sold on contract to J. F. Ellison, Sr. We delivered 500 cows and had to take them to Fort Sill, Indian Territory. Mr. Lyons delivered them and left me with the big herd. I was two or three days getting away from where we cut the cows from their yearlings; we moved like a snail climbing a slick log, so far up in daytime, slipping back at night. Gus Staples, one of our boys, was a fiddler and we had music all the way. Gus saw his first antelope on this trip, thought it was crippled and tried to catch it, but the longer he ran it the faster it got. Monkey John, the negro cook, spent a half a day trying to drown a prairie dog out of a hole, but nothing doing.

Captain Ellison finally sent us word to cut all cows above three years old and take them on towards Powder River, catch up with the herd and turn them over to his boss, who he said was waiting for us two days ahead. With five men I pulled out, ate up all of our grub the second day at noon, and were four days catching up with that herd. For two days we had nothing to eat but boiled Irish potatoes without salt. We delivered the remainder of the herd as soon as I got back and checked up. I found we had about the number we started with and a few over which we picked up along the trail, which of course, if no one claimed, we did not point out.

In 1881 I left Martindale, Caldwell county, with a herd of 1,500 cattle and went to Travis county, where John R. Blocker gave me 1,500 more, making 3,000 cattle belonging to Jennings, Blocker & Co. This herd was sold to Ike T. Pryor and delivered to him on the north side of the Washita River in the Indian Territory. Rufus Fuller then took the herd to Fort Sill, while Mr. Blocker and I went to Dodge City on horseback. I left Mr. Blocker there and came home.

In those days I received $30 a month, furnished three horses and had money at the end of the trip. Our way back home was paid by those who employed us. We came back as immigrants, all dressed up in new suit, boots and

hat, the rig-out costing about $30, and when we reached home we were "somebody come" sure enough, as we were usually absent about four months.

A TENDERFOOT FROM KENTUCKY

By J. D. Jackson

In the summer of 1887, D. G. Knight was working as manager for the Durants, and was also selected as round-up boss of Presidio county. He had about 60 men and over 400 horses in the outfit.

Friends of the Durants in Kentucky had a son who was very brave and anxious for some real excitement, so they sent him out to Mr. Knight. He was a very talkative young man, and often told us of the good times. people in high society had in Kentucky and of their great dinners, costing from $1.00 to $10.00 per plate. He was quite free to state that he did not think we would know how to act in such high society, and while we knew that this was perhaps true, we did not care to have him tell us that.

The boys immediately started in to show him how they did things in high cow-camp society. The first thing we did was to slip the cinches off his saddle, so that when he tried to head a steer, his horse stopped quickly, and he went off with the saddle, landing on his head. He thought it was purely an accident.

He wore a blue shirt. Every man in the outfit started telling Indian stories, and told him that the Indians thought that those who wore blue shirts were soldiers, and they would hide behind rocks and pick them out from among the cowboys. This scared him so that he pulled off his blue shirt and wore his white, shortsleeved undershirt on top until his arms were blistered by the sun. The boys then started in telling him about the narrow escapes they had had from "gwinders," a

very vicious animal with one short leg in front and one behind, so they could circle around a mountain and catch a man and tear him all to pieces. That made him afraid to get out of camp after dark.

One night we camped about sixty miles south of Marfa, and the boys decided it was time to put on an "Indian fight." We took it turn about telling of narrow escapes from Indian raids, until bed time, and warned him to be prepared for an attack any time during the night. After we had bedded down for the night, ten or twelve of the boys slipped off, and tied bunches of grass on their heads and got sotol stalks for lances. About 12:30 Den Knight woke him up and told him to saddle his horse and go with him to unhobble a bunch of their horses and move them closer to camp so the Indians wouldn't get them. Just as they got off their horses and got busy with their work, the other boys came charging up on their horses, yelling, shooting and making all kinds of wild noises. Knight fell over and yelled to the boy that he was killed and for him to make his escape if possible. The boys thought they could catch him before he could get to his horse, but they failed and he got away and rode sixty miles to Marfa before 10 o'clock the next morning. He arrived there almost exhausted and told the citizens that Indians had attacked the party and he was the only one to escape. When he found out that was all a joke on him, he decided the West was a little too strenuous and went back to swell society in Kentucky.

A TRUE STORY OF TRAIL DAYS

In the late '70s, when herd after herd of Texas cattle were driven north over the old Chisholm Trail, Ike Pryor's herd was a few weeks ahead of the herd driven by Bill Jackman.

It was the custom for the man following to pick up lost cattle and drive them on until the herd they were lost from was reached. Bill Jackman's herd picked up a steer lost by Ike Pryor and was taking him along for Ike, with good intentions. Red River was crossed and Bill's herd had now gone a few days' drive into the Indian Nation. One afternoon a band of about forty Indian warriors including their squaws, rode up to Bill Jackman's herd and the chief handed him a letter, which read as follows:

"To the trail bosses:

"This man is a good Indian; I know him personally. Treat him well, give him a beef and you will have no trouble in driving through his country."

(Signed)

IKE T. PRYOR.

After reading the letter, Bill rode into the herd, and cut out Ike's steer for the chief. They killed the steer then and there and had a big feast. Then Bill went on North with his herd, in peace, thanking Ike for his good advice.

TRAVELING THE TRAIL WITH GOOD MEN WAS
A PLEASURE

By J. F. (Little Jim) Ellison, Jr., Fort Cobb, Oklahoma

My first trip over the trail was in 1868 with my father, Col. J. F. Ellison, with about 100 cattle, which at that time, was considered a large herd. We left the old McGhee Crossing on the San Marcos River in Caldwell county, about seven miles from the town of San Marcos, and went over the old Fort Arbuckle trail to Abilene, Kansas, crossing the Trinity River at Fort Worth, which at that early date was just a small frontier town. Our mess wagon was drawn by two yoke of oxen, and as it

was our last chance to lay in supplies we stocked up at Fort Worth with enough to last us to Abilene.

My second trip was in 1871, over the old Chisholm trail. I went over the same trail again in 1874, and in 1876 I drove a herd for Ellison & Dewees, and Mac Stewart having charge of a herd for Millett & Maberry, we traveled together, receiving our cattle southwest of San Antonio. We went as far, if not farther west than any cattle had ever gone, crossing the Washita about eight miles west of where Chickasha is now located. This was a hard trip. We passed through the Wichita Mountains at the foot of Mt. Scott, and saw lots of buffalo and antelope. Our first stop was at Dodge City, Kansas. We delivered part of these cattle north of Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory. This year Ellison & Dewees and Millett & Maberry drove together and drove about 100,000 cattle to the northern markets. Their cattle were strung out from San Antonio almost to Dodge City. Ogallala, Nebraska, was their distributing point. For some time that year I held 7,000 head just south of Ogallala, across the Platte River, my camp being near a cold spring that boiled out of the ground. The water from this spring was the coldest I ever drank, so cold in fact that it would make your teeth ache. They cut cattle from my herd to deliver in every direction.

In 1877 I did not drive a herd but worked on the train for Ellison & Dewees wherever I was needed, and Monroe Hardeman did the same. R. G. Head was our general foreman. On Washita River, near where Chickasha is now, I cut from the herds of Giles Fenner, N. P. Ellison and Bill Green about 2,000 one and two-year-old steers and delivered them to Miller & Green of Paul's Valley. Their foreman was Tom Grant of Fort Arbuckle and he took charge of the cattle. As well as I remember they paid $9.00 for the yearling steers and $12.00 for the twoyear-olds. These were good cattle for those days, and good colors because they were all colors. From there I