Another fellow bought a suit of clothes in Mandan and decided to change clothes in the parlor car. He got into quite a dispute with the train crew, but finally got his new suit on. He said they were too damn particular about riding on trains. We were all at the RL ranch one afternoon ready to start on the spring roundup next morning. We saw a rider coming very fast. When he rode in we all knew him. His name was George Shepord. His horse was all sweat and about winded. Someone said, “Hello, George. What is the matter?” He set on his horse and didn’t say anything for about a minute—then he said, “I killed John Matt about two hours ago.” John run a saloon at what was known at that time as Musselshell Crossing, a stage station. George’s story was that him and Matt were playing poker single-handed that day and got into a dispute over a pot. George said Matt tried to steal a twenty dollar gold piece out of the pot. They got in an argument over it. They both had guns (all cowboys wore guns those days)—Matt reached for his gun but George beat him to it and killed him right there at the poker table. George got on his horse and came to where we were and the boss notified the Sheriff. The boss knew George very well and liked him very much, so he took George to a big patch of brush down the river and hid him out until things got cleared up and the boss detailed one of the cowboys to carry food to him. George was very desperate at first and would not agree to give himself up—so the sign agreed on between George and the other boy was that the cowboy was to whistle When he came near the brush patch. This boy told me afterwards he would begin whistling a mile before he got to the brush patch, and when he got there he would be so damn nervous he couldn’t whistle at all. Finally the boss got George to give himself up and the fact that no one saw the shooting and George’s testimony was all there was, he got clear on the grounds of self-defense. It’s a strange coincidence, but I worked with another fellow that killed a man the year before in Gold Butte, Montana, and he and George worked together for the RL outfit. His name was Frank McPartland—and they were both the quietest and mild-mannered men in the outfit. So as the old saying goes: “You can’t tell how far the frog can jump by looking at him.” Frank and his partner were wintering in a cabin in Gold Butte and got into a fight over a gallon of whiskey they had—anyway that was what started the fight. Gold Butte was about two days’ ride to Fort Benton, which was the county seat and the nearest place to get in touch with an officer.