We danced mostly quadrilles, I remember, and one time some stranger happened to be at one of those dances and he asked the cook to play some dance tune that he never heard of and it came near to causing a riot, as that was one thing the cook prided himself on—that he knew and could play any tune that anyone asked for, regardless of how difficult. So he played “Buffalo Girls,” or some other old-timer. The fellow said that it was not the tune he asked for and it started a hot argument right now. We all said the cook was right and the stranger didn’t know what he was talking about. Of course, we didn’t know anything about music, but we did know we had to stand by the cook, as he was the only musician we had. He wouldn’t stand for any criticism of his music and would quit playing and break up the dance. In those days the foreman of an outfit wore better clothes and rode a better rig than the average cowboy and really was in a class by himself, so when we went to those dances he was usually more popular than the regular cowboy, and was often shown favors among the girls. In fact, we would have to take another fellow for a partner instead of a girl sometimes—the ladies was so scarce. I recall what seems to me to be very amusing now. There was a school teacher at one of those Pease Bottom dances and she was a great favorite with everybody and every cowboy tried to pick her for a partner, if possible. The floor manager had called a dance with “Ladies’ Choice.” I heard that call and figured I was out for that dance—and took a big chew of tobacco—when to my surprise this little lady stepped up to me and asked me for that dance. Now I had no chance to get rid of that chew and rather than let this little queen know I chewed tobacco or lose that dance, I swallowed the whole works, tobacco juice and all. It is hard to imagine the high regard and respect we had for those good women of that day, as we saw so few of them—and as I know good women appreciate those things, I believe they liked us and valued our friendship. Why I have known some old hard-faced cowpuncher that had a grouch about something and when one of those women would give him some little attention his face would soften up until you couldn’t tell it from the face of the Virgin Mary. CHAPTER V WITH THE TL OUTFIT IN THE BEAR PAWS For a good many years there was a section of the country along the Canadian border and the Milk River that the cattlemen thought was no good for cattle—but in the late eighties and early nineties they discovered that it was a much better cattle country than the Missouri and Yellowstone country as it produced a buffalo-grass that I think had no equal for fattening cattle. It was a short grass, but had plenty of fattening qualities, especially in the Sweet Grass Hills area. I have seen steers so fat we could hardly drive them into the roundups.