dangerous than they would have been elsewhere. I hardly ever had any
difficulty, however. I never went into a saloon, and in the little
hotels I kept out of the bar-room unless, as sometimes happened, the
bar-room was the only room on the lower floor except the dining-room. I
always endeavored to keep out of a quarrel until self-respect forbade
my making any further effort to avoid it, and I very rarely had even the
semblance of trouble.

Of course amusing incidents occurred now and then. Usually these took
place when I was hunting lost horses, for in hunting lost horses I was
ordinarily alone, and occasionally had to travel a hundred or a hundred
and fifty miles away from my own country. On one such occasion I
reached a little cow town long after dark, stabled my horse in an empty
outbuilding, and when I reached the hotel was informed in response to my
request for a bed that I could have the last one left, as there was only
one other man in it. The room to which I was shown contained two double
beds; one contained two men fast asleep, and the other only one man,
also asleep. This man proved to be a friend, one of the Bill Joneses
whom I have previously mentioned. I undressed according to the fashion
of the day and place, that is, I put my trousers, boots, shaps, and
gun down beside the bed, and turned in. A couple of hours later I was
awakened by the door being thrown open and a lantern flashed in my face,
the light gleaming on the muzzle of a cocked .45. Another man said to
the lantern-bearer, "It ain't him"; the next moment my bedfellow was
covered with two guns, and addressed, "Now, Bill, don't make a fuss,
but come along quiet." "I'm not thinking of making a fuss," said Bill.
"That's right," was the answer; "we're your friends; we don't want to
hurt you; we just want you to come along, you know why." And Bill pulled
on his trousers and boots and walked out with them. Up to this
time there had not been a sound from the other bed. Now a match was