398 
FOREST AND STREAM 
IMarch 30, 1912 
cut the fire off from each other’s smokers at the 
same instant, I was simply speechless with ad¬ 
miration. What surprised me most was that 
they worked their pistols with their thumbs, 
simply drawing back the hammer and letting it 
fall without using the trigger; in fact, it being 
the day when self-cocking weapons were un¬ 
known, the triggers had been removed to facili¬ 
tate the operation. 
I had a .22 caliber seven-shot revolver, a beau¬ 
tiful thing to look at, ebony stock, silver plate 
that fully demonstrated the old saying about “a 
fool and his money” when I bought it in Water- 
bury. Conn. The weapons of my new-found 
friends w'ere disreputable looking things, and it 
was with a thrill of pride that I ventured to 
show my cowboy acquaintance my swagger look¬ 
ing gun. 
‘‘Kind o’ heavy, ain’t it,” he remarked on look¬ 
ing it over and hefting it in his hand. 
‘‘Why, no,” I replied; ‘‘it is unusually light; 
that’s the beauty of it.” 
“Ye must have a mighty big watch to offset 
it,” he continued, looking at my fob. 
For a moment I was mystified, then it dawned 
upon me with humiliating significance he had 
taken—or pretended to, which was even worse— 
my beautiful weapon for a watch charm. In 
other company I could have wept. 
“Well, I’ve got my opinion of a man that can't 
tell a gun from a bit of jewelry,” I finally re¬ 
torted. 
“What! A gun! An honest Injun shootin’ 
gun? Lemme take it again,” and, in big-eyed 
wonder that could not have been all assumed, he 
looked the pistol over carefully and then de¬ 
manded if it was a “sure ’nough” gun to “make 
it shoot.” 
Fortunately for me I had practiced a good bit 
with the revolver, and wdien he held up his hat 
at ten paces, I was able to make seven perfora¬ 
tions in the stiff brim in tolerably good style. 
It was easy to see that he and his companions 
regarded me with greater respect after this per¬ 
formance. Then something occurred that top¬ 
pled me from the temporary pedestal to which 
the shooting had elevated me. One of the boys 
paced off twenty long strides and beckoned me 
to step over to the spot. Another fellow brought 
out a glass which he placed on my head and the 
first mentioned cowboy took the gun with the 
remark: 
“I’m jist goin’ to see what I kin do with this 
lady charmer.” 
I could feel the hair bristling up under my hat 
and my first determination to stand for any¬ 
thing they might do oozed away as my nerves 
asserted their prerogative, and I yelled with 
earnest accent, “No you don’t!” No attempt 
was made to conceal the sentiments of the boys, 
and I was advised to “go back East and play 
with the children,” while the fellow with the 
gun declared to the effect that a reflection such 
as I had manifested upon his marksmanship 
could be neutralized in but one way, and he 
eyed me significantly. I thought I was in for 
it sure enough, then I determined to try the 
effect of a little reasoning upon him. I ex¬ 
plained that the size of the bore was not equal 
to that sort of shooting, that while I had not 
the least doubt of his ability to shoot with any¬ 
body, it would be no disparagement of his skill 
or accuracy of aim if the bullet intended for 
the glass should drop a few inches at that range 
and make a hole in my head. I showed him the 
size of cartridges used and he seemed aston¬ 
ished. Then taking my hand, he said: “Fellers, 
I wuz wrong; this youngster did right not to 
stand for such shootin’, and if any cow-racer 
in this bunch thinks different, let him say so to 
me.” As no one evinced a disposition to dis¬ 
agree with his expressed sentiments, the inci¬ 
dent was considered closed. 
My friend lost no time in impressing upon me 
the necessity of getting a gun of greater shoot¬ 
ing power, and as a result that same evening 
saw me in possession of a regulation, four-bar¬ 
reled “Western bulldog.” It was battered and 
there were suspicious cuts, dents and notches 
on the stock, but it was well oiled, in perfect 
working order, and would puncture an oak plank 
at twenty paces. Its barrels were finely rifled 
and nearly eight inches in length. A nipple 
in the inside of the hammer revolved automati¬ 
cally and punctured each cartridge, the barrels 
being fixed. The gun was of .44 caliber and 
the cowboys said it was first class “weepon.” 
What surprised me was the frequency with 
which the name “Bud” occurred among the cow¬ 
boys, and in fact throughout the whole South¬ 
western country. It seemed as though about 
every third man I met was called Bud. With 
the men of the plains, but one name is usually 
applied to an individual, unless there should 
chance to be several men of the same name in 
the same company, when such qualifying terms 
as “Long,” “Big,” “Buckskin,” or, expressive of 
some characteristic, “Fighting,” “Cock-eyed,” 
“Humpty” and the like prefix the “Bud,” “Bob,” 
“Jim” or what not. Flence it was “Big Bud” 
who came to my aid when I went out to the 
stock yards one day in quest of the right sort 
of a pony to carry me over the plains. And 
such a lot of horse flesh it was never my lot to 
come in contact with. 
I asked Bud to pick me a pony and he did, 
selecting, as I thought, the mangiest, toughest 
looking animal of the lot. Bud said he was a 
good horse and I took his word, though in my 
unbiased opinion it was the least likely pony of 
the whole lot. I took the pony, and Bill and I 
set to work to bring something like order put 
of the brute’s crude ways and appearance. He 
was intelligent and learned readily, but the in¬ 
auguration of his toilet was something over 
which it is well to draw a veil; suffice to say, 
we had to call on more than one broncho buster 
to aid and abet us. I named him “Skeezik,” 
and Skeezik’s first grooming was administered to 
one side only, and that while he was Ijdng down 
with his legs, neck and tail in chancery, as it 
were. It was not long, however, before we put 
him in a narrow box stall and performed his 
toilet from the top of boxes in adjoining stalls. 
In a week I was able to saddle him with the 
assistance of Bill, and the moral support of a 
stray cowboy or two. The consecutive steps up 
to mounting were rapid, and it was a proud 
day when I saddled, bridled and mounted Skee¬ 
zik unaided. 
A month had now elapsed since I first landed 
in Kansas City, the weather was quite mild (it 
being the middle of March), and I began to 
think of the exploration of the great unknown 
West. I had already made cursory trips to 
Wyandotte, Independence, Pleasant Hill, Sedalia, 
Harrisonville and other nearby points in quest 
of game and fish. It was too early yet, how¬ 
ever, there being only an occasional wild prairie 
chicken and no- fish that were accessible, owing 
to the high water in the creeks and small rivers. 
I found that the natives of that country paid 
little attention to natural sports. Now and then 
a settler would tell of a “right smart of a cat” 
taken from the Kaw River, and the farmer 
boys would manifest a modicum of enthusiasm 
in telling how many rabbits they had “ketched.” 
It was small credit to bag rabbits, even in illimi¬ 
table numbers, for the country was overrun with 
them, and they were counted a great nuisance. 
It is no infringement of veracity to state that 
I have seen, in the early evening, grouped along 
the osage hedges which form the boundary fences 
of adjoining quarter sections, millions of these 
little animals. The ground would be simply 
gray with them as far as the eye could reach. 
One bright morning I crossed the Kaw and 
turned my Skeezik’s head toward the boundless 
land beyond the border. I was alone. Bill hav¬ 
ing succumbed to homesickness and turned back 
east, taking with him the information he had 
spent weeks acquiring touching the construction 
of dug-outs, which were to serve for our shelter 
when we had passed the habitable zone. The 
pony was in good spirits, and he loped off the 
miles with great rapidity. For about ten miles 
out of Wyandotte my route lay through lanes 
between fenced and cultivated farms. We 
lunched at a farmhouse, and soon after noon 
emerged from the restricted lanes on to the 
boundless prairie. I never e.xperienced such a 
sense of freedom and exhilaration. The East 
and home seemed a dream of some far remote 
period, and I felt that I had expanded so that 
I could never again fit the proscribed limits of 
home life. But not long afterward I would 
have given ten years of my life for the privilege 
of re-entering that despised life and laying down 
my head in that same home. 
Several miles square of this country had been 
mowed over for hay the past season, which left 
the surface free from obstruction, and the new 
fresh crop springing up, interspersed with brilliant- 
hued flowers, produced a most beautiful picture. 
It was one vast, gently undulating lawn through 
which I rode for three hours. Then, as I ap¬ 
proached the so-called Tonganoxie Bottoms, the 
scene changed and became as desolate and for¬ 
bidding as it was formerly attractive. The 
usual grove of cottonwoods which skirts all Kan¬ 
sas streams had suffered a visitation of fire, 
sufficiently fierce to kill the timber. The result 
was a stretch of bare trees, whose naked 
branches, with strips of bark still clinging, sil¬ 
houetted against the sunlit horizon, combined to 
make a weird, uncanny picture. Passing through 
the timber I forded a small stream, and just at 
sunset reached a little log hut and had my first 
experience of squatter life as I rode up to the 
rail fence inclosing the cabin and was greeted 
by a half dozen noisy yellow dogs. 
As the great brutes swarmed around Skeezik’s 
head, their fangs suggesting unpleasant possi¬ 
bilities, I felt a deep sense of gratitude to my 
cowboy acquaintances who had cautioned me 
never to dismount at a settler’s cabin until I 
had made some of the inmates aware of my 
presence. The significance of this advice was 
startling!}'- apparent in the present instance. Any 
one of the dogs could have made away with a 
boy of my style with little difficulty. A frowsy- 
headed woman - appeared in the doorway and 
