AN EXCITING TRIP AFTER THIEVES.

After arriving on our newly located ranch we counted the cattle and found the herd three hundred head short.

Bill Allen, the boss, struck back to try and find their trail. He found it leading south from the "rifle pits." The cattle had stolen out of the herd without anyone finding it out; and of course finding themselves free, they having come from southern Texas, they headed south across the Plains.

Allen came back to camp and taking me and two horses apiece, struck down the river to head them off. We made our headquarters at Fort Elliott and scoured the country out for a hundred miles square.

We succeeded in getting about two hundred head of them; some had become wild and were mixed up with large herds of buffalo, while others had been taken up by ranchmen around the Fort and the brands disfigured. We got back to camp after being absent a month.

About the first of October four more herds arrived; three from Dodge and one from Grenada, Colorado, where Bates & Beals formerly had a large ranch. We then turned them all loose on the river and established "Sign" camps around the entire range, which was about forty miles square. The camps were stationed from twenty-five to thirty miles apart. There were two men to the camp and their duty was to see that no cattle drifted outside of the line—on their "ride," which was half way to the next camp on each side, or in plainer words one man would ride south towards the camp in that direction, while his pard would go north until he met the man from the next camp, which would generally be on a hill, as near half way as possible. If any cattle had crossed over the line during the night they would leave a trail of course, and this the rider would follow up until he overtook them. He would then bring them back inside of the line; sometimes though they would come out so thick that half a dozen men couldn't keep them back, for instance, during a bad storm. Under such circumstances he would have to do the best he could until he got a chance to send to the "home ranch" for help.

A young man by the name of John Robinson and myself were put in a Sign camp ten miles south of the river, at the foot of the Staked Plains. It was the worst camp in the whole business, for three different reasons, the first one being, cattle naturally want to drift south in the winter, and secondly, the cold storms always came from the north, and the third and most objectionable cause was, if any happened to get over the line onto the Staked plains during a bad snow storm they were considered gone, as there were no "breaks" or anything to check them for quite a distance. For instance, drifting southwest they would have nothing but a level plain to travel over for a distance of three hundred miles to the Pecos river near the old Mexico line.

John and I built a small stone house on the head of "Bonetta" Canyon and had a hog killing time all by ourselves. Hunting was our delight at first, until it became old. We always had four or five different kinds of meat in camp. Buffalo meat was way below par with us, for we could go a few hundred yards from camp any time of day and kill any number of the woolly brutes. To give you an idea how thick buffaloes were around there that fall will say, at one time when we first located our camp on the Bonetta, there was a solid string of them, from one to three miles wide, going south, which took three days and nights to cross the Canadian river. And at other times I have seen them so thick on the plains that the country would look black just as far as the eye could reach.

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

About Christmas we had a little excitement, chasing some mexican thieves, who robbed Mr. Pitcher of everything he had in his little Jim Crow store. John and I were absent from our camp, six days on this trip. There were nine of us in the persuing party, headed by Mr. Moore, our boss. We caught the outfit, which consisted of five men, all well armed and three women, two of them being pretty maidens, on the staked plains, headed for Mexico. It was on this trip that I swore off getting drunk, and I have stuck to it—with the exception of once and that was over the election of President Cleveland—It happened thus:

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

Supper was called and the boys all rushed to the table—a few sheepskins spread on the dirt floor. When about through they missed one of their crowd—a fellow about my size. On searching far and near he was found lying helplessly drunk under his horse, Whisky-peet—who was tied to a rack in front of the store. A few glasses of salty water administered by Mr. Moore brought me to my right mind. Moore then after advising me to remain until morning, not being able to endure an all night ride as he thought, called, "come on, fellers!" And mounting their tired horses they dashed off at almost full speed.

There I stood leaning against the rack not feeling able to move. Whisky-peet was rearing and prancing in his great anxiety to follow the crowd. I finally climbed into the saddle, the pony still tied to the rack. I had sense enough left to know that I couldn't get on him if loose, in the fix I was in. Then pulling out my bowie knife I cut the rope and hugged the saddle-horn with both hands. I overtook and stayed with the crowd all night, but if ever a mortal suffered it was me. My stomach felt as though it was filled with scorpions, wild cats and lizards. I swore if God would forgive me for geting on that drunk I would never do so again. But the promise was broken, as I stated before, when I received the glorious news of Cleveland's election.

After New Year's, Moore took Jack Ryan, Vandozen and myself and went on an exploring expedition south, across the Staked plains, with a view of learning the country.

The first place we struck was Canyon Paladuro, head of Red river. The whole country over there was full of indians and mexicans. We laid over two days in one of their camps, watching them lance buffaloes. From there we went to Mulberry where we put in three or four days hunting. When we pulled out again our pack-pony was loaded down with fat bear meat.