“A man in Fort Benton owns it, but if you want to know who runs it, just wait a few minutes until we have one more round to decide the question.”
But I left in about as much of a hurry as ever. I crossed the bridge, tied my horse to the hitching post back of the store, and went up the street. It was growing dark and I was getting discouraged. Passing a saloon, I heard some loud voices. One man was saying that modern spiritualism was a humbug, while another argued that it was the greatest wonder of the age. At one end of the counter there was cheese, crackers, herring, etc. Seeing all the fellows helping themselves, I came to the conclusion that it was a free lunch. I commenced eating, and kept on until I almost made out my supper, when the barkeeper walked up to me, saying:
“See here, stranger; those eating here are expected to take a drink.”
“I eat for my health; I always take a drink after I eat,” I said.
A while afterwards, as the barkeeper leaned on the counter, I said: “Now I will take a drink.”
“What will you have, sir,” said he.
“Water,” said I.
I saw him reach for something, and as I passed through the door—bang came a chair at my heels. I ran for my horse (a beautiful chestnut, with long mane and tail), but alas! he was not to be found. Where I had hitched mine there was a bob-tailed horse, surrounded by a band of starving cattle. I hurried to the other side of the store, looking for my nag, expecting every minute to see the barkeeper after me with a shotgun. I jumped over two or three poor cows. The second time I came in front of the bob-tailed horse, and, to my surprise, discovered that it was mine. The starving cattle had eaten his tail, and as I came upon my venerable steed they were chewing the saddle, of which nothing was left but the tree and a few buckles. I mounted the remains and left the town.
Stranger.
Sun River, Mont., Feb. 18, 1880.