remembered that the fall before it had been my lot to drive a
thousand saddle horses home to the ranch, and that I had swaggered as
a trail foreman afterward as the result. It had always been my luck to
have to earn every little advance or promotion, while others seemed to
fall into them without any effort. Bob Quirk never saw the day that he
was half the all-round cowman that I was; yet he was above me and could
advise, and I had to obey.

On the morning of the 25th of September, 1884, the two outfits started
for the railroad, leaving the remainder of us in a country, save for the
cattle, so desolate that there was no chance even to spend our wages. I
committed to memory a curtain lecture for my brother, though somehow or
other it escaped me and was never delivered. We rode lines between the
upper and lower wagons, holding the cattle loosely on a large range. A
delightful fall favored us, and before the first squall of winter came
on, the beeves had contented themselves as though they had been born on
the Little Missouri. Meanwhile Bob's wagon and remuda arrived, the car
of corn was hauled to our headquarters, extra stabling was built, and
we settled down like banished exiles. Communication had been opened with
Fort Buford, and in the latter part of October the four promised men
arrived, when Bob Quirk took part of my outfit and went home, leaving
me ten men. Parent remained as cook, the new men assimilated easily, a
fiddle was secured, and in fulfillment of the assertion of Sanders, we
picked up courage. Two grain-fed horses, carefully stabled, were allowed
to each man, the remainder of our large number of saddle stock running
free on the range.

To that long winter on the Little Missouri a relentless memory turns in
retrospect. We dressed and lived like Eskimos. The first blizzard struck
us early in December, the thermometer dropped sixty degrees in twelve
hours, but in the absence of wind and snow the cattle did not leave
the breaks along the river. Three weeks later a second one came, and we
could not catch the lead animals until near the railroad; but the storm
drove them up the Little Missouri, and its sheltering banks helped us to
check our worst winter drift. After the first month of wintry weather,
the dread of the cold passed, and men and horses faced the work as
though it was springtime in our own loved southland. The months rolled
by scarcely noticed. During fine weather Sanders and some of his boys
twice