well-known night-and-day eating-house on a back street. No sooner
had we entered the place than I remembered having my wagon in
town, and the necessity of its reaching camp before darkness made
my excuse imperative. I hurried around to the outfitting house
and found the order filled and all ready to load into the wagon.
But Parent was missing, and in skirmishing about to locate him, I
met my brother Bob. Tolleston had arrived, but his presence had
not been discovered until after Seay reached town. Archie was
fairly well "organized" and had visited the hotel where the
buyers were stopping, leaving word for them of his arrival. My
brother and Seay had told him that they had met, down the trail
that morning, two cattle buyers by the name of Field and
Radcliff; that they were inquiring for a herd belonging to Tom
Coleman, which was believed to be somewhere between Dodge and the
Cimarron River. The two had assured Tolleston that the buyers
might not be back for a week, and suggested a few drinks in
memory of old times. As Archie was then three sheets in the wind,
his effacement, in the hands of two rounders like Dorg Seay and
Bob Quirk, was an easy matter.

Once the wagon was loaded and started for camp, I returned to the
restaurant. The dinner was in progress, and taking the vacant
seat, I lifted my glass with great regularity as toast after
toast was drunk. Cigars were ordered, and with our feet on the
table, the fiscal agent said: "Gentlemen, this is a mere luncheon
and don't count. But if I'm able to sell you my other two beef
herds, why, I'll give you a blow-out right. We'll make it
six-handed--the three trail foremen and ourselves--and damn the
expense so long as the cattle are sold. Champagne will flow like
water, and when our teeth float, we'll wash our feet in what's