I remember after the funeral my mother called in a Catholic priest to consult him about what to do with us kids. They finally decided that the priest would find homes for us by having some wealthy families adopt us, which he did. I was placed with a family by name of Calligan, near a town named Manson, Iowa. As I remember the contract, those people were to give me an education and when I was twenty-one years old, they were to give me a horse and saddle and $500.00. But after a few years my mother married again and she and her husband decided they wanted us children back. All the parties that had the other children gave them up, but the people I was with contested my mother’s rights, and they had a law suit about who would have possession of me. My mother won out, which broke my heart, as I was very much attached to my adopted parents. And another thing, as I see the picture now, my stepfather didn’t have intelligence enough to raise a pig, let alone a child, and I didn’t like him. So there was a mutual dislike between him and me right from the time they got me home. The first thing he put me doing was herding cattle out on the prairie. And almost every night I got a whipping or a scolding and I was always thinking about my adopted home. I think I was about nine years old at that time and he gave me a pretty good horse to ride to herd those cattle. So one day I conceived the idea of stealing this horse and run away and go back to my other home, which was about 100 miles. Of course, when I came up missing they didn’t know what happened and they went to all the neighbors looking for me before they got the idea that I had run away, which gave me quite a start. It took me about three days to make the trip. I stayed over night with ranchers and I remember they asked me, what I thought at that time, some queer questions—where I came from and where I was going, and so forth. But I mixed up a story that I was going on a visit, which I guess seemed strange to them—a boy about nine years old going that far with a good horse but no saddle. I was riding bareback. Anyway I made the trip. But about three miles from my adopted home, I turned the horse loose and walked—and as there was no fences to stop him, in the course of a few days he drifted back home. My adopted father and mother were tickled to death to see me. They were an old couple and had become very fond of me. So they cached me around in different places for several days until they decided my stepfather was not going to bother about me—and I thought I was settled down in my old home again. And they used to send me after the milk cows in the evening when I came home from school. They gave me a little mare to ride. She must have been a race horse, for she could sure run. I rode her without a saddle and I was still on the look-out for someone to come after me.