the Cherokee Strip to avoid--well, no matter. I got a job in the
Strip, not riding, but as a kind of an all-round rustler. This
was long before the country was fenced, and they rode lines to
keep the cattle on their ranges. One evening about nightfall in
December, the worst kind of a blizzard struck us that the country
had ever seen. The next day it was just as bad, and BLOODY cold.
A fellow could not see any distance, and to venture away from the
dugout meant to get lost. The third day she broke and the sun
came out clear in the early evening. The next day we managed to
gather the saddle horses, as they had not drifted like the
cattle.

"Well, we were three days overtaking the lead of that cattle
drift, and then found them in the heart of the Cheyenne country,
at least on that reservation. They had drifted a good hundred
miles before the storm broke. Every outfit in the Strip had gone
south after their cattle. Instead of drifting them back together,
the different ranches rustled for their own. Some of the foremen
paid the Indians so much per head to gather for them, but ours
didn't. The braves weren't very much struck on us on that
account. I was cooking for the outfit, which suited me in winter
weather. We had a permanent camp on a small well-wooded creek,
from which we worked all the country round.

"One afternoon when I was in camp all alone, I noticed an Indian
approaching me from out of the timber. There was a Winchester
standing against the wagon wheel, but as the bucks were making no
trouble, I gave the matter no attention. Mr. Injun came up to the
fire and professed to be very friendly, shook hands, and spoke
quite a number of words in English. After he got good and warm,