woods, feeding and thriving on the mast, but before killing time we always baited them into the fields and finished their fattening with peas and corn.  It was customary to wait until the beginning of winter, or about the second cold spell, to butcher, and at the time in question there were about fifty large hogs to kill.  It was a gala event with us boys, the oldest of whom were allowed to shoot one or more with a rifle.  The hogs had been tolled into a small field for the killing, and towards the close of the day a number of them, having been wounded and requiring a second or third shot, became cross.  These subsequent shots were usually delivered from a six-shooter, and in order to have it at hand in case of a miss I was intrusted with carrying the pistol.  There was one heavy-tusked five-year-old stag among the hogs that year who refused to present his head for a target, and took refuge in a brier thicket.  He was left until the last, when we all sallied out to make the final kill.  There were two rifles, and had the chance come to my father, I think he would have killed him easily; but the opportunity came to a neighbor, who overshot, merely causing a slight wound.  The next instant the stag charged at me from the cover of the thickety fence corner.  Not having sense enough to take to the nearest protection, I turned and ran like a scared wolf across the field, the hog following me like a hound.  My father risked a running shot, which missed its target.  The darkies were yelling, “Run, chile!  Run, Mars’ Reed!  Shoot!  Shoot!” when it occurred to me that I had a pistol; and pointing it backward as I ran, I blazed away, killing the big fellow in his tracks.

The other occasion was years afterward, when I was a trail foreman at Abilene, Kansas.  My herd had arrived at that market in bad condition, gaunted from almost constant stampedes at night, and I had gone into camp some distance from town to quiet and recuperate them.  That day I was sending home about half my men, had taken them to the depot with our wagon, and intended hauling back a load of supplies to my camp.  After seeing the boys off I hastened about my other business, and near the middle of the afternoon started out of town.  The distance to camp was nearly twenty miles, and with a heavy load, principally salt, I knew it would be after nightfall when I reached there.  About five miles out of town there was a long, gradual slope to climb, and I had to give the through team their time in pulling to its summit.  Near the divide was a small box house, the only one on the road if I remember rightly, and as I was nearing it, four or five dogs ran out and scared my team.  I managed to hold them in the road, but they refused to quiet down, kicking, rearing, and plunging in spite of their load; and once as they jerked me forward, I noticed there was a dog or two under the wagon, nipping at their heels.  There was a six-shooter lying on the seat beside me, and reaching forward I fired it downward over the end gate of the wagon.