k and me late than no dinner. I tried a hundred different
schemes to instill ambition and self-respect into that ox, but he was an
old dog and contented with his evil ways.

"Several weeks passed, and Turk and I became a standing joke with
the outfit. One morning I made the discovery that he was afraid of a
slicker. For just about a full half day, I had the best of him, and
several times he was out of sight in the main body of the herd. But he
always dropped to the rear, and finally the slicker lost its charm to
move him. In fact he rather enjoyed having me fan him with it--it seemed
to cool him. It was the middle of the afternoon, and Turk had dropped
about a quarter-mile to the rear, while I was riding along beside and
throwing the slicker over him like a blanket. I was letting him
carry it, and he seemed to be enjoying himself, switching his tail in
appreciation, when the matted brush of his tail noosed itself over
one of the riveted buttons on the slicker. The next switch brought
the yellow 'fish' bumping on his heels, and emitting a blood-curdling
bellow, he curved his tail and started for the herd. Just for a minute
it tickled me to see old Turk getting such a wiggle on him, but the next
moment my mirth turned to seriousness, and I tried to cut him off from
the other cattle, but he beat me, bellowing bloody murder. The slicker
was sailing like a kite, and the rear cattle took fright and began
bawling as if they had struck a fresh scent of blood. The scare flashed
through the herd from rear to point, and hell began popping right then
and there. The air filled with dust and the earth trembled with the
running cattle. Not knowing which way to turn, I stayed right where I
was--in the rear. As the dust lifted, I followed up, and about a mile
ahead picked up my slicker, and shortly afterward found old Turk,
grazing contentedly. With every man in the saddle, that herd ran seven
miles and was only turned by the Cimarron River. It was nearly dark when
I and the roan ox overtook the cattle. Fortunately none of the swing-men
had seen the cause of the stampede, and I attributed it to fresh blood,
which the outfit believed. My verdant innocence saved my scalp that
time, but years afterward I nearly lost it when I admitted to my old
foreman what had caused the stampede that afternoon. But I was a trail
boss then and had learned my lesson."

The Rebel, who was encamped several miles up the creek, summoned his
men, and we all ar