shortly after noon. They met the owner just coming out of the dug-out as they rode up. They exchanged the compliments of the hour, when the new man turned and locked the door of the dug-out with a padlock. Bill sparred around the main question, but finally asked if it was too late to get dinner, and was very politely informed that dinner was over. This latter information was, however, qualified with a profusion of regrets. After a confession of a hard ride made that morning from a camp many miles distant, Bill asked the chance to remain over night. Again the travelers were met with serious regrets, as no one would be at camp that night, business calling the owner away; he was just starting then. The cowman led out his horse, and after mounting and expressing for the last time his sincere regrets that he could not extend to them the hospitalities of his camp, rode away.
“Bill and his pardner moseyed in an opposite direction a short distance and held a parley. Bill was so nonplussed at the reception that it took him some little time to collect his thoughts. When it thoroughly dawned on him that the courtesies of the range had been trampled under foot by a rank newcomer and himself snubbed, he was aroused to action.
“‘Let’s go back,’ said Bill to his pardner, ‘and at least leave our card. He might not like it if we didn’t.’
“They went back and dismounted about ten steps from the door. They shot every cartridge they both had, over a hundred between them, through the door, fastened a card with their correct names on it, and rode away. One of the boys that was working there, but was absent at the time, says there was a number of canned tomato and corn crates ranked up at the rear of the dug-out, in range with the door. This lad says that it looked as if they had a special grievance against those canned goods, for they were riddled with lead. That fellow lost enough by that act to have fed all the chuck-line men that would bother him in a year.
“Raneka made it a rule,” continued Mouse, “to go down and visit the Cheyennes every winter, sometimes staying a month. He could make a good stagger at speaking their tongue, so that together with his knowledge of the Spanish and the sign language he could converse with them readily. He was perfectly at home with them, and they all liked him. When he used to let his hair grow long, he looked like an Indian.
Once, when he was wrangling horses for us during the beef-shipping season, we passed him off for an Indian on some dining-room girls.
George Wall was working with us that year, and had gone in ahead to see about the cars and find out when we could pen and the like. We had to drive to the State line, then, to ship. George took dinner at the best hotel in the town, and asked one of the dining-room girls if he might bring in an Indian to supper the next evening. They didn’t know, so they referred him to the landlord. George explained to that auger, who, not wishing to offend us, consented. There were about ten girls in the dining-room, and they were on the lookout for the Indian. The next night we penned a little before dark. Not a man would eat at the wagon; every one rode for the hotel. We fixed Bill up in fine shape, put feathers in his hair, streaked his face with red and yellow, and had him all togged out in buckskin, even to moccasins. As we entered the dining-room, George led him by the hand, assuring all the girls that he was perfectly harmless. One long table accommodated us all.
George, who sat at the head with our Indian on his right, begged the girls not to act as though they were afraid; he might notice it. Wall fed him pickles and lump sugar until the supper was brought on. Then he pushed back his chair about four feet, and stared at the girls like an idiot. When George ordered him to eat, he stood up at the table.
When he wouldn’t let him stand, he took the plate on his knee, and ate one side dish at a time. Finally, when he had eaten everything that suited his taste, he stood up and signed with his hands to the group of girls, muttering, ‘Wo-haw, wo-haw.’
“‘He wants some more beef,’ said Wall. ‘Bring him some more beef.’
After a while he stood up and signed again, George interpreting his wants to the dining-room girls: ‘Bring him some coffee. He’s awful fond of coffee.’
“That supper lasted an hour, and he ate enough to kill a horse. As we left the dining-room, he tried to carry away a sugar-bowl, but Wall took it away from him. As we passed out George turned back and apologized to the girls, saying, ‘He’s a good Injun. I promised him he might eat with us. He’ll talk about this for months now. When he goes back to his tribe he’ll tell his squaws all about you girls feeding him.’”
“Seems like I remember that fellow Wall,” said Bradshaw, meditating.
“Why, of course you do. Weren’t you with us when we voted the bonds to the railroad company?” asked Edwards.
“No, never heard of it; must have been after I left. What business did you have voting bonds?”
“Tell him, Coon. I’m too full for utterance,” said Edwards.
“If you’d been in this country you’d heard of it,” said Coon Floyd.
“For a few years everything was dated from that event. It was like ‘when the stars fell,’ and the ‘surrender’ with the old-time darkies at home. It seems that some new line of railroad wanted to build in, and wanted bonds voted to them as bonus. Some foxy agent for this new line got among the long-horns, who own the cattle on this Strip, and showed them that it was to their interests to get a competing line in the cattle traffic. The result was, these old long-horns got owly, laid their heads together, and made a little medicine. Every mother’s son of us in the Strip was entitled to claim a home somewhere, so they put it up that we should come in and vote for the bonds. It was believed it would be a close race if they carried, for it was by counties that the bonds were voted. Towns that the road would run through would vote unanimously for them, but outlying towns would vote solidly against the bonds. There was a big lot of money used, wherever it came from, for we were royally entertained. Two or three days before the date set for the election, they began to head for this cow-town, every man on his top horse. Everything was as free as air, and we all understood that a new railroad was a good thing for the cattle interests. We gave it not only our votes, but moral support likewise.
“It was a great gathering. The hotels fed us, and the liveries cared for our horses. The liquid refreshments were provided by the prohibition druggists of the town and were as free as the sunlight.
There was an underestimate made on the amount of liquids required, for the town was dry about thirty minutes; but a regular train was run through from Wichita ahead of time, and the embarrassment overcome.
There was an opposition line of railroad working against the bonds, but they didn’t have any better sense than to send a man down to our town to counteract our exertions. Public sentiment was a delicate matter with us, and while this man had no influence with any of us, we didn’t feel the same toward him as we might. He was distributing his tickets around, and putting up a good argument, possibly, from his point of view, when some of these old long-horns hinted to the boys to show the fellow that he wasn’t wanted. ‘Don’t hurt him,’ said one old cow-man to this same Wall, ‘but give him a scare, so he will know that we don’t indorse him a little bit. Let him know that this town knows how to vote without being told. I’ll send a man to rescue him, when things have gone far enough. You’ll know when to let up.’
“That was sufficient. George went into a store and cut off about fifty feet of new rope. Some fellows that knew how tied a hangman’s knot.
As we came up to the stranger, we heard him say to a man, ‘I tell you, sir, these bonds will pauperize unborn gener—’ But the noose dropped over his neck, and cut short his argument. We led him a block and a half through the little town, during which there was a pointed argument between Wall and a “Z–-” man whether the city scales or the stockyards arch gate would be the best place to hang him. There were a hundred men around him and hanging on to the rope, when a druggist, whom most of them knew, burst through the crowd, and whipping out a knife cut the rope within a few feet of his neck. ‘What in hell are you varments trying to do?’ roared the druggist. ‘This man is a cousin of mine. Going to hang him, are you? Well, you’ll have to hang me with him when you do.’
“‘Just as soon make it two as one,’ snarled George. ‘When did you get the chips in this game, I’d like to know? Oppose the progress of the town, too, do you?’
“‘No, I don’t,’ said the druggist, ‘and I’ll see that my cousin here doesn’t.’
“‘That’s all we ask, then,’ said Wall; ‘turn him loose, boys. We don’t want to hang no man. We hold you responsible if he opens his mouth again against the bonds.’
“‘Hold me responsible, gentlemen,’ said the druggist, with a profound bow. ‘Come with me, Cousin,’ he said to the Anti.
“The druggist took him through his store, and up some back stairs; and once he had him alone, this was his advice, as reported to us later: ‘You’re a stranger to me. I lied to those men, but I saved your life.
Now, I’ll take you to the four-o’clock train, and get you out of this town. By this act I’ll incur the hatred of these people that I live amongst. So you let the idea go out that you are my cousin. Sabe? Now, stay right here and
