He lay on the sidetrack, poor honest Chuckwagon, The pallor of death creeping fast o'er his brow; Said he to the cowboys, "My rope is a dragging, I'm going o'er the divide and going right now. "I've often faced death with the bronks and the cattle, And meeting him now doesn't take so much sand. For sooner or later with death all must grapple, And all that we need is to show a straight brand. "I would like one more glimpse at the side of the mountain, Before I saddle up for Eternity's divide; The ranch house, the meadow, the spring like a fountain, But, alas for poor Chuck, my feet are hogtied." Down his bronzed hardy cheeks the warm tears were stealing, At the memory of his cow ranch, so pleasant and bright. A smile like an angel played over each feature, And the soul of the cowboy rode out of sight. CHAPTER X. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE SHEEPMEN. After we buried Chuckwagon we walked across a bend in the road and caught up with the stock train and strolled on ahead with sad hearts and silent lips till we arrived at the top of Sherman Hill. We prepared to wait for the arrival of the stock train, so selecting a site on the south side of Ames monument, we built a snow hut by rolling up huge snowballs and piling them up one on top of the other for walls to a height of about seven and one-half feet, leaving a space for our room of about twelve feet square inside, and gradually drawing them together at the top for a roof, and making a big snowball for the door. After it was all finished we let the sheepmen and Jackdo go over across the canyon about two miles and build another hut for themselves. We moved our luggage (which we had carried to lighten up the train) inside, and after closing the door with the big snowball, we ate a hearty supper of boiled rawhide, and spreading down a sheet of mist, we rolled up in a blanket of fog and went to sleep. We hadn't no more than got to sleep before a lightning rod agent by the name of Woods came along and put up lightning rods all over our snow hut and woke us up to sign $350 worth of notes for the rods. This matter attended to, we went to sleep again and the lightning rod agent went over across the canyon to the sheepmen's hut and put rods on it. This man Woods was a good fellar, got people to sign notes by the wholesale, but never did anything so low as to collect them, just turned them over to a lawyer and let him attend to that. He was always broke and borrowed your last "five" in a way that endeared him to you for life. He never bothered with paying for anything, always said, "Just put it down, or charge it," in such a lofty way that everyone in hearing would begin to hunt for pencils right off. He put lightning rods on everything, even to prairie dogs' houses and ant heaps, took anybody's note with any kind of signature.