wild as a Cheyenne generally gets. When the others were several
hundred yards away, he turned his horse, rode back some little
distance, and attracted my attention by holding out the
Winchester. From his horse he laid it carefully down on the
ground, whirled his pony, and rode like a scared wolf after the
others. I could hear their yells for miles, as they made for
their encampment over on the North Fork. As soon as I got the
fire under control, I went out and got the carbine. It was empty;
the Indian had used its magazine in the general hilarity. That
may be an Indian's style of fun, but I failed to see where there
was any in it for me."

The cook threw a handful of oily fish-bones on the fire, causing
it to flame up for a brief moment. With the exception of Wayne
Outcault, who was lying prone on the ground, the men were smoking
and sitting Indian fashion around the fire. After rolling awhile
uneasily, Outcault sat up and remarked, "I feel about half sick.
Eat too much? Don't you think it. Why, I only ate seven or eight
of those fish, and that oughtn't to hurt a baby. There was only
half a dozen hard-boiled eggs to the man, and I don't remember of
any of you being so generous as to share yours with me. Those few
plates of prunes that I ate for dessert wouldn't hurt nobody--
they're medicine to some folks. Unroll our bed, pardner, and I'll
thrash around on it awhile."

Several trail stories of more or less interest were told, when
Runt Pickett, in order to avoid the smoke, came over and sat down
between Burl Van Vedder and me. He had had an experience, and
instantly opened on us at short range. "Speaking of stampedes,"
said Runt, "reminds me of a run I was in, and over which I was