There was something about Silver Bow that reminded me of Frenchman’s Ford on the Yellowstone.  Being the terminal of the first railroad into Montana, it became the distributing point for all the western portion of that territory, and immense ox trains were in sight for the transportation of goods to remoter points in the north and west.  The population too was very much the same as at Frenchman’s, though the town in general was an improvement over the former, there being some stability to its buildings.  As we were to leave on an eleven o’clock train, we had little opportunity to see the town, and for the short time at our disposal, barber shops and clothing stores claimed our first attention.  Most of us had some remnants of money, while my bunkie was positively rich, and Lovell advanced us fifty dollars apiece, pending a final settlement on reaching our destination.

Within an hour after receiving the money, we blossomed out in new suits from head to heel.  Our guard hung together as if we were still on night herd, and in the selection of clothing the opinion of the trio was equal to a purchase.  The Rebel was very easily pleased in his selection, but John Officer and myself were rather fastidious.  Officer was so tall it was with some little difficulty that a suit could be found to fit him, and when he had stuffed his pants in his boots and thrown away the vest, for he never wore either vest or suspenders, he emerged looking like an Alpine tourist, with his new pink shirt and nappy brown beaver slouch hat jauntily cocked over one ear.  As we sauntered out into the street, Priest was dressed as became his years and mature good sense, while my costume rivaled Officer’s in gaudiness, and it is safe to assert two thirds of our outlay had gone for boots and hats.

Flood overtook us in the street, and warned us to be on hand at the depot at least half an hour in advance of train time, informing us that he had checked our saddles and didn’t want any of us to get left at the final moment.  We all took a drink together, and Officer assured our foreman that he would be responsible for our appearance at the proper time, “sober and sorry for it.”  So we sauntered about the straggling village, drinking occasionally, and on the suggestion of The Rebel, made a cow by putting in five apiece and had Officer play it on faro, he claiming to be an expert on the game.  Taking the purse thus made up, John sat into a game, while Priest and myself, after watching the play some minutes, strolled out again and met others of our outfit in the street, scarcely recognizable in their killing rigs.  The Rebel was itching for a monte game, but this not being a cow town there was none, and we strolled next into a saloon, where a piano was being played by a venerable-looking individual,—­who proved quite amiable, taking a drink with us and favoring us with a number of selections of our choosing.  We were enjoying this musical treat when our foreman came in and asked us to get the boys together.