the ranch. When the bell rang at the dining hall for supper, twenty-five or thirty men marched into the hall, took their respective places, and there they stood while Captain Crouch took the one-horse cowboy by the arm and escorted him to a seat at the table. After he had been seated, he said, "Gentlemen, be seated." I don't think

he had a superior for being a refined, cultured, polished, intelligent gentleman, and those who transacted business with him held him in the highest esteem. The cowboys who worked for him loved him like a father. He, like his "Pisano," Henry Ford, believed in a fair wage for the working man. Though he had lost his fortune, in his later years he never quit working for the flock master,

by advocating the scalp law against the predatory animals.

My first trip on the trail was made in the spring of 1874, with J. W. Allen as boss. The herd was owned by Lytle McDaniel, and was delivered at Dodge City, Kan

sas.

In 1874 we went from the Crouch ranch and shipped to Wichita Falls, Texas, then drove to Bingham, Nebraska, on the Republican River. A bad storm struck us on Smoky River, five herds being in sight, and we were the only boys that held our herd. George Wilcox, the boss, said it was the worst storm that he had ever seen and he had been on the trail thirteen years. Will King from Lockhart, Texas, came near being drowned that night, as the face of the earth was covered with water, and one could not distinguish ravines from level ground.

In June, 1873, during the light of the moon, while working on the Crouch ranch one of the sheep herders failed to show up. Some two weeks after he disappeared I found his remains about one mile and a half from the ranch, his body stripped and mutilated, hands tied behind and seven arrows sticking in his back.

In 1875 Indians made a raid on the Crouch ranch during the night and the next morning when we discovered their trail and missed the horses, seven of us followed them. Nelse Brice, Jap Brice, Jim Crawson, T. W. Everete, L. L. Everete, Ben Steadman, M. W. Franke and myself. We overtok them at Loma Vista in Zavala county. The country being open, they discovered us when we were a half a mile behind them, so we had a running fight for a mile, until they took the brush. We captured sixty head of horses, twenty of them belonging to Rothe on the Hondo. There were nine Indians in this bunch. The horses they were mounted on were all they got off with. Quite a number of shots were exchanged, but I don't think any damage was done on either side.

REMINISCENCES OF THE OLD TRAILS

C. F. Doan of Doan's

I am now 74 years old and looking back over my life I find the main part of it has been spent near the Old Chisholm Trail, or on the Dodge City, Kansas trail.

My first introduction to the Old Chisholm Trail was in 1874 when in company with Robert E. Doan, a cousin, and both of us from Wilmington, Ohio, we set out for Ft. Sill, Indian Territory, from Wichita, Kansas. We

made this little jaunt by stage coach of 250 miles over the famous trail in good time.

In 1875, very sick, I returned to my home in Ohio from Fort Sill, but the lure of the West urged me to try my luck again and October 10, 1878, found me back in the wilds and ever since I have lived at Doan's, the trail crossing on Red River known far and wide by the old trail drivers as the jumping off place into the great un

known the last of civilization until they hit the Kansas line.

While sojourning in the Indian Territory in 1874 and 1875 with Tim Pete, Dave Lours and J. Doan, I engaged in trading with the Indians and buying hides at a little store on Cache Creek, two miles from Fort Sill. Our life at this place was a constant thrill on account of Indians. During the month of July, 1874, the Indians killed thirteen hay cutters and wood choppers. Well do I remember, one day after a hay cutter had been killed, a tenderfoot from the East with an eye to local color decided to

explore the little meadow where the man had been killed expecting to collect a few arrows so that he might be able to tell the loved ones at home of his daring. But the Indians discovered the sightseer and with yells and his collection of arrows whistling about his ears, chased him back to the stockade. Terror lent wings to his feet and he managed to reach safety but departed the next day for the East, having lost all taste for the danger of the West.

January 8, 1875, found me caught in a blizzard and I narrowly escaped freezing to death at the time. Indians around Fort Sill demanding buckskin, as their supply had run low, I was sent by the firm on horseback to the Shaw

nee tribe to buy a supply. This was my second trip. Soon after my departure the blizzard set in and I was warned by the mail carrier, the only man I met on the trip, to turn back or I would be frozen. But the thoughts of the buckskin at $4.00 per pound caused me to press on. I managed to reach Conover ranch badly frozen, I was taken from my horse and given first-aid treatment. I was so cold that ice had frozen in my mouth. The mail carrier, who had advised me to turn back, never reached

the fort, and his frozen body was found some days after the storm.

For two weeks I remained in this home before I found strength to continue the journey. I was held up another week by the cold near Paul's Valley, but I got the buckskin, sending it back by express-mail carrier and returned on horseback.

Indians during this time were held in concentration camps near the fort, both Comanches and Kiowas, and beeves were issued twice a week. A man by name of Conover and myself did the killing and about seventyfive or eighty head were killed at one time. The hides were bought from the Indians and shipped to St. Louis.

After the bi-weekly killings, the Indians would feast