men,
to be remembered otherwise than as a bright-faced, sweet-spirited boy
whose span of years was short. How he ever endured the hardships and
reached Springvale again is a miracle, and I wonder even now, how,
waiting patiently for the inevitable, he could go peacefully through
the hours, making us forget everything but his cheery laugh, his
affectionate appreciation of the good things of the world, and his
childlike trust in the Saviour of men.

His will was a simple thing, containing the bequest of all his
possessions, including the half-section of land so long in litigation,
and the requests regarding his funeral. The latter had three wishes:
that Marjie would sing "Abide With Me" at the burial service, that he
might lie near to John Baronet's last resting-place in the Springvale
cemetery, and that Dave and Bill Mead, and the three Andersons, with
myself would be his pall bearers. Dave was on the Pacific slope then,
and O'mie himself had helped to bear Bud to his final earthly home. One
of the Red Range boys and Jim Conlow filled these vacant places.
Reverently, as for one of the town's distinguished men, there walked
beside us Father Le Claire and Judge Baronet, Cris Mead and Henry
Anderson, father of the Anderson boys, Cam Gentry and Dever. Behind
these came the whole of Springvale. It was May time, a year after our
Southwest campaign, and the wild flowers of the prairie lined his grave
and wreaths of the pink blossoms that grow out in the West Draw were
twined about his casket. He had no next of kin, there were no especial
mourners. His battle was ended and we could not grieve for his abundant
entrance into eternal peace.

Three of us had gone out with the Nineteenth Kansas Cavalry, and I am
the third. While we were creeping back to life at Camp Inman on the
Washita after that well-nigh fatal expedition across the Staked Plains
to the Sweetwater, I saw much of Hard Rope, chief man of the Osage
scouts. I had been accustomed to the Osages all my years in Kansas.
Neither this tribe, nor our nearer neighbors, the Kaws, had ever given
Springvale any serious concern. Sober, they were law-abiding enough, and
drunk, they were no more dangerous than any drunken white man. Bitter as
my experience with the Indian has been, I have always respected the
loyal Osage. But I never sought one of this or any other Indian tribe
for the sake of his company. Race prejudice in me is still strong, even
when I give admiration and just