A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 



face; then, as he came too, carefully washed the 

 ugly wound. Joe's eyes had gone soft again, a 

 little smile played about his mouth as he propped 

 the hurt man up into a comfortable position, and 

 said, "Partner, you must be a new-comer; one of 

 those hellraisers from the Leadville trouble. This 

 is Joe Bradley's train — 'the Bradley special' for 

 everybody who wants to behave hisself, and it's the 

 Bradley funeral train for them that don't. Tickets!" 

 and they came up promptly. 



When we were chatting again I said, "Joe, how 

 often do these things occur?" He smiled that mild- 

 mannered smile again as the answer came, "Not 

 often — just when trouble-makers come in; but that's 

 the first one I ever really hurt; I usually just break 

 an arm with the butt of my gun. I have never had 

 to fire a shot." 



Going across the continent thirty years ago, as 

 I reached Spokane, friends began to ask if I had 

 met Fred R. Reed. For a week or more on my 

 way up the coast friends asked the same question. 

 At Tacoma I got in about lo p. m. As I walked 

 up to the register in a hotel a tall, muscular fellow 

 was chatting with the clerk. The register was slightly 

 turned as I wrote, and the big fellow said, "For 

 God's sake, are you Frank Hastings? All of our 

 friends have been trying to get us together; I am 

 Fred Reed." A friendship thereupon began which 

 has lasted through the years. He was then work- 



[i8o] 



