It was a hard and stormy winter, and the Ohio boys, unused to such a life, suffered badly, many of them freezing their hands and feet.  When they reached Denver the cattle were taken to the valleys, and father traded his own cattle for mules.  Loading his two wagons with hides, so as to make money both ways, he and the two boys who had driven his teams started for home.  I have heard him say that he never saw weather so cold, but that he could keep from freezing by walking.  So by dint of much walking he succeeded in reaching home without being frozen.  Their wagons were so full of hides that they had to sleep on the ground, and he said that on waking in the morning he often found himself buried in snow.  Wood was scarce, and they sometimes had to haul it quite a distance to build their camp fires at night, and it was sometimes so stormy that they could scarcely cook.

During the journey one wagon-load after another of returning Pike’s Peak adventurers had fallen in with them, and kept together for the sake of company and protection against the Indians, until they made quite a train.  By common consent—­accordin’ to the human nature of the thing, as they say on the plains—­father came to be considered the boss of the train.  There was a ranch near the road, kept by a Frenchman, who had an Indian wife.  He had grown rich selling whisky and provisions, and wood and hay.  When the half-frozen men, with their hungry teams, came by, he charged them extravagant prices; if they objected he blustered and threatened until he usually scared them into paying what he asked.  Father and his train camped there one cold night, and some of the men went up to buy wood and hay; but he asked such high prices for them that they went back and asked father to go up.  He was busy, and knowing the Frenchman’s reputation, told them to go back and tell him that the boss said he could not pay such exorbitant prices, but to let them have the wood and hay, and he would come after awhile and pay a good round price for them.  The men returned, and told what he said, but the Frenchman ordered them to clear out, and threatened to shoot them if they came back again without the money he demanded.  He would not even allow them to draw water from the well.  Again they begged father to go up, but he said he was too busy, and told them to go right back and take the wood, hay and water, and if the Frenchman said anything, to tell him that Pardee Butler told them to do it, and he would settle the bill.  They went back, the one drawing water, the others getting wood and hay.  Out ran the Frenchman, very wrathy, leveling his gun at them.  “The boss told us to take them, and he’d settle,” they said.

“Who’s your boss?” he asked in surprise.

“Pardee Butler.”

“Pardee Butler!  Oh!  Oh!  Pardee Butler?  Take ’em!  Take ’em!” he exclaimed, dropping his gun and throwing up his hands.  “Oh!  Pardee Butler!  Take ’em!  Take ’em!” he continued, fairly dancing around, white with fright, and gesticulating as only a Frenchman can.