IX
AROUND THE SPADE WAGON
It was an early spring. The round-up was set for the 10th of June.The grass was well forward, while the cattle had changed their shaggywinter coats to glossy suits of summer silk. The brands were asreadable as an alphabet.
It was one day yet before the round-up of the Cherokee Strip. Thisstrip of leased Indian lands was to be worked in three divisions.We were on our way to represent the Coldwater Pool in the westerndivision, on the annual round-up. Our outfit was four men and thirtyhorses. We were to represent a range that had twelve thousand cattleon it, a total of forty-seven brands. We had been in the saddle sinceearly morning, and as we came out on a narrow divide, we caught ourfirst glimpse of the Cottonwoods at Antelope Springs, the rendezvousfor this division. The setting sun was scarcely half an hour high, andthe camp was yet five miles distant. We had covered sixty miles thatday, traveling light, our bedding lashed on gentle saddle horses. Werode up the mesa quite a little distance to avoid some rough brokencountry, then turned southward toward the Springs. Before turning off,we could see with the naked eye signs of life at the meeting-point.The wagon sheets of half a dozen chuck-wagons shone white in the dimdistance, while small bands of saddle horses could be distinctly seengrazing about.
When we halted at noon that day to change our mounts, we sighted tothe northward some seven miles distant an outfit similar to our own.We were on the lookout for this cavalcade; they were supposed to bethe "Spade" outfit, on their way to attend the round-up in the middledivision, where our pasture lay. This year, as in years past, we hadexchanged the courtesies of the range with them. Their men on ourdivision were made welcome at our wagon, and we on theirs wereextended the same courtesy. For this reason we had hoped to meet themand exchange the chronicle of the day, concerning the condition ofcattle on their range, the winter drift, and who would be captain thisyear on the western division, but had traveled the entire day withoutmeeting a man.
Night had almost set in when we reached the camp, and to oursatisfaction and delight found the Spade wagon already there, thoughtheir men and horses would not arrive until the next day. To hungrymen like ourselves, the welcome of their cook was hospitality in thefullest sense of the word. We stretched ropes from the wagon wheels,and in a few moments' time were busy hobbling our mounts. Darknesshad settled over the camp as we were at this work, while an occasionalhorseman rode by with the common inquiry, "Whose outfit is this?" andthe cook, with one end of the rope in his hand, would feel the host inhim sufficiently to reply in tones supercilious, "The Coldwater Poolmen are with us this year."
Our arrival was heralded through the camp with the same rapidity withwhich gossip circulates, equally in a tenement alley or the uppercrust of society. The cook had informed us that we had been inquiredfor by some Panhandle man; so before we had finished hobbling, astranger sang out across the ropes in the darkness, "Is Billy Edwardshere?" Receiving an affirmative answer from among the horses' feet, headded, "Come out, then, and shake hands with a friend."
Edwards arose from his work, and looking across the backs of thecircle of horses about him, at the undistinguishable figure at therope, replied, "Whoever you are, I reckon the acquaintance will holdgood until I get these horses hobbled."
"Who is it?" inquired "Mouse" from over near the hind wheel of thewagon, where he was applying the hemp to the horses' ankles.
"I don't know," said Billy, as he knelt among the horses and resumedhis work,--"some geranium out there wants me to come out and shakehands, pow-wow, and make some medicine with him; that's all. Say,we'll leave Chino for picket, and that Chihuahua cutting horse ofCoon's, you have to put a rope on when you come to him. He's tootouchy to sabe hobbles if you don't."
When we had finished hobbling, and the horses were turned loose, thestranger proved to be "Babe" Bradshaw, an old chum of Edwards's. TheSpade cook added an earthly laurel to his temporal crown with thesupper to which he shortly invited us. Bradshaw had eaten with thegeneral wagon, but he sat around while we ate. There was littleconversation during the supper, for our appetites were such and thespread so inviting that it simply absorbed us.
"Don't bother me," said Edwards to his old chum, in reply to someinquiry. "Can't you see that I'm occupied at present?"
We did justice to the supper, having had no dinner that day. The cookeven urged, with an earnestness worthy of a motherly landlady, severaldishes, but his browned potatoes and roast beef claimed our attention."Well, what are you doing in this country anyhow?" inquired Edwards ofBradshaw, when the inner man had been thoroughly satisfied.
"Well, sir, I have a document in my pocket, with sealing wax but noribbons on it, which says that I am the duly authorized representativeof the Panhandle Cattle Association. I also have a book in my pocketshowing every brand and the names of its owners, and there is a wholeraft of them. I may go to St. Louis to act as inspector for my peoplewhen the round-up ends."
"You're just as windy as ever, Babe," said Billy. "Strange I didn'trecognize you when you first spoke. You're getting natural now,though. I suppose you're borrowing horses, like all these specialinspectors do. It's all right with me, but good men must be scarce inyour section or you've improved rapidly since you left us. By the way,there is a man or four lying around here that also represents aboutforty-seven brands. Possibly you'd better not cut any of their cattleor you might get them cut back on you."
"Do you remember," said Babe, "when I dissolved with the 'Ohio' outfitand bought in with the 'LX' people?"
"When you what?" repeated Edwards.
"Well, then, when I was discharged by the 'Ohio's' and got a jobploughing fire-guards with the 'LX's.' Is that plain enough for yourconception? I learned a lesson then that has served me since to goodadvantage. Don't hesitate to ask for the best job on the works, for ifyou don't you'll see some one get it that isn't as well qualified tofill it as you are. So if you happen to be in St. Louis, call aroundand see me at the Panhandle headquarters. Don't send in any card by anigger; walk right in. I might give you some other pointers, butyou couldn't appreciate them. You'll more than likely be driving achuck-wagon in a few years."
These old cronies from boyhood sparred along in give-and-take reparteefor some time, finally drifting back to boyhood days, while theharshness that pervaded their conversation before became mild andgenial.
"Have you ever been back in old San Saba since we left?" inquiredEdwards after a long meditative silence.
"Oh, yes, I spent a winter back there two years ago, though it washard lines to enjoy yourself. I managed to romance about for two orthree months, sowing turnip seed and teaching dancing-school. Thegirls that you and I knew are nearly all married."
"What ever became of the O'Shea girls?" asked Edwards. "You know thatI was high card once with the eldest."
"You'd better comfort yourself with the thought," answered Babe, "foryou couldn't play third fiddle in her string now. You remember oldDennis O'Shea was land-poor all his life. Well, in the land and cattleboom a few years ago he was picked up and set on a pedestal. It'swonderful what money can do! The old man was just common bog Irishall his life, until a cattle syndicate bought his lands and cattle fortwice what they were worth. Then he blossomed into a capitalist. Healways was a trifle hide-bound. Get all you can and can all you get,took precedence and became the first law with your papa-in-law. Theold man used to say that the prettiest sight he ever saw was the smokearising from a 'Snake' branding-iron. They moved to town, and havebeen to Europe since they left the ranch. Jed Lynch, you know, wassmitten on the youngest girl. Well, he had the nerve to call on themafter their return from Europe. He says that they live in a big house,their name's on the door, and you have to ring a bell, and then anigger meets you. It must make a man feel awkward to live around awagon all his days, and then suddenly change to style and put on aheap of dog. Jed says the red-headed girl, the middle one, marriedsome fellow, and they live with the old folks. He says the other girlstreated him nicely, but the old lady, she has got it bad. H
e saysthat she just languishes on a sofa, cuts into the conversation now andthen, and simply swells up. She don't let the old man come into theparlor at all. Jed says that when the girls were describing their tripthrough Europe, one of them happened to mention Rome, when the oldlady interrupted: 'Rome? Rome? Let me see, I've forgotten, girls.Where is Rome?'
"'Don't you remember when we were in Italy,' said one of the girls,trying to refresh her memory.
"'Oh, yes, now I remember; that's where I bought you girls such nicelong red stockings.'
"The girls suddenly remembered some duty about the house that requiredtheir immediate attention, and Jed says that he looked out of thewindow."
"So you think I've lost my number, do you?" commented Edwards, as helay on his back and fondly patted a comfortable stomach.
"Well, possibly I have, but it's some consolation to remember thatthat very good woman that you're slandering used to give me the gladhand and cut the pie large when I called. I may be out of the game,but I'd take a chance yet if I were present; that's what!"
They were singing over at one of the wagons across the draw, andafter the song ended, Bradshaw asked, "What ever became of Raneka BillHunter?"
"Oh, he's drifting about," said Edwards. "Mouse here can tell youabout him. They're old college chums."
"Raneka was working for the '-BQ' people last summer," said Mouse,"but was discharged for hanging a horse, or rather he dischargedhimself. It seems that some one took a fancy to a horse in his mount.The last man to buy into an outfit that way always gets all the badhorses for his string. As Raneka was a new man there, the result wasthat some excuse was given him to change, and they rung in a spoilthorse on him in changing. Being new that way, he wasn't on to thehorses. The first time he tried to saddle this new horse he showedup bad. The horse trotted up to him when the rope fell on his neck,reared up nicely and playfully, and threw out his forefeet, strippingthe three upper buttons off Bill's vest pattern. Bill never saida word about his intentions, but tied him to the corral fence andsaddled up his own private horse. There were several men around camp,but they said nothing, being a party to the deal, though they noticedBill riding away with the spoilt horse. He took him down on the creekabout a mile from camp and hung him.
"How did he do it? Why, there was a big cottonwood grew on a bluffbank of the creek. One limb hung out over the bluff, over the bed ofthe creek. He left the running noose on the horse's neck, climbed outon this overhanging limb, taking the rope through a fork directly overthe water. He then climbed down and snubbed the free end of the ropeto a small tree, and began taking in his slack. When the rope beganto choke the horse, he reared and plunged, throwing himself over thebluff. That settled his ever hurting any one. He was hung higher thanHaman. Bill never went back to the camp, but struck out for otherquarters. There was a month's wages coming to him, but he would getthat later or they might keep it. Life had charms for anold-timer like Bill, and he didn't hanker for any reputation as abroncho-buster. It generally takes a verdant to pine for such honors.
"Last winter when Bill was riding the chuck line, he ran up againsta new experience. It seems that some newcomer bought a range over onBlack Bear. This new man sought to set at defiance the customs of therange. It was currently reported that he had refused to invite peopleto stay for dinner, and preferred that no one would ask for a night'slodging, even in winter. This was the gossip of the camps for milesaround, so Bill and some juniper of a pardner thought they would makea call on him and see how it was. They made it a point to reach hiscamp shortly after noon. They met the owner just coming out of thedug-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 apadlock. Bill sparred around the main question, but finally asked ifit was too late to get dinner, and was very politely informed thatdinner was over. This latter information was, however, qualified witha profusion of regrets. After a confession of a hard ride made thatmorning from a camp many miles distant, Bill asked the chance toremain over night. Again the travelers were met with serious regrets,as no one would be at camp that night, business calling the owneraway; he was just starting then. The cowman led out his horse, andafter mounting and expressing for the last time his sincere regretsthat he could not extend to them the hospitalities of his camp, rodeaway.
"Bill and his pardner moseyed in an opposite direction a shortdistance and held a parley. Bill was so nonplussed at the receptionthat it took him some little time to collect his thoughts. When itthoroughly dawned on him that the courtesies of the range had beentrampled under foot by a rank newcomer and himself snubbed, he wasaroused to action.
"'Let's go back,' said Bill to his pardner, 'and at least leave ourcard. He might not like it if we didn't.'
"They went back and dismounted about ten steps from the door. Theyshot every cartridge they both had, over a hundred between them,through the door, fastened a card with their correct names on it, androde away. One of the boys that was working there, but was absent atthe time, says there was a number of canned tomato and corn cratesranked up at the rear of the dug-out, in range with the door. This ladsays that it looked as if they had a special grievance against thosecanned goods, for they were riddled with lead. That fellow lost enoughby that act to have fed all the chuck-line men that would bother himin a year.
"Raneka made it a rule," continued Mouse, "to go down and visit theCheyennes every winter, sometimes staying a month. He could makea good stagger at speaking their tongue, so that together with hisknowledge of the Spanish and the sign language he could converse withthem readily. He was perfectly at home with them, and they all likedhim. 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-shippingseason, 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 tosee about the cars and find out when we could pen and the like. We hadto drive to the State line, then, to ship. George took dinner at thebest hotel in the town, and asked one of the dining-room girls if hemight 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 girlsin the dining-room, and they were on the lookout for the Indian. Thenext night we penned a little before dark. Not a man would eat at thewagon; 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, andhad him all togged out in buckskin, even to moccasins. As we enteredthe dining-room, George led him by the hand, assuring all the girlsthat he was perfectly harmless. One long table accommodated us all.George, who sat at the head with our Indian on his right, begged thegirls not to act as though they were afraid; he might notice it. Wallfed him pickles and lump sugar until the supper was brought on. Thenhe pushed back his chair about four feet, and stared at the girls likean 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 ateone side dish at a time. Finally, when he had eaten everything thatsuited his taste, he stood up and signed with his hands to the groupof 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 hiswants to the dining-room girls: 'Bring him some coffee. He's awfulfond of coffee.'
"That supper lasted an hour, and he ate enough to kill a horse. As weleft the dining-room, he tried to carry away a sugar-bowl, butWall took it away from him. As we passed out George turned back andapologized to the girls, saying, 'He's a good Injun. I promised him hemight eat with us. He'll talk about this for months now. When he goesback to his tribe he'll tell his squaws all about you girls feedinghim.'"
"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 tothe railroad company?" asked Edwards.
"No, never heard of it; must have
been after I left. What business didyou 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 darkiesat 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 newline got among the long-horns, who own the cattle on this Strip, andshowed them that it was to their interests to get a competing linein the cattle traffic. The result was, these old long-horns got owly,laid their heads together, and made a little medicine. Every mother'sson of us in the Strip was entitled to claim a home somewhere, sothey put it up that we should come in and vote for the bonds. Itwas believed it would be a close race if they carried, for it wasby counties that the bonds were voted. Towns that the road would runthrough would vote unanimously for them, but outlying towns would votesolidly against the bonds. There was a big lot of money used, whereverit came from, for we were royally entertained. Two or three daysbefore the date set for the election, they began to head for thiscow-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 thecattle interests. We gave it not only our votes, but moral supportlikewise.
"It was a great gathering. The hotels fed us, and the liveriescared for our horses. The liquid refreshments were provided by theprohibition 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 runthrough 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 ourtown to counteract our exertions. Public sentiment was a delicatematter with us, and while this man had no influence with any of us, wedidn't feel the same toward him as we might. He was distributing histickets around, and putting up a good argument, possibly, from hispoint of view, when some of these old long-horns hinted to the boys toshow the fellow that he wasn't wanted. 'Don't hurt him,' said one oldcow-man to this same Wall, 'but give him a scare, so he will know thatwe don't indorse him a little bit. Let him know that this town knowshow to vote without being told. I'll send a man to rescue him, whenthings have gone far enough. You'll know when to let up.'
"That was sufficient. George went into a store and cut off about fiftyfeet 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 droppedover his neck, and cut short his argument. We led him a block anda half through the little town, during which there was a pointedargument between Wall and a "Z----" man whether the city scales or thestockyards arch gate would be the best place to hang him. There werea 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 aknife cut the rope within a few feet of his neck. 'What in hell areyou varments trying to do?' roared the druggist. 'This man is a cousinof mine. Going to hang him, are you? Well, you'll have to hang me withhim when you do.'
"'Just as soon make it two as one,' snarled George. 'When did you getthe chips in this game, I'd like to know? Oppose the progress of thetown, too, do you?'
"'No, I don't,' said the druggist, 'and I'll see that my cousin heredoesn't.'
"'That's all we ask, then,' said Wall; 'turn him loose, boys. We don'twant to hang no man. We hold you responsible if he opens his mouthagain against the bonds.'
"'Hold me responsible, gentlemen,' said the druggist, with a profoundbow. 'Come with me, Cousin,' he said to the Anti.
"The druggist took him through his store, and up some back stairs; andonce 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 thistown. By this act I'll incur the hatred of these people that I liveamongst. So you let the idea go out that you are my cousin. Sabe? Now,stay right here and I'll bring you anything you want, but for Heaven'ssake, don't give me away.'
"'Is--is--is the four o'clock train the first out?' inquired the newcousin.
"'It is the first. I'll see you through this. I'll come up and see youevery hour. Take things cool and easy now. I'm your friend, remember,'was the comfort they parted on.
"There were over seven hundred votes cast, and only one against thebonds. How that one vote got in is yet a mystery. There were no harddrinkers among the boys, all easy drinkers, men that never refused todrink. Yet voting was a little new to them, and possibly that was howthis mistake occurred. We got the returns early in the evening. Thecounty had gone by a handsome majority for the bonds. The committee onentertainment had provided a ball for us in the basement of the OperaHouse, it being the largest room in town. When the good news began tocirculate, the merchants began building bonfires. Fellows who didn'thave extra togs on for the ball got out their horses, and in squads oftwenty to fifty rode through the town, painting her red. If there wasone shot fired that night, there were ten thousand.
"I bought a white shirt and went to the ball. To show you how generalthe good feeling amongst everybody was, I squeezed the hand of analfalfa widow during a waltz, who instantly reported the affrontoffered to her gallant. In her presence he took me to task for theoffense. 'Young man,' said the doctor, with a quiet wink,' this ladyis under my protection. The fourteenth amendment don't apply to younor me. Six-shooters, however, make us equal. Are you armed?'
"'I am, sir.'
"'Unfortunately, I am not. Will you kindly excuse me, say tenminutes?'
"'Certainly, sir, with pleasure.'
"'There are ladies present,' he observed. 'Let us retire.'
"On my consenting, he turned to the offended dame, and in spite of herprotests and appeals to drop matters, we left the ballroom, glaringdaggers at each other. Once outside, he slapped me on the back, andsaid, 'Say, we'll just have time to run up to my office, where I havesome choice old copper-distilled, sent me by a very dear friend inKentucky.'
"The goods were all he claimed for them, and on our return he askedme as a personal favor to apologize to the lady, admitting that he wasnone too solid with her himself. My doing so, he argued, would fortifyhim with her and wipe out rivals. The doctor was a rattling goodfellow, and I'd even taken off my new shirt for him, if he'd said theword. When I made the apology, I did it on the grounds that I couldnot afford to have any difference, especially with a gentleman whowould willingly risk his life for a lady who claimed his protection.
"No, if you never heard of voting the bonds you certainly haven't keptvery close tab on affairs in this Strip. Two or three men whom I knowrefused to go in and vote. They ain't working in this country now. Ittook some of the boys ten days to go and come, but there wasn't aword said. Wages went on just the same. You ain't asleep, are you, DonGuillermo?"
"Oh, no," said Edwards, with a yawn, "I feel just like the nigger didwhen he eat his fill of possum, corn bread, and new molasses: pushedthe platter away and said, 'Go way, 'lasses, you done los' yo'sweetness.'"
Bradshaw made several attempts to go, but each time some thoughtwould enter his mind and he would return with questions about formeracquaintances. Finally he inquired, "What ever became of that littlefellow who was sick about your camp?"
Edwards meditated until Mouse said, "He's thinking about little St.John, the fiddler."
"Oh, yes, Patsy St. John, the little glass-blower," said Edwards, ashe sat up on a roll of bedding. "He's dead long ago. Died at our camp.I did something for him that I've often wondered who would do the samefor me--I closed his eyes when he died. You know he came to us withthe mark on his brow. There was no escape; he had consumption. Hewanted to live, and struggled hard to avoid going. Until three daysbefore his death he was hopeful; always would tell us
how much betterhe was getting, and every one could see that he was gradually going.We always gave him gentle horses to ride, and he would go with us ontrips that we were afraid would be his last. There wasn't a man on therange who ever said 'No' to him. He was one of those little men youcan't help but like; small physically, but with a heart as big as anox's. He lived about three years on the range, was welcome wherever hewent, and never made an enemy or lost a friend. He couldn't; it wasn'tin him. I don't remember now how he came to the range, but think hewas advised by doctors to lead an outdoor life for a change.
"He was born in the South, and was a glass-blower by occupation. Hewould have died sooner, but for his pluck and confidence that he wouldget well. He changed his mind one morning, lost hope that he wouldever get well, and died in three days. It was in the spring. We weregoing out one morning to put in a flood-gate on the river, which hadwashed away in a freshet. He was ready to go along. He hadn't beenon a horse in two weeks. No one ever pretended to notice that he wassick. He was sensitive if you offered any sympathy, so no one offeredto assist, except to saddle his horse. The old horse stood like akitten. Not a man pretended to notice, but we all saw him put his footin the stirrup three different times and attempt to lift himself intothe saddle. He simply lacked the strength. He asked one of the boysto unsaddle the horse, saying he wouldn't go with us. Some of the boyssuggested that it was a long ride, and it was best he didn't go, thatwe would hardly get back until after dark. But we had no idea that hewas so near his end. After we left, he went back to the shack andtold the cook he had changed his mind,--that he was going to die. Thatnight, when we came back, he was lying on his cot. We all tried tojolly him, but each got the same answer from him, 'I'm going to die.'The outfit to a man was broke up about it, but all kept up a goodfront. We tried to make him believe it was only one of his bad days,but he knew otherwise. He asked Joe Box and Ham Rhodes, the twobiggest men in the outfit, six-footers and an inch each, to sit one oneach side of his cot until he went to sleep. He knew better than anyof us how near he was to crossing. But it seemed he felt safe betweenthese two giants. We kept up a running conversation in jest withone another, though it was empty mockery. But he never pretended tonotice. It was plain to us all that the fear was on him. We kept nearthe shack the next day, some of the boys always with him. The thirdevening he seemed to rally, talked with us all, and asked if someof the boys would not play the fiddle. He was a good player himself.Several of the boys played old favorites of his, interspersed withstories and songs, until the evening was passing pleasantly. We wererecovering from our despondency with this noticeable recovery on hispart, when he whispered to his two big nurses to prop him up. Theydid so with pillows and parkers, and he actually smiled on us all. Hewhispered to Joe, who in turn asked the lad sitting on the foot ofthe cot to play Farewell, my Sunny Southern Home.' Strange we hadforgotten that old air,--for it was a general favorite with us,--andstranger now that he should ask for it. As that old familiar air waswafted out from the instrument, he raised his eyes, and seemed towander in his mind as if trying to follow the refrain. Then somethingcame over him, for he sat up rigid, pointing out his hand at theempty space, and muttered, 'Therestands--mother--now--under--the--oleanders. Who is--thatwith--her? Yes, I had--a sister. Open--the--windows.It--is--getting--dark--dark--dark.'
"Large hands laid him down tenderly, but a fit of coughing came on. Hestruggled in a hemorrhage for a moment, and then crossed over to thewaiting figures among the oleanders. Of all the broke-up outfits, wewere the most. Dead tough men bawled like babies. I had a good onemyself. When we came around to our senses, we all admitted it was forthe best. Since he could not get well, he was better off. We took himnext day about ten miles and buried him with those freighters who werekilled when the Pawnees raided this country. Some man will plant cornover their graves some day."
As Edwards finished his story, his voice trembled and there were tearsin his eyes. A strange silence had come over those gathered aboutthe camp-fire. Mouse, to conceal his emotion, pretended to be asleep,while Bradshaw made an effort to clear his throat of something thatwould neither go up nor down, and failing in this, turned and walkedaway without a word. Silently we unrolled the beds, and with saddlesfor pillows and the dome of heaven for a roof, we fell asleep.