slavery into the new territory.

Knowing that the soldiers I saw today might next week be on their way
to battle made my eyes big with excitement. I could have stayed there
forever. But father had other plans, and we were soon on our way. With
our trading-wagon we climbed a hill--later named Sheridan's Ridge for
General Philip Sheridan. From its summit we had a view of Salt Creek
Valley, the most beautiful valley I have ever seen. In this valley lay
our future home.

The hill was very steep, and I remember we had to "lock" or chain the
wagon-wheels as we descended. We made camp in the valley. The next day
father began trading with the Indians, who were so pleased with the
bargains he had to offer that they sent their friends back to us when
they departed. One of the first trades he made was for a little pony
for me--a four-year-old--which I was told I should have to break
myself. I named him Prince. I had a couple of hard falls, but I made up
my mind I was going to ride that pony or bust, and--I did not bust.

The next evening, looking over toward the west, I saw a truly frontier
sight--a line of trappers winding down the hillside with their pack
animals. My mother had often told me of the trappers searching the
distant mountains for fur-bearing animals and living a life of
fascinating adventure. Here they were in reality.

While some of the men prepared the skins, others built a fire and began
to get a meal. I watched them cook the dried venison, and was filled
with wonder at their method of making bread, which was to wrap the
dough about a stick and hold it over the coals till it was ready to
eat. You can imagine my rapture when one of them--a pleasant-faced
youth--looked up, and catching sight of me, invited me to share the
meal.

Boys are always hungry, but I was especially hungry for such a meal as
that. After it was over I hurried to camp and told my father all that
had passed. At his request I brought the young trapper who had been so
kind to me over to our camp, and there he had a long talk with father,
telling him of his adventures by land and sea in all parts of the
world.

He said that he looked forward with great interest to his arrival in
Weston, as he expected to meet an uncle, Elijah Cody. He had seen none
of his people for many years.

"If Elijah Cody is your uncle, I am too," said my father. "You must be
the long-lost Horace Billings."

Father had guessed right. Horace had wandered long ago f