In baiting for wolves, many miles above our range, a
supposed trail of cattle was cut by one of the boys, who immediately
reported the matter to our Texas trailer at camp. They were not our
cattle to a certainty, yet it was but a neighborly act to catch them,
so the two men took up the trail. From appearances there were not over
fifteen head in the bunch, and before following them many miles, the
trailer became suspicious that they were buffalo and not cattle. He
trailed them until they bedded down, when he dismounted and examined
every bed. No cow ever lay down without leaving hair on its bed, so
when the Texan had examined the ground where half a dozen had slept,
his suspicions were confirmed. Declaring them buffalo, the two men
took up the trail in a gallop, overtaking the band within ten miles
and securing four fine robes. There is little or no difference in the
tracks of the two animals. I simply mention this, as my patience has
been sorely tried with the modern picturesque cowboy, who is merely an
amateur when compared with the men of earlier days.
I spent three weeks riding the range on the Medicine. The cattle had
been carefully selected, now four and five years old, and if the
season was favorable they would be ready for shipment early in the
fall. The lower camp was abandoned in order to enlarge the range
nearly one third, and after providing for the wants of the men, I rode
away to the southeast to intercept the Chisholm trail where it crossed
the Kansas line south of Wichita.
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