Pretty soon we came to the forks of a draw. I took the one that I thought led to camp and, luckily, was right. Had we turned up the other prong we would have frozen to death. We had gone only a short distance from the forking when I noticed that the soldier on foot was not in sight. I asked the lieutenant if it might not be well to go back and look for the straggler. The lieutenant merely shook his head and motioned for me to keep going. His manner displeased me, until I learned that he was so cold that he could not open his mouth--his jaws were set and practically locked. After riding a few miles, we struck camp. There was plenty of timber, and we soon had a roaring fire, and thawed out. The soldier on foot was not with us. Three or four of us went back to where the draw pronged, and by the light of a lantern could plainly see his tracks in the snow, and where he had taken the wrong route, going off down the east prong, instead of following us. We hunted and hunted for him, but could not find him. To our amazement, he came into camp next morning, more dead than alive. His feet were frozen solid, and had to be amputated. Panhandle weather in the very early spring is the most unreliable in the world. We crawled into our blankets that night, numb and shivering, the wind howling in the timber, and the snow drifting and drifting around our tents. How about next morning? Well, the sun came up next morning, smiling and warm; a soft wind was whispering from the south, and by noon the hills were running with water from the melted snow. When the snow melted from the wild plum bushes we saw that they were in full bloom, and there was not a prettier sight in the Panhandle. There were worlds of plums that year. In two weeks the grass was green everywhere on the Plains, and spring came with a rush. All old-timers in the southwest remember Jack Stilwell, scout, guide and good fellow. One of his exploits was to escape at night from the island where Major Forsythe, in the Battle of the Arickaree, was surrounded by Indians, and go to Fort Wallace for relief. Once Jack and I were out on the Staked Plains with nothing to eat. Jack persuaded me to kill a wild horse for meat. A large herd was grazing at the edge of a lake, and I shot a two-year-old filly. We built a fire and cooked some of the meat. Doing my level best, I was never able to swallow a single mouthful--always it stuck in my throat. I preferred to go hungry rather than try to eat it. The meat looked good, but the name was too much for me. Stilwell was a frolicsome fellow and played many pranks. One time we were going from Camp Supply to Dodge City. Just to make fun on the trip, Jack told me that when we stopped for dinner he would dare me to shoot at his ears, to see what the army officers would do. Noon came and while the officer in charge was looking in our direction, Jack said: "Billy, I'll bet you can't hit my ear with your '50' rifle."