plainly as did that of the officer dictating
to him. Physically he was debarred from being a soldier; still there
was a place where he could be useful.

So with Little Jack Martin. He was a cripple and could not ride, but
he could cook. If the way to rule men is through the stomach, Jack
was a general who never knew defeat. The "J+H" camp, where he presided
over the kitchen, was noted for good living. Jack's domestic tastes
followed him wherever he went, so that he surrounded himself at this
camp with chickens, and a few cows for milk. During the spring months,
when the boys were away on the various round-ups, he planted and
raised a fine garden. Men returning from a hard month's work would
brace themselves against fried chicken, eggs, milk, and fresh
vegetables. After drinking alkali water for a month and living out of
tin cans, who wouldn't love Jack? In addition to his garden, he always
raised a fine patch of watermelons. This camp was an oasis in the
desert. Every man was Jack's friend, and an enemy was an unknown
personage. The peculiarity about him, aside from his deformity, was
his ability to act so much better than he could talk. In fact he could
barely express his simplest wants in words.

Cripples are usually cross, irritable, and unpleasant companions. Jack
was the reverse. His best qualities shone their brightest when there
were a dozen men around to cook for. When they ate heartily he felt he
was useful. If a boy was sick, Jack could make a broth, or fix a cup
of beef tea like a mother or sister. When he went out with the wagon
during beef-shipping season, a pot of coffee simmered over the fire
all night for the boys on night herd. Men going or returning on guard
liked to eat. The bread and meat left over from the meals of the
day were always left convenient for the boys. It was the many little
things that he thought of which made him such a general favorite with
every one.

Little Jack was middle-aged when the proclamation of the President
opening the original Oklahoma was issued. This land was to be thrown
open in April. It was not a cow-country then, though it had been once.
There was a warning in this that the Strip would be next. The dominion
of the cowman was giving way to the homesteader. One day Jack found
opportunity to take Miller, our foreman, into his confidence. They
had been together five or six years. Jack had coveted a spot in the
section which was to be thrown open, and he asked the fore