ng. We
started back to him, partly wading and partly swimming, while from
both sides of the river men were swimming their horses for the brushy
island. Our squad, on nearing the lower bar, was compelled to swim
around the driftwood, and some twelve or fifteen men from either shore
reached the scene before us. The body was lying face upward, in about
eighteen inches of eddy water. Flood and Campbell waded out, and
taking a lariat, fastened it around his chest under the arms. Then
Flood, noticing I was riding my black, asked me to tow the body
ashore. Forcing a passage through the driftwood, I took the loose end
of the lariat and started for the north bank, the double outfit
following. On reaching the shore, the body was carried out of the
water by willing hands, and one of our outfit was sent to the wagon
for a tarpaulin to be used as a stretcher.

Meanwhile, Campbell took possession of the drowned foreman's watch,
six-shooter, purse, and papers. The watch was as good as ruined, but
the leather holster had shrunk and securely held the gun from being
lost in the river. On the arrival of the tarpaulin, the body was laid
upon it, and four mounted men, taking the four corners of the sheet,
wrapped them on the pommels of their saddles and started for our
wagon. When the corpse had been lowered to the ground at our camp, a
look of inquiry passed from face to face which seemed to ask, "What
next?" But the inquiry was answered a moment later by Black Jim
Campbell, the friend of the dead man. Memory may have dimmed the
lesser details of that Sunday morning on the North Platte, for over
two decades have since gone, but his words and manliness have lived,
not only in my mind, but in the memory of every other survivor of
those present. "This accident," said he in perfect composure, as he
gazed into the calm, still face of his dead friend, "will impose on me
a very sad duty. I expect to meet his mother some day. She will want
to know everything. I must tell her the truth, and I'd hate to tell
her we buried him like a dog, for she's a Christian woman. And what
makes it all the harder, I know that this is the third boy she has
lost by drowning. Some of you may not have understood him, but among
those papers which you saw me take from his pockets was a letter from
his mother, in which she warned him to guard against just what has
happened. Situated as we are, I'm going to ask you all to help me give
him the best burial we can. No doubt