But when Bull became older he
hung around the wagon like a dog, preferring the company of the outfit
to that of his own mother. He soon learned to eat cold biscuit and
corn-pone, and would hang around at meal-time, ready for the scraps.
We always had to notice where the calf lay down to sleep, as he was
a black rascal, and the men were liable to stumble over him while
changing guards during the night. He never could be prevailed on to
walk with his mother, but followed the wagon or rode in his hammock,
and was always happy as a lark when the recipient of the outfit's
attentions. We sometimes secured as much as two gallons of milk a
day from the cow, but it was pitiful to watch her futile efforts at
coaxing her offspring away from the wagon.
We passed to the west of the town of Wichita and reached our
destination early in June. There I found several letters awaiting me,
with instructions to dispose of the herd or to report what was the
prospect of effecting a sale. We camped about five miles from Abilene,
and before I could post myself on cattle values half a dozen buyers
had looked the herd over. Men were in the market anxious for beef
cattle with which to fill army and Indian contracts, feeders from
Eastern States, shippers and speculators galore, cowmen looking for
she stuff with which to start new ranches, while scarcely a day passed
but inquiry was made by settlers for oxen with which to break prairie.
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