ds.

On returning to the wagon, Priest and I picketed our horses, saddled,
where we could easily find them in the darkness, and unrolled our bed.
We had two pairs of blankets each, which, with an ordinary wagon sheet
doubled for a tarpaulin, and coats and boots for pillows, completed
our couch. We slept otherwise in our clothing worn during the day, and
if smooth, sandy ground was available on which to spread our bed, we
had no trouble in sleeping the sleep that long hours in the saddle
were certain to bring. With all his pardonable faults, The Rebel was a
good bunkie and a hail companion, this being his sixth trip over the
trail. He had been with Lovell over a year before the two made the
discovery that they had been on opposite sides during the "late
unpleasantness." On making this discovery, Lovell at once rechristened
Priest "The Rebel," and that name he always bore. He was fifteen years
my senior at this time, a wonderfully complex nature, hardened by
unusual experiences into a character the gamut of whose moods ran from
that of a good-natured fellow to a man of unrelenting severity in
anger.

We were sleeping a nine knot gale when Fox Quarternight of the second
guard called us on our watch. It was a clear, starry night, and our
guard soon passed, the cattle sleeping like tired soldiers. When the
last relief came on guard and we had returned to our blankets, I
remember Priest telling me this little incident as I fell asleep.

"I was at a dance once in Live Oak County, and there was a stuttering
fellow there by the name of Lem Todhunter. The girls, it seems, didn't
care to dance with him, and pretended they couldn't understand him. He
had asked every girl at the party, and received the same answer from
each--they couldn't understand him. 'W-w-w-ell, g-g-g-go to hell,
then. C-c-c-can y-y-you understand that?' he said to the last girl,
and her brother threatened to mangle him horribly if he didn't
apologize, to which he finally agreed. He went back into the house and
said to the girl, 'Y-y-you n-n-n-needn't g-g-g-go to hell; y-y-your
b-b-b-brother and I have m-m-made other 'r-r-r-rangements.'"

CHAPTER III

THE START

On the morning of April 1, 1882, our Circle Dot herd started on its
long tramp to the Blackfoot Agency in Montana. With six men on each
side, and the herd strung out for three quarters of a mile, it could
only be compared to some mythical serpent or Chinese dragon, as it
moved forward on its