"crack his whip," and to go to that warm place from which no "hoss
trader" returned if he wanted to, but for him not to interfere with me
or the sheep. Away he went. My temper was at its best and thoroughly
under control, so I told the boys to not feel the least alarm, no
"yaller backed hoss trader" would get those sheep, without getting into
a "considerable tarnatious scrap" with Little Billy.

It seemed that we were destined to have several visitors before we
arrived in Denver. This time we had camped for supper and a lonely
looking half starved individual put in his appearance with a saddle on
his back. He asked me if he could get some supper with us and I told him
to "lay to," and he then asked me if I knew him. I told him I knew him
but it would not be to his disadvantage.

A few days before this I had seen an account in the paper where a Mr.
Service had shot and killed a Mexican. I told him that there was already
a reward out for $1,000 for him. I told him he needn't say a word about
the affair to the boys, and I wouldn't. He told me that he had killed
the Mexican because he couldn't avoid it. It seemed that a very rich
Mexican with a twenty-wagon train and 100 yoke of oxen had stopped near
the little ranch of Service and Miller to cook their meals. He had
unyoked his cattle and driven them to the creek for water and instead of
returning by the route he had gone, threw down the fence and was driving
his oxen through Service's ten-acre corn patch. The corn was up about
two feet high and the cattle were literally ruining the corn. Mr.
Service attempted to drive the cattle off the corn, but the Mexican
hollowed to his peons to drive them on through. Mr. Service told him to
either pay the damage that his oxen had done his corn or drive them off.
The Mexican told him he would do neither. By this time Mr. Service was
thoroughly angry and told the Mexican that he would either take the oxen