INDEX.

Chapter.Page.
I.My Boyhood Days[13]
II.My Introduction to the late war[20]
III.My First Lesson in Cow Punching[31]
IV.My second experience in St. Louis[43]
V.A New experience[53]
VI. Adopted and sent to school[61]
VII.Back at last to the Lone Star State[68]
VIII.Learning to rope wild steers[75]
IX.Owning my first cattle[84]
X.A start up the Chisholm trail[95]
XI.Buys a boat and becomes a sailor[103]
XII.Back to my favorite occupation, that of a wild and woolly Cow Boy[112]
XIII.Mother and I meet at last[119]
XIV.On a tare in Wichita, Kansas[129]
XV.A lonely trip down the Cimeron[141]
XVI.My first experience roping a Buffalo[150]
XVII.An exciting trip after thieves[158]
XVIII.Seven weeks among Indians[164]
XIX.A lonely ride of eleven hundred miles[176]
XX.Another start up the Chisholm trail[186]
XXI.A trip which terminated in the capture of "Billy the Kid"[196]
XXII.Billy the Kid's capture[215]
XXIII.A trip to the Rio Grande on a mule[223]
XXIV.Waylaid by unknown parties[231]
XXV.Lost on the Staked Plains[239]
XXVI.A trip down the Reo Pecos[255]
XXVII.A true sketch of "Billy the Kid's" life[269]
XXVIII.Wrestling with a dose of Small Pox on the Llano Esticado[285]
XXIX.In love with a Mexican girl[299]
XXX.A sudden leap from Cow Boy to Merchant[309]

Copyrighted by Chas. A. Siringo, Caldwell, Kans.
All rights reserved.

PREFACE.

My excuse for writing this book is money—and lots of it.

I suppose the above would suffice, but as time is not very precious I will continue and tell how the idea of writing a book first got into my head:

While ranching on the Indian Territory line, close to Caldwell, Kansas, in the winter of '82 and '83, we boys—there being nine of us—made an iron-clad rule that whoever was heard swearing or caught picking grey backs off and throwing them on the floor without first killing them, should pay a fine of ten cents for each and every offense. The proceeds to be used for buying choice literature—something that would have a tendency to raise us above the average cow-puncher. Just twenty-four hours after making this rule we had three dollars in the pot—or at least in my pocket, I having been appointed treasurer.

As I was going to town that night to see my Sunday girl, I proposed to the boys that, while up there, I send the money off for a years subscription to some good newspaper. The question then came up, what paper shall it be? We finally agreed to leave it to a vote—each man to write the one of his choice on a slip of paper and drop it in a hat. There being two young Texans present who could neither read nor write, we let them speak their choice after the rest of us got our votes deposited. At the word given them to cut loose they both yelled "Police Gazette", and on asking why they voted for that wicked Sheet, they both replied as though with one voice: "Cause we can read the pictures." We found, on counting the votes that the Police Gazette had won, so it was subscribed for.

With the first copy that arrived was the beginning of a continued story, entitled "Potts turning Paris inside out." Mr. Potts, the hero, was an old stove-up New York preacher, who had made a raise of several hundred thousand dollars and was over in Paris blowing it in. I became interested in the story, and envied Mr. Potts very much. I wished for a few hundred thousand so I could do likewise; I lay awake one whole night trying to study up a plan by which I could make the desired amount. But, thinks I, what can an uneducated cow puncher do now-a-days to make such a vast sum? In trying to solve the question my mind darted back a few years, when, if I had taken time by the forelock, I might have now been wallowing in wealth with the rest of the big cattle kings—or to use a more appropriate name, cattle thieves. But alas! thought I, the days of honorable cattle stealing is past, and I must turn my mind into a healthier channel.