s, "He's a good man."

The drive that year to the different markets in Kansas amounted to
about five hundred thousand cattle. One half this number were handled
at Wichita, the surrounding country absorbing them to such an extent
that when it came time to restock our Medicine River range I was
compelled to go to Great Bend to secure the needed cattle. All saddle
horses, both purchased and my own remudas, with wagons, were sent to
our winter camps by the shipping crew, so that the final start for
Texas would be made from the Medicine River. It was the last of
October that the last six trains of beeves were brought in to the
railroad for shipment, the season's work drawing to an end. Meanwhile
I had closed contracts on ten thousand three-year-old steers at
"The Bend," so as fast as the three outfits were relieved of their
consignment of beeves they pulled out up the Arkansas River to receive
the last cattle of the year. It was nearly one hundred miles from
Wichita, and on the arrival of the shipping crews the herds were
received and started south for their winter range. Major Hunter and
I accompanied the herds to the Medicine, and within a week after
reaching the range the two through outfits started home with five
wagons and eight hundred saddle horses.

It was the latter part of November when we left our winter camps and
returned to The Grove for the annual settlement. Our silent partner
was present, and we broke the necks of a number of champagne bottles
in properly celebrating the success of the year's work. The wintered
cattle had cleared the Dutchman's one per cent, while every hoof in
the through and purchased herds was a fine source of profit. Congress
would convene within a week, and our silent partner suggested that all
three of us go down to Washington and attend the opening exercises. He
had already looked into the contracting of beef to the government, and
was particularly anxious to have my opinion on a number of contracts
to be let the coming winter. It had been ten years since I left my old
home in the Shenandoah Valley, my parents were still living, and all
I asked was time enough to write a letter to my wife, and buy some
decent clothing. The trio started in good time for the opening of
Congress, but once we sighted the Potomac River the old home hunger
came on me and I left the train at Harper's Ferry. My mother knew and
greeted me just as if I had left home that morning on an errand, and
had now retur