They were gone a month and came
in with less than five hundred beeves, which represented our
winter drift. Don Lovell reached the ranch during the first week
in July. One day's ride through the splendid cattle, and old man
Don lost his voice, but the smile refused to come off. Everything
was coming his way. Field, Radcliff & Co. had sued him, and the
jury awarded him one-hundred thousand dollars. His bankers had
unlimited confidence in his business ability; he had four Indian
herds on the trail and three others of younger steers, intended
for the Little Missouri ranch. Cattle prices in Texas had
depreciated nearly one half since the spring before--"a good time
for every cowman to strain his credit and enlarge his holdings,"
my employer assured me.
Orders were left that I was to begin shipping out the beeves
early in August. It was the intention to ship them in two and
three train-load lots, and I was expecting to run a double
outfit, when a landslide came our way. The first train-load
netted sixty dollars a head at Omaha--but they were beeves; cods
like an ox's heart and waddled as they walked. We had just
returned from the railroad with the intention of shipping two
train-loads more, when the quartermaster and Sanders from Fort
Buford rode into the ranch under an escort. The government had
lost forty per cent.
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