The drive that year to the different markets in Kansas amounted to about five hundred thousand cattle.  One half this number were handled at Wichita, the surrounding country absorbing them to such an extent that when it came time to restock our Medicine River range I was compelled to go to Great Bend to secure the needed cattle.  All saddle horses, both purchased and my own remudas, with wagons, were sent to our winter camps by the shipping crew, so that the final start for Texas would be made from the Medicine River.  It was the last of October that the last six trains of beeves were brought in to the railroad for shipment, the season’s work drawing to an end.  Meanwhile I had closed contracts on ten thousand three-year-old steers at “The Bend,” so as fast as the three outfits were relieved of their consignment of beeves they pulled out up the Arkansas River to receive the last cattle of the year.  It was nearly one hundred miles from Wichita, and on the arrival of the shipping crews the herds were received and started south for their winter range.  Major Hunter and I accompanied the herds to the Medicine, and within a week after reaching the range the two through outfits started home with five wagons and eight hundred saddle horses.

It was the latter part of November when we left our winter camps and returned to The Grove for the annual settlement.  Our silent partner was present, and we broke the necks of a number of champagne bottles in properly celebrating the success of the year’s work.  The wintered cattle had cleared the Dutchman’s one per cent, while every hoof in the through and purchased herds was a fine source of profit.  Congress would convene within a week, and our silent partner suggested that all three of us go down to Washington and attend the opening exercises.  He had already looked into the contracting of beef to the government, and was particularly anxious to have my opinion on a number of contracts to be let the coming winter.  It had been ten years since I left my old home in the Shenandoah Valley, my parents were still living, and all I asked was time enough to write a letter to my wife, and buy some decent clothing.  The trio started in good time for the opening of Congress, but once we sighted the Potomac River the old home hunger came on me and I left the train at Harper’s Ferry.  My mother knew and greeted me just as if I had left home that morning on an errand, and had now returned.  My father was breaking with years, yet had a mental alertness that was remarkable and a commercial instinct that understood the value of a Texas cow or a section of land scrip.  The younger members of the family gathered from their homes to meet “Texas” Anthony, and for ten continuous days I did nothing but answer questions, running from the color of the baby’s eyes to why we did not drive the fifteen thousand cattle in one herd, or how big a section of country would one thousand certificates of land scrip cover.  My visit was broken by the necessity of conferring with my partners, so, promising to spend Christmas with my mother, I was excused until that date.