Our lead herd arrived without an incident en route.  The second one came in promptly, both passing on and picking their way through the border settlements to Wichita.  I waited until the third one put in an appearance, leaving orders for it and the two rear ones to camp on some convenient creek in the Outlet near Caldwell.  Arrangements were made with Captain Stone for supplying the outfits, and I hurried on to overtake the lead herds, then nearing Wichita.  An ample range was found but twenty miles up the Arkansas River, and the third day all the Bell County men in the two outfits were sent home by train.  The market was much the same as the year before:  one herd of three thousand two-year-olds was our largest individual sale.  Early in August the last herd was brought from the state line and the through help reduced to two outfits, one holding cattle at Wichita and the other bringing in shipments of beeves from the Medicine River range.  The latter were splendid cattle, fatted to a finish for grass animals, and brought top prices in the different markets to which they were consigned.  Omitting details, I will say it was an active year, as we bought and sold fully as many more as our drive amounted to, while I added to my stock of saddle horses an even three hundred head.

An amusing incident occurred with one of my men while holding cattle that fall at Wichita.  The boys were in and out of town frequently, and one of them returned to camp one evening and informed me that he wanted to quit work, as he intended to return to Wichita and kill a man.  He was a good hand and I tried to persuade him out of the idea, but he insisted that it was absolutely necessary to preserve his honor.  I threatened to refuse him a horse, but seeing that menace and persuasion were useless, I ordered him to pick my holdings of saddle stock, gave him his wages due, and told him to be sure and shoot first.  He bade us all good-by, and a chum of his went with him.  About an hour before daybreak they returned and awoke me, when the aggrieved boy said:  “Mr. Anthony, I didn’t kill him.  No, I didn’t kill him.  He’s a good man.  You bet he’s a game one.  Oh, he’s a good man all right.”  That morning when I awoke both lads were out on herd, and I had an early appointment to meet parties in town.  Major Hunter gave me the story immediately on my arrival.  The boys had located the offender in a store, and he anticipated the fact that they were on his trail.  As our men entered the place, the enemy stepped from behind a pile of clothing with two six-shooters leveled in their faces, and ordered a clerk to relieve the pair of their pistols, which was promptly done.  Once the particulars were known at camp, it was looked upon as a good joke on the lad, and whenever he was asked what he thought of Mr. Blank, his reply invariably was, “He’s a good man.”