So nearly all the Judith Basin and Moccasin outfits moved into that country. They had to swim all their herds across the Missouri River and it was between a quarter and a half mile wide and swimming water from bank to bank. Most of the herds were crossed at a place called Judith Landing, an old steamboat landing in the early days. It was afterwards named Claggot. There was a man by the name of Bill Norris who had a store and saloon there, and for a few years, while these herds were crossing, he reaped a rich harvest off the cowboys. Charlie Russell helped swim some of those herds and he told me he believed Bill made his own whiskey and must have made it especially for swimming cattle, as when a cowboy got about three drinks of that whiskey the Missouri River looked like a very small creek. It made him plenty brave. There must have been some truth in what Charlie said, as I cannot recall where one cowboy was drowned. I went over to that country about the spring of 1890 and went to work for the TL outfit, which belonged to McNamar and Broadwater. They had a ranch in the Bear Paw Mountains. When I went to the ranch and asked for work, the boss said it was too early in the spring to hire any men as the roundup wouldn’t start for a long time, but would hire a bronc rider if he could get a good one. Now I had rode broncs and rough strings (which is spoiled horses) for several years and had no fear of any horse and had a good opinion of myself. So I told him I was sure a bronc rider. Now I had wintered pretty hard that winter as I had lived in town and had sold everything I had in the way of a good rig and looked pretty seedy. They had four or five steady men on the ranch. I didn’t know any of them, and as I didn’t have any boots, only a cheap pair of shoes, one spur and an old rattle-trap saddle, they didn’t think I looked like a bronc fighter. Anyway the boss took a chance and hired me. The next day he had the men run in the saddle bunch to pick out some horses to ride to gather those colts I was to break that ranged down in the Badlands. He looked the bunch over quite a while, as he said he wanted to find a good strong horse for me. He finally found him. I remember his name yet—it was “Humpy,” a very pretty horse. He said, “This fellow might hump up a little but that is all. He is a good horse.” I told him I didn’t mind that; in fact I was in hopes he would do something, as I had an idea they didn’t rate me very high. Anyway I mounted Humpy—and about that time they turned the loose horses out of the corral. Humpy wanted to go with them. I gave him a pull and down went his head. I hit him with my hat and took a rake at him with that one spur. The next thing I knew I was on the ground about ten feet in front of him, but I held to my hackamore rope. He didn’t get away from me.