as we stopped in Cheyenne for several
days and at other places, where we always found a hearty welcome,
especially so on this trip, as the news had preceded us, and I received
enough attention to have given me the big head, but my head had
constantly refused to get enlarged again ever since the time I sampled
the demijohn in the sweet corn patch at home.

Arriving at home, we received a send off from our boss and our comrades
of the home ranch, every man of whom on hearing the news turned loose
his voice and his artillery in a grand demonstration in my honor.

But they said it was no surprise to them, as they had long known of my
ability with the rope, rifle and 45 Colt, but just the same it was
gratifying to know I had defeated the best men of the West, and brought
the record home to the home ranch in Arizona. After a good rest we
proceeded to ride the range again, getting our herds in good condition
for the winter now at hand.

CHAPTER XIV.

RIDING THE RANGE. THE FIGHT WITH YELLOW DOG'S TRIBE. I AM CAPTURED AND
ADOPTED BY THE INDIANS. MY ESCAPE. I RIDE A HUNDRED MILES IN TWELVE
HOURS WITHOUT A SADDLE. MY INDIAN PONY. "YELLOW DOG CHIEF." THE BOYS
PRESENT ME WITH A NEW OUTFIT. IN THE SADDLE AND ON THE TRAIL AGAIN.

It was a bright, clear fall day, October 4, 1876, that quite a large
number of us boys started out over the range hunting strays which had
been lost for some time. We had scattered over the range and I was
riding along alone when all at once I heard the well known Indian war
whoop and noticed not far away a large party of Indians making straight
for me. They were all well mounted and they were in full war paint,
which showed me that they were on the war path, and as I was alone and
had no wish to be scalped by them I decided to run for it. So I headed
for Yellow Horse Canyon and gave my horse the rein, but as I had
considerable objection to being chased by a lot of painted savages
without some remonstrance, I turned in my saddle every once in a while
and gave them a shot by way of greeting, and I had the satisfaction of
seeing a painted brave tumble from his horse and go rolling in the dust
every time my rifle spoke, and the Indians were by no means idle all
this time, as their bullets were singing around me rather lively, one of
them passing through my thigh, but it did not amount to much. Reaching
Yellow Horse Canyon, I had about decided to stop and make a stand when
one of their bullets caugh