A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 



— it is from Henry Bonner of Indiana — establishes 

 my truthfulness. He writes: "I have just read your 

 story about old Curlew, the horse that killed Johnny 

 McDuff. I remember the day he pitched with you 

 when you tried to tie the white handkerchief round 

 your neck, when I was looking at cattle on the Tongue 

 River Ranch." It seems odd that as I write of his 

 letter I am sitting in the shade of a Ford car on 

 Tongue River Ranch, near where Curlew pitched, 

 waiting for a bunch of cattle that the boys are bring- 

 ing up to the shipping pens. In fact, most of these 

 stories have been written on trains, or while waiting 

 about the ranches. It has been a great privilege to 

 write them for The Breeder's Gazette, because 

 the backward look has found many things not written 

 down which I have chatted about with men who have 

 long been with us, and, in turn, their own minds 

 take the backward vision, recalling some stirring 

 things that we have been through together. I have 

 a letter from F. D. Coburn, "Coburn of Kansas," 

 which I am putting away in my treasure chest. It is 

 too generous to quote from, but if my little effort 

 had done no more than bring me Mr. Coburn's let- 

 ter I should feel that I had been richly repaid. I 

 am deeply grateful to the hundreds of others who by 

 spoken word or letter have indulged in kindly com- 

 ment. There has always been for me the sweetest 

 sort of affection in James Whitcomb Riley's words: 

 Good-bye, Jim; take keer o' yourself. 

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