strained him."

And this explained the mystery why they had not flanked us!

Brave to downright rashness, George Thornton lasted only about two
years longer.

The Winter of 1883-84 he spent with me on my Pecos Ranch. Early in the
Spring he came to me and said:

"Old man, if you want to do me a favor, get me an appointment as Deputy
United States Marshal in the Indian Territory. I'm going to quit you,
anyway. My guns are getting rusty. It's too slow for me here."

"Why, George," I replied, "if you are bound to die why don't you blow
your brains out yourself?"--for at the time few new marshals in the
Indian Territory survived the first year of their appointment.

"Never mind about me," he answered; "I'll take care of George. Anyway,
I'd rather get leaded there than rust here."

So I got him the appointment.

A few months later, when the Territory was thrown open to settlement,
Thornton homesteaded one hundred and sixty acres of land which early
became a town site, and now is the business centre of the city of
Guthrie. Had he lived and retained possession of his homestead, it
would have made him a millionaire. But greedy speculators soon started
a contest of his title.

While this contest was at its height, one day Thornton learned some
Indians living a few miles from the town were selling whiskey, contrary
to Federal law. As he was mounting for the raid, having intended to go
alone, a man he scarcely knew offered to accompany him, and Thornton
finally deputized him.

The story of his end was told by the Indians themselves, who later were
captured by a large force of marshals, and tried for his murder. They
said that just at dusk they saw two horsemen approaching. Presently
they recognized Marshal Thornton and at once opened fire on him, eight
of them, from behind the little grove of cottonwoods in which they were
camped. Immediately Thornton shifted his bridle to his teeth, and
charged them straight, firing with his two ".41" Colts. The moment he
charged, his companion dodged into a clump of timber, where they saw
him dismount. On came Thornton straight into their fire shooting with
deadly accuracy, killing two of their number, and wounding another
before he fell.

Presently, at the flash of a rifle from the brush where his companion
had dismounted, Thornton pitched from his horse dead. They had done
their best to kill him, they frankly swore, but it was his own deputy's
shot that laid him lo