to attend to the contracts at army posts on the upper Missouri.  Our first steer herd to arrive was from Hood County, and after seeing them safely on the Great Bend trail at Pond Creek, I waited for the other steer cattle from Coryell to arrive.  Both herds came in within a day of each other, and I loitered along with them, finally overtaking the lead one when within fifty miles of The Bend.  In fair weather it was a delightful existence to loaf along with the cattle; but once all three herds reached their destination, two outfits held them, and I took the Hood County lads and dropped back on the Medicine.  Our ranch hands had everything shaped up nicely, and by working a double outfit and making round-ups at noon, when the cattle were on water, we quietly cut out three thousand head of our biggest beeves without materially disturbing our holdings on that range.  These northern wintered cattle were intended for delivery at Fort Abraham Lincoln on the Missouri River in what is now North Dakota.  The through heavy beeves from Uvalde County were intended for Fort Randall and intermediate posts, some of them for reissue to various Indian agencies.  The reservations of half a dozen tribes were tributary to the forts along the upper Missouri, and the government was very liberal in supplying its wards with fresh beef.

The Medicine River beeves were to be grazed up the country to Fort Lincoln.  We passed old Fort Larned within a week, and I left the outfit there and returned to The Bend.  The outfit in charge of the wintered cattle had orders to touch at and cross the Missouri River at Fort Randall, where I would meet them again near the middle of July.  The market had fairly opened at Great Bend, and I was kept busy assisting Major Hunter until the arrival of the Uvalde beef herds.  Both came through in splendid condition, were admired by every buyer in the market, and passed on north under orders to graze ten miles a day until reaching their destination.  By this time the whereabouts of all the Indian herds were known, yet not a word had reached me from the foreman of my individual cattle after crossing into the Nations.  It was now the middle of June, and there were several points en route from which he might have mailed a letter, as did all the other foremen.  Herds, which crossed at Red River Station a week after my steers, came into The Bend and reported having spoken no “44” cattle en route.  I became uneasy and sent a courier as far south as the state line, who returned with a comfortless message.  Finally a foreman in the employ of Jess Evens came to me and reported having taken dinner with a “44” outfit on the South Canadian; that the herd swam the river that afternoon, after which he never hailed them again.  They were my own dear cattle, and I was worrying; I was overdue at Fort Randall, and in duty bound to look after the interests of the firm.  Major Hunter came to the rescue, in his usual calm manner, and expressed his confidence that all would come out right in the end; that when the mystery was unraveled the foreman would be found blameless.