288 MY SPORTING HOLIDAYS 



A few weeks later found us all at the Sand Creek 

 Ranch, on the eve of the beef round-up. Some 

 thousands of our range herds were scattered far and 

 wide through the grassy upland valleys of the 

 Medicine Bow Mountains, east of the North Platte 

 River. The time had come when it was necessary 

 to collect the three- and four-year-old beef steers for 

 the Chicago market. These were the ripened fruit, 

 the saleable assets of the cattle-ranch, whose proceeds 

 were destined to provide dividends for shareholders 

 in the old country 5,000 miles away. 



Our programme was arranged as follows : A friend 

 and myself were starting next day for a month's hunt 

 in the Medicine Bow Range, where plenty of wapiti, 

 deer, and antelope, and an occasional bear, were to be 

 found. At the end of that time we were to meet 

 Frank Earnest and the Pick outfit of some dozen 

 cowboys, under Chico the foreman, at the far side of 

 the range, when it was hoped some 300 or 400 beef 

 steers would be collected ready for shipment to the 

 Chicago autumn market. We should then have an 

 opportunity of inspecting the beef cattle on their way 

 to the railroad. 



The best-laid plans, alas! 'gang oft agley.' The 

 night before our departure Frank Earnest, Chico and 

 I held a council of war. Chico, our foreman, was a 

 sterling character, with considerable influence over 

 the wild cowboy crew he commanded, a fine rider, 

 and with hardly an equal in skill with the rope and 

 in general readiness and resource in an emergency. 

 An incident in illustration of his qualities had 

 occurred only that day. 



The boys wanted a drink of milk, and, of course, the 

 tame old ranch cow had gone astray. Charley Smith 



