or so later he noticed a lump in his

right groin and soon afterwards a syphilitic sore showed itself just

under the head of his penis. We had already started northwards, but I

had to tell Charlie the plain truth.

“Then it’s serious”, he cried in astonishment, and I replied.

“I’m afraid so, but not if you take it in time and go under a rigorous

regimen.”

Charlie did everything he was told to do and always bragged that

gonorrhea was much worse, as it is certainly more painful, than

syphilis; but the disease in time had its revenge.

As he began to get better on the Trail, thanks to the good air, regular

exercise and absence of drink, he became obstreperous from time to time

and I at any rate forgot about his ailment.

The defection of the Boss made a serious difference to us; Reece and

Dell with three or four Mexicans and Peggy went on slowly buying cattle;

but Bob and Bent put a new scheme into my head. Bent was always

preaching that the Boss’s defection had ruined Reece and that if I would

put in, say five thousand dollars, I could be Reece’s partner and make a

fortune with him. Bob, too, was keen on this and told me incidentally

that he could get cattle from the Mexicans for nothing. I had a talk

with Reece who said he’d have to be content with buying 3000 head for

cattle had gone up in price twofold and the Boss’s swindle had crippled

him. If I would pay Bent’s, Charlie’s and Bob’s wages, he’d be

delighted, he said, to join forces with me: on Bob’s advice, I consented

and with his help, I managed to secure three thousand head for little

more than three thousand dollars. And this is how we managed it.

For some reason or other, perhaps, because I had learnt a few words of

Spanish, Bob had taken a fancy to me and was always willing to help me

except when he was mad with drink. He now assured me that if I would go

with him down the Rio Grande a hundred miles or so, he’d get me a

thousand head of cattle for nothing. I consented, for Bent, too, and

Charlie, were on Bob’s side.

The next morning before sunrise we started out and rode steadily to the

southeast. We carried enough food for two or three days. Bob saw to that

without any question, but generally he brought us about eight o’clock

near some house or other where we could get food and shelter. His

knowledge of the whole frontier was as uncanny as his knowledge of

cattle.

On the fourth or fifth day about nine in the morning he stopped us by a

little wooded height looking over a gorge of the river. To the left the

river spread out almost to a shallow lake, and one did not need to be

told that a little lower down there must be one or more fords where

cattle could cross almost without wetting themselves.

Bob got off his horse in a clump of cottonwood trees which he said was a

good place to camp without being seen. I asked him where the cattle were

and he told me “across the river.” Within two or three miles, it

appeared, there was a famous hacienda with great herds. As soon as it

got dark he proposed to go across and find out all about it and bring us

the news. We were to be careful not to be seen and he hoped that we

would not even make a fire but lie close till he returned.

We were more than willing, and when we got tired of talking Bent

produced an old deck of cards and we would play draw poker or euchre or

casino for two or three hours. The first night passed quickly enough. We

had been in the saddle for ten hours a day for four or five days and

slept a dreamless sleep. Bob did not return that day or the next and on

the third day Bent began to curse him, but I felt sure he had good

reason for the delay and so waited with what patience I could muster. On

the third night he was suddenly with us just as if he had come out of

the earth.

“Welcome back”, I cried. “Everything right?”

“Everything”, he said: “It was no good coming sooner; they have brought

some cattle within four miles of the river; the orders are to keep ’em

away seven or eight miles, so that they could not be driven across

without rousing the whole country; but Don José is very rich and

carefree and there is a herd of fifteen hundred that will suit us not

three miles from the river in a fold of the prairie guarded only by two

men whom I’ll make so very drunk that they’ll hear nothing till next

morning. A couple of bottles of aguardiente will do the bizness, and

I’ll come back for you tomorrow night by eight or nine o’clock.”

It all turned out as Bob had arranged. The next night he came to us as

soon as it was dark. We rode some two miles down the river to a ford,

splashed through the rivulets of water and came out on the Mexican side.

In single file and complete silence we followed Bob at a lope for

perhaps twenty minutes when he put up his hand and we drew down to a

walk. There below us between two waves of prairie were the cattle.

In a few words Bob told Bent and Charlie what they were to do. Bent was

to stay behind and shoot in case we were followed—unlikely but always

possible. Charlie and I were to move the cattle towards the ford,

quietly all the way if we could, but if we were pursued, then as hard as

we could drive them.

For the first half hour all went according to program. Charlie and I

moved the cattle together and drove them over the waves of prairie

towards the river; it all seemed as easy as eating and we had begun to

push the cattle into a fast walk when suddenly there was a shot in front

and a sort of stampede!

At once Charlie shot out on the left as I shot out on the right and

using our whips, we quickly got the herd into motion again, the rear

ranks forcing the front ones on; the cattle were soon pressed into a

shuffling trot and the difficulty seemed overcome. Just at that moment I

saw two or three bright flames half a mile away on the other side of

Charlie and suddenly I heard the zip of a bullet pass my own head and

turning, saw pretty plainly a man riding fifty yards away from me. I

took very careful aim at his horse and fired and was delighted to see

horse and man come down and disappear. I paid no further attention to

him and kept on forcing the pace of the cattle. But Charlie was very

busily engaged for two or three minutes because the fusillade was kept

up from behind till he was joined by Bent and shortly afterwards by Bob.

We were all now driving the cattle as hard as they could go, straight

towards the ford. The shots behind us continued and even grew more

frequent, but we were not further molested till three quarters of an

hour later we reached the Rio Grande and began urging the cattle across

the ford. There progress was necessarily slow. We could scarcely have

got across had it not been that about the middle Bob came up and made

his whip and voice a perfect terror to the beasts in the rear.

When we got them out on the other side I began to turn them westwards

towards our wooded knoll, but the next moment Bob was beside me

shouting—“Straight ahead, straight ahead; they are following us and we

shall have to fight. You get on with the herd always straight north and

I’ll bring Charlie back to the bank so as to hold ’em off.”

Boylike, I said I would rather go and fight, but he said: “You go on. If

Charlie killed, no matter. I want you.” And I had perforce to do what

the little devil ordered.

When Texan cattle have been brought up together the largest herd can be

driven like a small bunch. They have their leader and they follow him

religiously and so one man can drive a thousand head with very little

trouble.

For two or three miles I kept them on the trot and then I let them

gradually get down to a walk. I did not want to lose any more of them;

some fat cows had already died in their tracks through being driven so

fast.

About two o’clock in the morning I passed a log-house and soon an

American rode up beside me and wanted to know who I was, where I had

brought the cattle from and where I was going! I told him the owner was

behind me, and the boys and I were driving them straight ahead because

some greasers had been interfering with us.

“That’s the shooting I heard”, he said. “You have driven them across the

river: haven’t you?”

“I’ve driven them from the river,” I replied; “some of them were getting

a drink.”

I could feel him grin though I was not looking at him.

“I guess I’ll see your friends pretty soon,” he said, “but this raiding

is bad business. Them greasers’ll come across and give me trouble. We

border-folk don’t want a fuss, hatched up by you foreigners!”

I placated him as well as I could; but at first was unsuccessful. He

didn’t say much but he evidently intended to come with me to the end

because wherever I rode, I found him right behind the herd when I

returned.

Day had broken when I let the cattle halt for the first time. I reckoned

I had gone twelve miles from the ford and the beasts were foot-sore and

very tired; more and more of them requiring the whip in order to keep up

even a walk. I bunched them together and came back to my saturnine

acquaintance.

“You are young to be at this game”, he said. “Who is your Boss?”

“I don’t keep a boss”, I answered, taking him in with hostile scrutiny.

He was a man of about forty, tall and lean with an enormous quid of

tobacco in his left cheek—a typical Texan.

His bronco interested me; instead of being an Indian pony of thirteen

hands or so it was perhaps fifteen and a half and looked to be

three-quarters bred.

“A good horse you have there”, I said.

“The best in the hull country,” he replied, “easy.”

“That’s only your conceit”, I retorted. “The mare I am on right now can

give him a hundred yards in a mile.”

“You don’t want to risk any money on that, do you?” he remarked.

“Oh, yes”, I smiled.

“Well, we can try it out one of these days, but here comes your crowd”,

and indeed, although I had not expected them, in five minutes Bent and

Bob and Charlie rode up.

“Get the cattle going”, cried Bob, as he came within earshot. “We must

go on. The Mexicans have gone back but they will come right after us

again. Who is this?” he added, ranging up beside the Texan.

“My name is Locker”, said my acquaintance; “and I guess your raiding

will set the whole border boiling. Can’t you buy cattle decently, like

we all have to?”

“How do you know how decently we paid for them?” cried Bent, thrusting

forward his brown face like a weasel’s, his dog teeth showing.

“I guess Mr. Locker is all right”, I cried laughing; “I propose he

should help us and take two or three hundred head as payment, or the

value of them—”

“Now you’re talking”, said Locker. “I call that sense. There is a herd

of mine about a mile further on; if two or three hundred of your José

steers join it, I can’t hinder ’em; but I’d rather have dollars; cash is

scarce!”

“Are they herded?” asked Bob.

“Sure”, replied Locker. “I am too near the river to let any cattle run

round loose though nobody has interfered with me in the last ten years.”

Bob and I began moving the cattle on leaving Bent with Locker to

conclude the negotiations. In an hour we had found Locker’s herd that

must have numbered at least six thousand head and were guarded by three

herdsmen.

Locker and Bent had soon come to a working agreement. Locker it turned

out had another herd some distance to the east from which he could draw

three or four herdsmen. He had also a couple of boys, sons of his, whom

he could send to rouse some of the neighboring farmers if the need was

urgent. It turned out that we had done well to be generous to him for he

knew the whole of the countryside like a book and was a good friend in

our need.

Late in the afternoon, Locker was informed by one of his sons, a youth

of about sixteen, that twenty Mexicans had crossed the river and would

be up to us in a short time. Locker sent him after the younger boy to

round up as many Texans as possible but before they could be collected,

a bunch of greasers, twenty or so, in number, rode up and demanded the

return of the cattle. Bent and Locker put them off and as luck would

have it, while they were arguing, three or four Texans came up, and one

of them, a man of about forty years of age named Rossiter, took control

of the whole dispute. He told the Mexican leader, who said he was Don

Luis, a son of Don José, that if he stayed any longer he would probably

be arrested and put in prison for raiding American territory and

threatening people.

The Mexican seemed to have a good deal of pluck, and declared that he

would not only threaten but carry out his threat. Rossiter told him to

wade right in. The loud talk began again, and a couple more Texans came

up and the Mexican leader realizing that unless he did something at once

he would be too late, started to circle round the cattle, no doubt

thinking that if he did some thing his superior numbers would scare us.

In five minutes the fight had begun. In ten more it was all over.

Nothing could stand against the deadly shooting of the Westerners. In

five minutes one or two of the Mexicans had been killed and several

wounded; half a dozen horses had gone down; it was perfectly evident

that the eight or ten of us were more than a match for the twenty

Mexicans, for except Don Luis, none of them seemed to have any stomach

for the work, and Luis got a bullet through his arm in the first five

minutes. Finally they drew off threatening and yelling and we saw no

more of them.

After the battle we all adjourned to Locker’s and had a big drink.

Nobody took the fight seriously: whipping Greasers was nothing to brag

about; but Rossiter thought that a claim should be made against the

Mexican Government for raiding United States territory: said he was

going to draw up the papers and send them to the State District Attorney

at Austin. The proposal was received with whoops and cheers. The idea of

punishing the Mexicans for getting shot trying to recapture their own

cattle appealed to us Americans as something intensely humorous. All the

Texans gave their names solemnly as witnesses, and Rossiter swore he

would draw up the document. Years afterwards Bent whom I met by chance,

told me that Rossiter had got forty thousand dollars on that claim.

Three days later we began to move our cattle eastward to rejoin Reece

and Dell. I gave one hundred dollars as a reward to Locker’s two boys

who had helped us from start to finish most eagerly.

A week or so later we got back to the main camp. Reece and Dell had

their herd ready and fat, and after a talk we resolved to go each on his

own and join afterwards for the fall and winter on the ranch, if it

pleased us. We took three weeks to get our bunch of cattle into

condition and so began driving North in July. I spent every night in the

saddle and most of the day, even though the accursed fever was shaking

me.

All went well with us at first: I promised my three lieutenants a third

share in the profits and a small wage besides: they were as keen as

mustard and did all men could do. As soon as we reached the latitude of

the Indian territory our troubles began. One wild night Indians, who

wore sheets and had smeared their hands with phosphorus, stampeded the

cattle and though the boys did wonders we lost nearly a thousand head

and some hundred horses all of them broken in carefully.

It was a serious loss but not irreparable. The Plain Indians, however,

were as persistent that summer as mosquitoes. I never went out after

game but they tried to cut me off and once at least nothing but the

speed and stamina of Blue Devil saved me. I had to give up serious

shooting and depend on luck bringing us near game. Gradually the Indians

following us grew more numerous and bolder. We were attacked at

nightfall and daybreak three or four days running and the half wild

cattle began to get very scary.

Bob did not conceal his anxiety. “Bad Injuns! very mean Injuns—!” One

afternoon they followed us openly; there were at one time over a hundred

in view; evidently they were getting ready for a serious attack. Bob’s

genius got us a respite. While Charlie was advising a pitched battle,

Bob suddenly remembered that there was a scrub-oak forest some five

miles further on to our right that would give us a refuge. Charlie and

Bent, the best shots, lay down and began to shoot and soon made the

Indians keep out of sight. In three hours we reached the scrub-oak wood

and the bay or bight in it where Bob said the cattle would be safe; for

nothing could get through scrub-oak and as soon as we had driven the

cattle deep into the bay and brought our wagon to the centre, on the arc

of the bight, so to speak, no Indians could stampede the cattle without

blotting us out first. For the moment we were safe and as luck would

have it, the water in a little creek near by was drinkable. Still we

were besieged by over a hundred Indians and those odds were heavy as

even Bob admitted.

Days passed and the siege continued: the Indians evidently meant to tire

us out and get the herd, and our tempers didn’t improve under the

enforced idleness and vigilance. One evening Charlie was sprawling at

the fire taking up more than his share of it, when Bent who had been

looking after the cattle, came in. “Take up your legs, Charlie,” he said

roughly, “you don’t want the whole fire.” Charlie didn’t hear or paid no

attention: the next moment Bent had thrown himself down on Charlie’s

long limbs. With a curse Charlie pushed him off: the next moment Bent

had hurled himself on Charlie and had shoved his head down in the fire.

After a short struggle Charlie got free and in spite of all I could do,

struck Bent.

Bent groped for his gun at once; but Charlie was at him striking and

swinging like a wild man and Bent had to meet the attack.

Till the trial came, everyone would have said that Charlie was far and

away the better man, younger too and astonishingly powerful. But Bent

evidently was no novice at the game. He side-stepped Charlie’s rush and

hit out straight and hard and Charlie went down; but was up again like a

flash, and went for his man in a wild rush: soon he was down again and

everyone realized that sooner or later Bent must win. Fighting, however,

has a large element of chance in it and as luck would have it just when

Bent seemed most certain of winning, one of Charlie’s wild swings caught

him on the point of the jaw and to our amazement he went, down like a

log and could not be brought to for some ten minutes. It was the first

time I had seen this blow and naturally we all exaggerated the force of

it not knowing that a light blow up against the chin jars the spinal

cord and knocks any man insensible, in fact, in many cases, such a blow

results in partial paralysis and life-long weakness.

Charlie was inclined to brag of his victory but Bob told him the truth

and on reflection Bent’s purpose and fighting power made the deeper

impression on all of us and he himself took pains next day to warn

Charlie:

“Don’t get in my way again”, he said to him drily, “or I’ll make meat of

you.”

The dire menace in his hard, face was convincing. “Oh, Hell”, replied

Charlie, “who wants to get in your way!”

Reflection teaches me that all the worst toughs on the border in my time

were ex-soldiers: it was the Civil war that had bred those men to

violence and the use of the revolver; it was the civil war that produced

the “Wild Bills” and Bents who forced the good-humored Westerners to

hold life cheaply and to use their guns instead of fists.

One evening we noticed a large increase in the force of Indians

besieging us: one chief too on a piebald mustang appeared to be urging

an immediate attack and soon we found some of the “braves” stealing down

the creek to outflank us, while a hundred others streamed past us at

four hundred yards’ distance firing wildly. Bob and I went under the

creek banks to stop the flankers while Bent and Charlie and Jo brought

down more than one horse and man and taught the band of Indians that a

direct attack would surely cost them many lives.

Still there were only five of us and a chance bullet or two might make

the odds against us desperate.

Talking it over we came to the conclusion that one man should ride to

Fort Dodge for help and I was selected as the lightest save Bob and

altogether the worst shot besides being the only man who would certainly

find his way. Accordingly I brought up Blue Devil at once, took some

pounds of jerked beef with me and a goat-water skin I had bought in

Taos; a girth and stirrups quickly turned a blanket into a makeshift,

light saddle and I was ready.

It was Bob’s uncanny knowledge both of the Trail and of Indian ways that

gave me my chance. All the rest advised me to go North out of our bay

and then ride for it. He advised me to go south where the large body of

Indians had stationed themselves. “They’ll not look for you there”, he

said and “you may get through unseen; half an hour’s riding more will

take you round them; then you have one hundred and fifty miles north on

the Trail—you may pick up a herd—and then one hundred and twenty miles

straight west. You ought to be in Dodge in five days and back here in

five more; you’ll find us”, he added significantly. The little man

padded Blue Devil’s hooves with some old garments he cut up and insisted

on leading her away round the bight and far to the south, and I verily

believe beyond the Indian camp.

There he took off the mare’s pads, while I tightened the girths and

started to walk keeping the mare between me and the Indians and my ears

cocked for the slightest sound. But I heard nothing and saw nothing and

in an hour more had made the round and was on the Trail for the north

determined in my own mind to do the two or three hundred miles in four

days at most.... On the fourth day I got twenty troopers from the Fort

with Lieutenant Winder and was leading them in a bee-line to our Refuge.

We got there in six days; but in the mean time the Indians had been

busy.

They cut a way through the scrub-oak brush that we regarded as

impassable and stampeded the cattle one morning just at dawn and our men

were only able to herd off about six or seven hundred head and protect

them in the extreme north corner of the bend. The Indians had all drawn

off the day before I arrived with the U. S. Cavalry troopers.... Next

morning we began the march northwards and I had no difficulty in

persuading Lieutenant Winder to give us his escort for the next four or

five days....

A week later we reached Wichita where we decided to rest for a couple of

days and there we encountered another piece of bad luck. Ever since he

had caught syphilis, Charlie seemed to have lost his gay temper: he

became gloomy and morose and we could do nothing to cheer him up. The

very first night he had to be put to bed at the gambling saloon in

Wichita where he had become speechlessly drunk. And next day he was

convinced that he had been robbed of his money by the man who kept the

bank and went about swearing that he would get even with him at all

costs. By the evening he had infected Bent and Jo with his insane

determination and finally I went along hoping to save him, if I could,

from some disaster.

Already I had asked Bob to get another herdsman and drive the cattle

steadily towards Kansas City: he consented and for hours before we went

to the saloon, Bob had been trekking north. I intended to rejoin him

some five or six miles further on and drive slowly for the rest of the

night. Somehow or other, I felt that the neighborhood was unhealthy for

us.

The gambling saloon was lighted by three powerful oil lamps: two over

the faro-table and one over the bar. Jo stationed himself at the bar

while Bent and Charlie went to the table: I walked about the room trying

to play the indifferent among the twenty or thirty men scattered about.

Suddenly about 10 o’clock Charlie began disputing with the banker: they

both rose, the banker drawing a big revolver from the table drawer in

front of him. At the same moment Charlie struck the lamp above him and I

saw him draw his gun just as all the lights went out leaving us in pitch

darkness.

I ran to the door and was carried through it in a sort of mad stampede.

A minute afterwards Bent joined me and then Charlie came rushing out at

top speed with Jo hard after him. In a moment we were at the corner of

the street where we had left our ponies and were off: one or two shots

followed; I thought we had got off scot free; but I was mistaken.

We had ridden hell for leather, for about an hour when Charlie without

apparent reason pulled up and swaying fell out of his saddle: his pony

stopped dead and we all gathered round the wounded man:

“I’m finished”, said Charlie in a weak voice, “but I’ve got my money

back and I want you to send it to my mother in Pleasant Hill, Missouri.

It’s about a thousand dollars, I guess.”

“Are you badly hurt?” I asked.

“He drilled me through the stomach first go off” Charlie said pointing,

“and I guess I’ve got it at least twice more through the lungs: I’m

done.”

“What a pity, Charlie!” I cried, “you’ll get more than a thousand

dollars from your share of the cattle: I’ve told Bob, that I intend to

share equally with all of you: this money must go back; but the thousand

shall be sent to your mother I promise you:”—

“Not on your life!”, cried the dying man, lifting himself up on one

elbow: “This is my money: it shan’t go back to that oily sneak thief”:

the effort had exhausted him; even in the dim light we could see that

his face was drawn and gray: he must have understood this himself for I

could just hear his last words: “Good-bye, boys!” his head fell back,

his mouth opened: the brave boyish spirit was gone.

I couldn’t control my tears: the phrase came to me: “I better could have

lost a better man,” for Charlie was at heart a good fellow!

I left Bent to carry back the money and arrange for Charlie’s burial,

leaving Jo to guard the body: in an hour I was again with Bob and had

told him everything. Ten days later we were in Kansas City where I was

surprised by unexpected news.

My second brother Willie, six years older than I was, had come out to

America and hearing of me in Kansas had located himself in Lawrence as a

real-estate agent; he wrote asking me to join him. This quickened my

determination to have nothing more to do with cowpunching. Cattle too,

we found, had fallen in price and we were lucky to get ten dollars or so

a head for our bunch which made a poor showing from the fact that the

Indians had netted all the best. There was about six thousand dollars to

divide: Jo got five hundred dollars and Bent, Bob, Charlie’s mother and

myself divided the rest. Bob told me I was a fool: I should keep it all

and go down south again: but what had I gained by my two years of

cowpunching? I had lost money and caught malarial fever; I had won a

certain knowledge of ordinary men and their way of living and had got

more than a smattering of economics and of medicine, but I was filled

with an infinite disgust for a merely physical life. What was I to do

now? I’d see Willie and make up my mind.

[Illustration]

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STUDENT LIFE AND LOVE.