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Joe Dillon and I Go to Montana With Sheep.

Along about the 15th of March, Joe Dillon, who had been a quartermaster in the Union army, left the army at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, the possessor of $60,000 and a mule train of fifteen wagons, which he had obtained some way or other, the Devil knows how. He was a peculiar man and totally unable to keep a man in his employ. He was abusive, bossy and altogether uncongenial.

With his train loaded with goods which he got in Kansas City and Independence, he started with a wagon boss and several men across the Old Trail to New Mexico, early in the spring of '65, but he had so many altercations with his teamsters--some quit him, others would do as they pleased, and altogether he had such a bad time of it that he did not arrive at Maxwell's ranch until after the snow fell the following winter.

Every wagon that passed him brought news of Joe Dillon's troubles to the fort. When Mr. Dillon came to me in the spring of 1866, I knew him pretty well by reputation. He approached me and told me that he had bought 4000 sheep from Lucien Maxwell and wanted to get me to go with him to Montana to take them. I told him I would like to go, but that I did not know whether I could get away or not. I would see Mr. Moore.

"Alright," he said. "I think I will see Mr. Moore, and tell him I want you to go and boss my crew." I replied that he must do nothing of the sort, for if he did, Mr. Moore would not let me off willingly. I explained to him that if I went to Mr. Moore and told him I wanted off, and gave him a plausible reason, he would let me off without hesitation. However, Mr. Dillon thought he had about made a "deal" with me and he went into the office, and told Mr. Moore that he had "hired your clerk" to go to Montana with his sheep. Mr. Moore told him that "he guessed not."

Dillon had agreed with me that he would say nothing to Mr. Moore. So he came to me in the morning of the day after he first spoke to me about the deal and said, "Moore said you couldn't go." I was hot all over in a second. "Mr. Dillon, you agreed not to speak to Mr. Moore about this matter--it was a matter between he and I, and since your word cannot be depended upon, our business relations cease right here." I considered his management bad and his word in honor, worse. Mr. Dillon returned to Maxwell's ranch and I continued in the store.

Finally, Mr. Moore approached me on the subject. "Billy," said he, "thought you were going with Dillon to Montana with his sheep" I then told him how it came about that I had told Dillon I would speak to him about it first. We had made no contract, for without first getting Mr. Moore's consent I would not make any contract with Dillon.

Now I could readily see that trade had fallen off and I knew that some of the boys would have to quit and seek other employment. There was one man there with a large family in the states who received a salary of $1500 a year. I knew that he did not want to be thrown out of a job, and I was eager to "try some new experience." So I told Mr. Moore that I had heard from one of Maxwell's clerks that Dillon did still want me to go with the sheep, and if he was willing to let me off I would make Dillon a proposition. "All right, Billy, you can make a proposition with Dillon and in case you do not carry it out, you need not quit here," said Mr. Moore.

Joe Dillon came up the next Thursday night and began to talk to me there in the store about taking his sheep to Montana. I told him that I would talk to him about the matter as soon as the store closed that night, but that I did not want to hear one word of it until that time.

After the store was closed up I told Mr. Walker to stay with me and hear my proposition with Dillon, and I wanted him to draw up our contract. I told Dillon that I would take charge of his sheep under these stipulations. I would have to have absolute control of the sheep, men, mess wagons, pack horses and everything else. I would employ the men and discharge them. I told him I would furnish $700.00 or $800.00 to properly equip the train, and I would take a bill of sale from him for all the sheep. I also told him that he would have to go on ahead on the stage coach, or do as he chose in the matter, that he must absolutely remain away from our camps and herds while I was in control. After much deliberation, he agreed to my terms, and we signed up.

I filled an ox wagon with bacon, flour, salt, soda, tobacco and saddles. Mr. Dillon watched me put tobacco on the wagon and said I was loading unnecessary stuff on the wagon. I told him that I would need all the bacon and the tobacco, and perhaps several head of sheep to make my treaties with the Indians when I took my sheep through their reservations. Now this little speech brought a sneer to the face of my venerable partner. "No use of making treaties with the Indians; you get a military escort without paying anything out." I told him no military escort would need to travel with me.

About the middle of April I received the 3000 head of sheep from Maxwell's ranch and took my assistant, Mark Shearer to Calhoun's ranch to get the other 1000 head. I had left the camp in good trim there near Maxwell's and everything was progressing nicely with my sheep on the grass with good herders. At Calhoun ranch we were delayed on account of Calhoun having to shear the sheep. However, after four days' delay we started back toward Maxwell's. Joe Dillon met us not far from camp and told me he had discharged four of my men and paid off two in tobacco and the other two men would not take tobacco. He said that he had hired four more in their place. One was a hunter and he had agreed to give him $80 per month to keep the men in provisions. The other was a blacksmith which he thought we might need after we started over the mountains.

"Now, Joe, do you think you can discharge a man without paying him off?" I asked him. "Well," he said, "I didn't have the money on hand to pay him with." I told him that his meddling with these men did not suit me, and that I did not want his four men, moreover, I said, "I will not move a peg from camp with them. I employ my drivers and I discharge them."

When we got into camp the hunter had killed a jack rabbit, all the meat he had provided since he was employed four days before. After reinstating my men and making Mr. Dillon understand that his place was at the other end of the line, where he might as well be enjoying himself until our arrival in Montana, we started on our journey.

Dillon went on the stage to Kansas City and en route to Kansas City he fell in with a sharper at Bent's old fort, and told him that he had a drove of 7000 sheep coming. The sharper had 20 blooded brood mares and a stallion, and bantered Dillon for a trade. They made the trade and Dillon gave the "shark" a bill of sale for the sheep with the provision that I would agree to it.

When we got within nine miles of Denver we camped for dinner. While we sat around our "picnic spread" a couple of men drove up in a buggy and asked if Mr. Ryus was there. I told him to "alight" and take a few refreshments with us, that I was Mr. Ryus. He told me to come out to the buggy, he wanted to talk with me. I told him that "this is my office, out with whatever you've got to say." He then asked me if the sheep were Mr. Dillon's. I told him they certainly were not. They were mine. Then he buckled up. "No, Mr. Ryus, they aren't your sheep, they are mine. I bought them at Bent's old fort from Joe Dillon, and I am going to take possession of those sheep and take them to Denver and sell them." I told him that "maybe he would and maybe he wouldn't; we would see about that." I then asked him what he gave for the sheep. He told me he had traded some blooded horses and a stallion for them. I then asked him if he was dealing for himself or for other parties. He told me he was dealing for himself. "For how much are your horses mortgaged?" I asked him. "Oh, something like $4000," he replied. I told the "horse trader" that it wasn't worth while to take up any more time. As for my part, I had rather think of my buffalo steak right then, and if he didn't want to get out of the buggy and come and eat with us, to "drill on" toward Denver, that me, the boys and the sheep were going to Montana. He said, "Alright, Mr. Ryus, we will drill on, as you say, but we will take possession of those sheep before you get into Denver." I told him to "crack his whip," and to go to that warm place from which no "hoss trader" returned if he wanted to, but for him not to interfere with me or the sheep. Away he went. My temper was at its best and thoroughly under control, so I told the boys to not feel the least alarm, no "yaller backed hoss trader" would get those sheep, without getting into a "considerable tarnatious scrap" with Little Billy.

It seemed that we were destined to have several visitors before we arrived in Denver. This time we had camped for supper and a lonely looking half starved individual put in his appearance with a saddle on his back. He asked me if he could get some supper with us and I told him to "lay to," and he then asked me if I knew him. I told him I knew him but it would not be to his disadvantage.

A few days before this I had seen an account in the paper where a Mr. Service had shot and killed a Mexican. I told him that there was already a reward out for $1,000 for him. I told him he needn't say a word about the affair to the boys, and I wouldn't. He told me that he had killed the Mexican because he couldn't avoid it. It seemed that a very rich Mexican with a twenty-wagon train and 100 yoke of oxen had stopped near the little ranch of Service and Miller to cook their meals. He had unyoked his cattle and driven them to the creek for water and instead of returning by the route he had gone, threw down the fence and was driving his oxen through Service's ten-acre corn patch. The corn was up about two feet high and the cattle were literally ruining the corn. Mr. Service attempted to drive the cattle off the corn, but the Mexican hollowed to his peons to drive them on through. Mr. Service told him to either pay the damage that his oxen had done his corn or drive them off. The Mexican told him he would do neither. By this time Mr. Service was thoroughly angry and told the Mexican that he would either take the oxen off the corn or one or the other of them would die. Mr. Service was unarmed at the time and he wheeled his horse around and went to the house and got what money they had there and his rifle and returned and shot the Mexican dead. He then made the peons drive the cattle away, and he started for Maxwell's ranch on his pony. After reaching the foothills of the mountains he dismounted and threw rocks at his horse to make it leave, then he scrambled on a few miles through the young timber until he came to a hanging rock under which there was a kind of cave. He crept into this place to rest and snatch sleep if possible.

In the meantime the Mexicans belonging to the train gathered up all the Mexicans they could find scattered through the country, and without molesting the partner of Service, started out to hunt him. Service said that the Mexicans were so close to where he was lying that he could hear every word of their conversation in that still, isolated place. He knew from their talk they were going on to Maxwell's ranch where they supposed they would find him. About ten o'clock that night he crept out of his hiding place and crawled and slipped until he reached Maxwell's ranch, then he went into the stable where Maxwell kept his favorite race horse and led him out far enough from the house to be safe, then he jumped on him and rode him until the faithful animal laid down and died of exhaustion. He was left on foot some 75 miles east of where I was. Service was so weak and exhausted from worry, lack of sleep and nourishment that his condition was pitiable. We had to watch him for twenty-four hours to keep him from over-eating.

One ox driver who was an Irishman by the name of Johnnie Lynch came to me and told me that the other ox driver had told him he knew who Service was and that he said he was going to "give him up" when they reached Denver and that when we got into Denver, they were going to "give him up" and collect the $1,000 reward for him. Johnnie Lynch said that he did not want to see Service put in irons, and that he thought Service did no more than was right. "Wan more of those devilish Mexicans out uv th' way don't hurt nohow," was his comment. "Now, Johnnie," says I, "you go to my assistant, Mark Shearer, and tell him to tell the wagon driver that if he undertakes to hand Service over to the authorities at Denver, that he will kill him." When we got to within five miles of Denver, Mark Shearer went around to the driver and told him to get back in the wagon, and if he stuck his head outside that wagon sheet, he would use it for a target. The driver was a born coward and quietly obeyed and remained under the wagon sheet until we were forty miles beyond Denver when Mark told him to "come to" now and try to be a man.

The next night after Service came to our camp, he wanted to help stand guard over the sheep at night with Barney Hill, my night herder. He said he couldn't sleep nights. Barney told him to lie down and go to sleep, that he would let no one harm him. He went to sleep and along about eleven o'clock, he began to yell, "There they come, there they come, the Mexicans, etc.," and he fired his revolver and made a general stir. We managed to quiet him down. He was delirious and only half awake. For two months Service got along all right.

When we arrived at the North Platte River the snow had melted so the river was running very fast. We attempted to cross the sheep on the ferry. 125 sheep were placed on the ferry boat and across we started. _Out_ 500 feet from the landing on the east side where we went in, the ferryman got afraid the sheep were too far forward and would tip the boat, so he attempted to push them back, and pushed some of the sheep off in the river. All the sheep then made a rush to follow the unfortunate ones. Barney Hill, who was on the back end of the boat, got knocked off and could not swim and the boys had a good laugh at him climbing over the sheep, looking like a drowned rat trying to get out of a molasses barrel. Dick Stewart was a good swimmer and so he landed back on the boat.

After this load full, the boatman would not ferry any more sheep over and we were compelled to swim them. We would call the goat and tell him to go into the water. The goat would strike for the opening on the opposite side of the river, but goat or no goat, the sheep would not attempt the swim unless the sun was shining. The mountains rose right at the edge of the river, consequently the sun only struck the river from eleven o'clock a.m. to two o'clock p.m. and we could only put over 150 or 200 sheep at a time. This operation took six days to perform. Getting 4000 sheep over a river under these trying conditions were anything but pleasant, even in those days, when we knew no better method.

At this ferry a funny incident occurred. I had a sorrel, blazed face mule, and while we were crossing the sheep an old Irishman on his way to Montana with a white pony and a blazed face mule, the very picture of my mule, crossed the river on the ferry. I saw the Irishman's lay-out, but Johnnie Lynch did not see the mule. The next morning I told Johnnie to go out to the herd and bring my mule in. The old Irishman had camped near us and had picketed his mule out but did not know I had a mule so near like his. Johnnie saw the Irishman's mule picketed out about half way between our camp and our herd, and he pulled up the picket and started on to the camp with the mule. Pretty soon the angry old Irishman came up behind Johnnie and knocked him down for trying to steal his mule. Johnnie ran into camp and got my carbine and started for the Irishman, I ran after him and asked him what he was "up to" and he told me he had my mule coming in with it and the Irishman had accosted him and knocked him down and took the mule away from him. About that time the Irishman had come "along side" me and explained his position. He said Johnnie had stolen his mule and that he was going to get his men and hang him. Mark Shearer then begun an explanation but the two Irishmen were on the "war path" and explanations were out of order. When we finally got them straightened out, they had no very friendly feeling for each other, and inwardly made up their minds to--BLANKETY-BLANK

The day I crossed my two wagons across the River, the Irishman was on the boat with his mule Packed with provisions and clothing. Johnnie Lynch was driving one yoke of oxen. I saw the Irishman raise his gun off of the floor and put It to his shoulder as though he was going to Shoot. I leveled my pistol on him and told him To drop the gun or he was a dead man. He dropped the gun and I made him walk between the wagons. Mark Shearer picked up the gun, took the cap off of it, wet the powder in the tube and handed it back to the old fellow and told him to make no more attempts to kill a man. We took one direction at the forks of the road and he took another.

About 300 miles beyond this ferry we met the white pony returning but we never saw any more of the Irishman. It is very probable that he "met his Waterloo" somewhere in the boundless plains. We encountered a band of the Sioux and Ute Indians, some of the same tribe that had killed General Custer. Something like 150 or 200 came to camp. A few of them could talk English. At the time they came to the camp, they were in a strange mood. It took some courage and diplomacy on my part to keep my men encouraged and to appear at ease with the Red Men.

I went up to the chief and told them I had a large drove of sheep to take to Montana, and that I must necessarily pass through their hunting grounds, but was willing to pay them for the liberty I was taking. This seemed to please the Indians and I told them we would eat before we proceeded to business. We soon had some bacon, bread and coffee ready which we offered to our guests before we began to eat. After they had the first "helping" then we all began to eat our rations, after which we passed the corn cob pipes and tobacco and while we talked we smoked. I gave them two caddies of tobacco, 200 pounds of bacon, a hundredweight of flour, several papers of soda, several pounds of salt, and a large bucket of coffee.

One Indian said that in order to preserve peace and to protect us on our route ten of them would travel with us through the wildest portion of the country.

The strange escort remained with us two days, and when we were almost to Fort Bridger, one of the Indians said that we would have no trouble until after we had passed Fort Bridger and he did not think we would encounter any perils even then.

When they were determined to decamp, I took ten silver dollars out of my pocket, and gave each one of them a silver dollar. This pleased the Indians greatly and they shook hands with me and departed.

When we arrived in Fort Bridger I had my sheep driven on past the fort, and stopped to see the commanding officer. I asked him what their rules were for traveling through the Indian country. He told me that a large caravan of 200 wagons would start out in a few days and I would have to drive the sheep on outside of the fort where I could get good range for the sheep and wait until the other emigrants came up. I thanked him, but I told Mark Shearer that I believed we could make it alright without the caravans. So on we started. The sheep didn't have to be driven; they drove us. By daylight those sheep were always ready to go on toward their goal. They would pick and run ahead seldom ever stopping until about the middle of the day. It was our rule to stop and eat or rest when the sheep started. Truth is stranger than fiction, and it is the truth that we would often make thirty-five or forty miles a day with those sheep. The herdsman would follow the goat and the sheep followed the goat. When the sheep were a little too industrious, the herdsman made the goat lay down, then the sheep would lay down all around him. Sometimes they would lay down about five or six o'clock, then we would eat. But if they got up and started on we went, and they seldom ever stopped to rest until eight or nine o'clock. The four drives averaged from seven to ten miles a drive. In making this trip from Maxwell's ranch in New Mexico to Virginia City, Montana, I crossed seventeen rivers with those sheep and arrived in Virginia City with less than 100 sheep short. I sold a few to the Snake Indians for from $5 to $8 each. Of course, this was in trade, but it pleased them equally as well as if it had been a gift.

The next band of Indians we came into after leaving the Sioux, were the Snake Indians. They were situated on the Snake River one hundred miles from Virginia City. Snake River is one of the most important tributaries of the Columbia. Instead of making a treaty with these Indians, I traded them sheep and a caddy of tobacco for buffalo robes and deer skins, and they seemed as well satisfied as if I had given them the sheep and tobacco gratis.

About one hundred miles from where we met the Snake Indians, we came to a toll bridge. Here I met my worthy partner for the first time since I had sent him on his "way rejoicing." Mr. Dillon had told the keeper of the toll bridge that he had seven thousand sheep on the road and they would have to pass over his toll bridge.

The keeper of the toll bridge was on the lookout for us because the report that Dillon had made would swell his finances $350. Inasmuch as the toll across the bridge was 5c per head. When we arrived at the bridge the keeper told me his charge would be $350. I told him I could not pay the price, but he said Dillon would pay the toll. I asked him what Dillon had to do with the sheep. "Why," he said, "they are Dillon's sheep." I told him they were not Dillon's sheep, they were mine, and I showed him my bill of sale. He said that nevertheless they were Dillon's sheep. I asked him to describe Joe Dillon to me. He did so, and did it to a "tyt." "Now," I said to him, "you go up on the hill and count those sheep." They were laying down up on the hill in a kind of a swag.

There was a Missourian there and he told the keeper he was a sheep man, that his father was a large Missouri stock man, and that he could approximate the number at a glance. The way those sheep lay together, it did not look as if there was more than 1000 sheep. I asked him if he thought there was over a thousand sheep there and he said he did not think there were. The toll keeper said that when those sheep went skipping across the bridge, it "looked goldarned like there mout be a million uv 'em, and they must 'a bin three mile long, be blasted."

"Well," I said, "of course you can count them." "Yes," he said, "I have counted lots of sheep, and will count them." I went up to the station and made arrangements that if he did not succeed in counting the sheep, I would pay him $75 in tobacco or sheep, but that I had no money. The toll keeper said he would neither take sheep nor tobacco, "but," he said, "I will take a draft on the Virginia City Bank for $75.00." I told the driver to drive the sheep across. "First," I said, "you get the goat up and start him off, then keep the sheep just as close together as you can and hop them across in a 'whoop.'" He did this and it was impossible for the "counter" to count them.

About 300 miles from this bridge, Mr. Service quit me. He bought a half interest in a stock of cattle and in a toll road in that section, and I heard no more from him until some 25 years later, when he again leaped into the limelight.

It seems that he had made a wise purchase because so many trains passed over his toll road. He traded his fat cattle to the immigrants for their poor plugs. He bought up all the poor cattle he could and would fatten them and trade them off for three or four poor, jaded animals. The profits were enormous.

On our route from this toll bridge there was no particular incident occurred. Virginia City was a fine little village of about 3500 inhabitants. The estimate of gold taken out of the creeks running through Virginia City was $100,000,000, mostly placer diggings, but it was entirely abandoned at this time.

However, at the time we were there with the sheep, there was about thirty Chinamen prospecting a lot of 200 square feet. The price set to them by the owner was $3000. He took $200 down and $200 per week until the $3000 was paid. The man they bought from agreed to see they had the right to use the water in the creek. The superintendent of the Chinamen had this man go with them to the mayor of the city to ask the city to protect them. The mayor then called on the city marshall and they agreed to see that the Chinamen were not molested from getting the water from the creek. The stream was very small and did not have very much water, so the owners built a little dam and put in a tread wheel for the purpose of raising the water, so as to have a fall of water to wash the dirt in their sluice box.

After they had mined two weeks, twenty-five or thirty white miners concluded that the Chinamen shouldn't work in the territory and they went above the Chinamen on the creek--about 500 yards or so, and built a large dam across the creek with a wide opening, and put in their gate and stopped the Chinamen from getting water.

When the Chinamen were thus shut off, they went to the mayor with their complaint. The mayor promised to investigate the matter, and told them to go on prospecting on their other lots farther down the creek for the purpose of seeing what other property they would want to buy, while he investigated the cause of trouble.

The mayor and the marshall knew what the miners were up to, but said nothing then about it. They were aware that the miners wanted to raise the big gate and let the water all out at once.

There was an old building fairly close to the dam the white miners had built, and the marshall and two other men secreted themselves in the old house to watch the dam. At about one o'clock in the morning, two men went in there with their crow-bars to raise the gate so all the water could waste, and wash out the Chinamen's machinery.

Slipping upon the miners engaged in their work of depredation, the marshall pulled his gun on them, and marched, them to the city lockup. The next morning a few of the miners got together and were going to release the miners in the lockup. Then the mayor ordered the fire bells rung and sent runners out over the city calling the people together. Among the people who came to the "consultation" were many miners. The marshal let the men out of the "cooler," and took their names, then the mayor made a speech to the citizens and got their sentiments. He asked the citizens as a community if it would not be better to let the Chinamen alone and let them work their property, than to drive them out and destroy their dam. He wanted the opinion of the people. He wanted to know how many of the citizens were willing to let the Chinamen alone and let them continue to operate their property.

The citizens who wanted the Chinamen let alone were about ten to one of the miners.

The mayor now called on two or three prominent speakers of the city to make a talk before the people who told why they believed the Chinamen should be left alone, then the mayor called on a representative of the miners to tell the people why they should want to ruin the Chinamen's work. None of the miners would reply.

That night the Council passed an ordinance prohibiting, under severe pains and penalties, the willful destruction of property, and consequently the Chinamen were left to pursue their work. The dam proved an immense benefit to the city and surrounding country, and other people began mining their lots, and using the water that had collected during the night and saving it over, several mines were supplied with water.

I was in a hurry to settle up with Mr. Dillon at this time and get started back to the States, going by the way of Salt Lake City in company with two men who were going through with an ambulance. I remained in Salt Lake City two weeks when the roof on the Great Mormon Temple as about three-fourths finished. At the time I was there, the temple was about four feet above the ground and workmen had been continuously at work for seven years. Up to that time, I was the only Gentile who had ever explored the underground workings of the temple. I went from Salt Lake to Denver.

I had calculated to preempt a hundred and sixty acres of land in or about Denver, and stopped over there for a few days. At that time I could have taken 160 acres where the Union Depot now stands about the center of the city of Denver. However, like many another boy, I took a sudden notion to go home and see Mother first, and before I took possession of this valuable "dirt," I pulled out on the first coach going toward Kansas City. Stage fare cost me nothing because I rode with Barnum-Vickeroy & Veil.

When we got to Booneville, where I used to live with Colonel A.G. Boone, when I drove the stage on the Denver line, the old Colonel insisted that I stay with him. He said he had 2,500 head of sheep, half of which with all the increase, would be mine, if I would stay and take care of them five years. I told him that I had planned to homestead a 160 acres up near Denver and that as soon as I had had my visit with my mother I wanted to go to Denver, and could not take up his proposition.

At that time Colonel Boone talked a great deal about the Indians. He told me they were being shamefully treated; that the soldiers were making war on them, etc., and said that it was his opinion that if the Government would put a guard around the white people and keep them from shooting the Indians, there would be no more Indian troubles.

He told me that the conductors along the Long Route between Fort Lyon and Fort Larned, were having no end of trouble. He told me that several tribes had asked him about me, and said they seemed curious to know whether or not I would ever return.

After we left Colonel Boone's place, going toward Independence, we met several tribes, some of whom knew me just as soon as they "got their eyes on me," but I did not understand their language, and their interpreter told me that they wanted to know if I was coming back on the route. Several spoke about Colonel Leavenworth and Satanta and asked for news concerning the Little White Chief, for that was the way they loved to remember their little boy friend.

There was something like 45 or 50 Indians in this gang, and the driver was anxious to get rid of them, for he was not only afraid of them, because of the trouble they had been having with the Long Route conductors, but they wanted to be "driving on" getting nearer their destination. I told the driver to let me manage the Indians and we would "pull through" all right.

I told the Indians to sit down around us and I would get some coffee for them and a very small lunch. The conductors never had anything hardly, and gave the Indians nothing but abuse. I managed to get together from the conductor's mess, a small lunch, which they ate, and I invited them to go with us to our next stopping place, fifteen miles distant, and eat with us properly.

On our way to the next stopping place, however, these Indians were joined by other small bands which kept collecting. When we camped for lunch and to let our mules go out to eat, the Indians let their ponies graze, also. As provisions were scarce, we had a very slim meal, but were all good humored over it.

When the coach was ready to resume its journey, I shook hands with every one of the Indians and told them I was going to the States and wanted that they come to see us there. There were eight other passengers, besides myself, on the coach, who laughingly said that they had crossed the plains several times and had never witnessed such a scene between white man and Indian, only when they traveled with me.

There were five conductors. Four conductors were on the road all the time and one resting all the time. In other words, while one conductor rested one week, the other four worked until the time came for him to rest and the other work. We usually rested either in Kansas City or Santa Fe.

Before leaving this chapter, I desire to tell my readers what brought Mr. Service into the limelight again. About twenty-five years after he killed the Mexican, he sold out his ranch and cattle and took the money he had on hands, which amounted to something like $43,000.00, and deposited it in the Denver National Bank of Denver, Colorado, and went to Springer, New Mexico, in the locality of where he had killed the Mexican. He went to the sheriff and asked him if he had ever heard of the man, Service, wanted in that country for the murder of the rich Mexican. The sheriff told him that he "guessed" that the murder had occurred before his day, but that he had heard of it, and it must date some thirty years back.

Mr. Service asked the sheriff if the murderer had ever been back there to stand trial, and whether or not the reward that had been offered at the time of the murder was still good? "No," the sheriff said, "I do not think the reward would be any good." The sheriff went on to tell Mr. Service that he had been told by persons who claimed to have knowledge of the matter, that Service had served his country well to have killed the Mexican.

"Mr. Sheriff," said Mr. Service, "I am the man who killed that Mexican." The sheriff looked him over and said, "that can't be, you are too old a man for that." Mr. Service had whiskers 12 inches long and perfectly gray. His features were so transformed that his old partner did not recognize him. Mr. Service told the sheriff that nevertheless, he was the man, and that the reward had been offered for.

Mr. Service told the sheriff that he wanted to "give up" and gave him $200 and asked him to hire a good lawyer for him because he was unacquainted in the section, and I want you to take out a warrant against me. I want to be legally acquitted of crime and be a "free man once more."

After talking to the sheriff, he went to see his old partner, who did not recognize him. He told him that he had more of the worldly goods than the ranch was worth, but would like to have a settlement, and invoice his own belongings, as well as the property his partner had gotten together since their separation, and said they would strike a balance and have a settlement. The old partner, whose name I have forgotten, said, "no, I won't do it," he said, "you took the money from the house when you left, and I had to pay Maxwell for his race horse." "Very true," said Mr. Service, "you have had use of the farm these long years, and would that compensate you for what you have paid out?" But, he added, "the hay on the place has brought you about $2,000 a year, and I think it is best for us to have a settlement." The partner would hear to no settlement being arrived at, saying that he should have what was there. "Well," said Service, "we will pass receipts." Each took a receipt from the other, shook hands and bade the other good-bye. Mr. Service was a broad-minded, liberal fellow, and had fully intended to resume the partnership with his partner and share and share alike in his money earned while he was away from the ranch. "By-the-bye, I will let you look over this small book," said Mr. Service as he handed his bank book showing the balance due him at the National Bank of Denver. "Why," said the partner, "you have $43,000 in this book to your credit." "Yes, sir," said Mr. Service, "had we invoiced our goods together, half this amount would have been yours together with other moneys I have in other banks." That talk completed the settlement and while the partner was completely crestfallen, Service shaved and became a white man and free citizen of the States.