man, and a great hunter, whom I had the pleasure of guiding
on several hunts and with whom I spent some weeks. During the winter I
also took several parties out on the Loupe River country, hunting and
trapping. Although I was still chief of scouts I did not have much to do,
as the Indians were comparatively quiet, thus giving me plenty of time
for sporting.

In the spring of 1871 several short scouting expeditions were sent out
from Fort McPherson, but all with minor results.

About this time General Emory was considerably annoyed by petty offenses
committed in the vicinity of the post, and as there was no justice of the
peace in the neighborhood, he was anxious to have such an officer there
to attend to the civilians; one day he remarked to me that I would make
an excellent justice.

"General, you compliment me rather too highly, for I don't know any more
about law than a government mule does about book-keeping," said I.

"That doesn't make any difference," said he, "for I know that you will
make a good 'Squire." He accordingly had the county commissioners
appoint me to the office of justice of the peace, and I soon received my
commission.

One morning a man came rushing up to my house and stated that he wanted
to get out a writ of replevin, to recover possession of a horse which a
stranger was taking out of the country. I had no blank forms, and had not
yet received the statutes of Nebraska to copy from, so I asked the man:

"Where is the fellow who has got your horse?"

"He is going up the road, and is about two miles away," replied he.

"Very well," said I, "I will get the writ ready in a minute or two."

I saddled up my horse, and then taking my old reliable gun, "Lucretia," I
said to the man: "That's the best writ of replevin that I can think of;
come along, and we'll get that horse, or know the reason why."

We soon overtook the stranger who was driving a herd of horses, and as we
came up to him, I said:

"Hello, sir; I am an officer, and have an attachment for that horse," and
at the same time I pointed out the animal.

"Well, sir, what are you going to do about it?" he inquired.

"I propose to take you and the horse back to the post," said I.

"You can take the horse," said he, "but I haven't the time to return
with you."

"You'll have to take the time, or pay the costs here and now," said I.

"How much are the costs?"

"Twenty dollars."

"Here's your money," said he, as he handed me the gr