My men loaded their rifles, and about two o’clock I led them into the pasture. Powers’ cattle were all bunched in a big herd; we drove them to a grassy flat, and I began cutting out those that were ours.
Powers saw us and came out, revolver in hand, and two or three white men joined him. He was so angry that he acted like a mad man; he grew red in the face, talked loud, and swore big oaths; but he did not shoot, for he knew my men would kill him.
I cut about twenty-five head out of the herd, all that I found with altered brands on the right shoulder or thigh. Maybe I took some of Powers’ cattle by mistake, but I did not care much.
Powers left us after a while. My men rounded up our cattle, and we drove them back to Stroud’s and camped.
After supper, I asked Mr. Stroud to write a letter to our agent, telling him what I had done. “To-morrow,” I told my men, “we will set out for home. You drive our cattle back to the reservation in short stages, so that they will not sicken with the heat. I will go ahead with Mr. Stroud’s letter.”
I set out before sunrise; at four o’clock I reached Independence, eighty miles away; and at sunset, I was at Elbowoods.
It was Decoration day, and the Indians were having a dance. The agent was sitting in his office with the inspector, from Washington.
“I have found our cattle,” I said; and I gave him Mr. Stroud’s letter.
He read it and handed it to the inspector.