ON A CATTLE-RANGE 293 



raked forward into his vitals. He turned out to be a 

 very good bull, with a fifty-eight-inch twelve-point 

 head. 



I reached camp at dusk that night, and found the 

 party assembled round the fire. Jack Savage, one of 

 our cowboys from the round-up, was in camp, his 

 horse's bridle over his arm, apparently just arrived 

 after a hard ride. Something evidently was up. 



' Hullo, Jack, what are you doing here ?' was my 

 greeting. 



4 There's trouble on the creek, I guess,' was his 

 reply. * Charley Smith killed Chico yesterday.' 



And so the news was brought. 



At supper that night we heard the whole story. 

 The morning after we had left Chico gave Charley 

 Smith notice to quit, being convinced of his dis- 

 honesty. His private herd of cattle had increased 

 beyond all natural bounds, and his presence on the 

 round-up would doubtless have meant still further 

 unlawful additions to the ' flat-iron ' brand at the 

 expense of the Pick herds. 



On receiving his dismissal Charley lost his temper, 

 and, drawing his six-shooter from his belt, struck 

 Chico, a much smaller man than himself, over the head. 

 Chico was then unarmed, and, thinking Charley was 

 going to shoot, ran to his bed under the waggon, 

 secured his weapon, and, fatal error, fired the first 

 shot. The bullet struck Charley in the neck, and 

 rolled up in the thick silk handkerchief commonly 

 worn by cowboys round the throat. This saved 

 Charley's life. The two men then dodged one 

 another round the mess-waggon, firing as they did 

 so, until Charley was left with one loaded chamber, 

 Chico's gun being empty. Charley then shot the 



