It is stated that one Jess Chisholm drove cattle to the Nation and Kansas before and during the war, crossing the Red River at Choke Bluff Crossing below Denison. Mr. Sugg also states that this Jess Chisholm was half Indian, and that his ranch was located near the Canadian River. In later years he crossed his herd higher up near Gainesville, so as to reach his ranch on the Canadian.

I note again the Old Cow Trail forked at Bolivar. The route of this right-hand trail crossed the Red River below Gainesville, thence to Oil Springs, on to Fort Arbuckle, crossing Wild Horse Creek, and intersecting the main trail at the south fork of the Canadian River. The last main western trail ran by Coleman, Texas, on to Bell Plain, thence to Baird, on to Albany, from there to Fort Griffin, to Double Mountain Fork, crossing Red River at Doan's Store.

Now here I have one more old trail, and I have a printed map of same. They call it the McCoy Trail. It started at Corpus Christi, leading from there to Austin, thence to Georgetown, on to Buchanan, to Decatur, from there to Red River Station, on to the Red Fork of the Arkansas River; thence to Abilene, Kan. A short story of the life of Wild Bill Hickok goes with the map. I do not think there ever was a cow trail in Texas called the McCoy Trail, but I will state that I am somewhat acquainted with Wild Bill Hickok. He was city marshal of Wichita, Kan., in 1870. I think they are trying to put the "kibosh" on us.

The Old Chisholm Cow Trail varied in width at river crossings from fifty to one hundred yards. In some places it spreads out from one mile to two miles in width. The average drive in a day was eight to ten and twelve miles, and the time on the Trail was from sixty to ninety days, from points in Texas to Abilene or Newton, or Ellsworth, Kan.

What happened on the Old Cow Trail in those days of long ago is almost forgotten, and it is a sad thought

to us today that there is no stone or mile post to mark the Old Trail's location. The old-time cow puncher that followed the Trail, his mount, his make-up, the old Trail songs that he sang, what he did and how he did it, is left yet to someone to give him the proper place in history.

What he was then and what he is now, I hope to meet him over there in the Sweet Bye and Bye, where no mavericks or slicks will be tallied.

WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE OLD-FASHIONED BOY?

C. H. Rust, San Angelo, Texas

What has become of the old-fashioned boy that went in his shirt tail until 10 or 11 years old, that being about the only garment he possessed during the summer months?

He could step up to an old rail fence and if he could hang his chin on the top rail, he would step back and leap over it and his shirt tail would make a kind of a fluttering noise as he went over.

What has become of the old-fashioned boy that used to run away from home on Sunday to the old swimming hole on the river five or six miles from home, where the alligators were lying round on the banks of the river, seven and eight feet long, and, when he returned home in the evening, what has become of the old-fashioned mother that called him up for a reckoning and when she began to pry into his private affairs and became convinced that he was lying? When she got through with him, he went off behind the old ash hopper and got himself together as best he could, then he meditated and resolved to ask his mother's pardon, and the big swimming hole on the river was a closed matter.

What has become of the old-fashioned boys and girls

that danced the square dance to the tune of "Cotton Eyed Joe," "Old Dan Tucker," "Black Jack Grove," "Hogs in the Cornfield," "Cackling Hens," and the "Old Gray Horse Came Tearing Through the Wilderness?"

What has become of the old-fashioned boy and girl that became one in wedlock when they went just across the spring branch from the old folks on the slope of the hill and built a house under the shadow of the old oak tree and raised a family and lived for God and humanity?

CYCLONES, BLIZZARDS, HIGH WATER, STAMPEDES AND INDIANS ON THE TRAIL

By G. H. Mohle, Lockhart, Texas

In April, 1869, I was employed by Black Bill Montgomery to go with a herd of 4,500 head of stock cattle on the drive to Abilene, Kansas. We started from Lockhart and crossed the Colorado River below Austin, out by way of Georgetown, Waxahachie and on to Red River, which we found very high. We were several days getting the herd across this stream. The first day I crossed over with about a thousand head and came back and worked the rest of the day in the water, but could not get any

GEO. H. MOHLE

more of the cattle across on account of the wind and Two of the boys and myself went across with grub enough for supper and breakfast, but the next day

waves.

the weather was so bad the others could not cross to bring us something to eat and we were compelled to go hungry for forty-eight hours. The next night about twelve o'clock we heard yelling and shouting, but thinking it might be Indians, we remained quiet and did not know until noon the next day that it was some of the boys of our outfit who had brought us some grub, which we found hanging in a tree. The third day the balance of the herd was crossed over without further trouble. Flies and mosquitoes were very bad, and kept us engaged in fighting them off.

When we reached the North Fork of the Canadian River it was also pretty high, on account of heavy rains. The water was level with the bank on this side, but on the far side the bank was about six feet above the water and the going out place being only about twenty feet wide. We had trouble getting the cattle into the water, and when they did get started they crowded in so that they could not get out on the other side, and began milling, and we lost one hundred and sixteen head and three horses. When we arrived at the Arkansas River we found it out of its banks and we were compelled to wait several days for it to run down. We were out of provisions, and tried to purchase some from a government train which was camped at this point. This wagon train was loaded with flour and bacon, en route to Fort Sill. The man in charge refused to sell us anything, so when the guard was absent we "borrowed" enough grub to last us until we could get some more. When the flood stage had passed we crossed the river and reached Abilene, Kansas, the latter part of June, camping there a month, and finally sold the cattle to Mr. Evans of California for $25 per head, with the understanding that Black Bill Montgomery, Bill Henderson, myself and Gov, the negro cook, were to go along with the cattle. Mr. Evans also bought the horses.

About the first of August we started for California.

When we reached the Republican River a cyclone struck us, turned our wagon over, and scattered things generally. Mr. Evans had a large tent. It went up in the air and we saw it no more. We next reached the Platte River. where we camped for several days to allow the cattle to graze and rest. On account of quicksand in the river we had to go up the stream about twenty-five miles to make a crossing. At Platte City we purchased a supply of provisions, and went on up the northwest side of the river about a hundred miles, to where about five hundred soldiers were camped. We camped about a quarter of a mile above the soldiers' camp, and thought we were pretty safe from Indian attack, but one night about three o'clock we were awakened by an awful noise. We thought it was a passing railroad train, but instead it was our horses being driven off by Indians right along near our camp. As they passed us the Indians fired several shots in our direction, but no one was hit. We had sixty-three horses and the red rascals captured all of them except five head. Mr. Evans sent one of the hands to notify the soldiers of our loss and get them on the trail of the Indians. It was nine o'clock the next morning before the soldiers passed our camp in pursuit, and as the Indians had such a good start, they were never overtaken. We remained there all day, and the next morning we started out afoot. For about a week we felt pretty sore from walking, as we were not used to this kind of herding. When we reached Cheyenne we secured mounts and laid in a supply of grub and traveled up Crow Creek to Cheyenne Pass, where we had our first blizzard and

snow.

The next morning the snow was six inches deep and the weather was bitterly cold. Our next town was Fort Laramie, and from there we went on to Elk Mountain on the Overland Immigrant Trail to California, where we stopped for three days because of the heavy snow. We had very little trouble until we reached Bitter Creek,