There was also a lot of half breed Indians gathering buffalo bones and brought them there to ship. Most of them drank plenty whiskey and with their families had dances every night. The musician would be some half breed with moccasins on, and he kept time with both feet while he played. The town had a constable to keep order, and he was quite lame. One night he arrested two half breeds and was taking them to jail. One got away from him. He let the other one loose to catch him and he ran away, and he didn’t catch the first one, so he lost them both. Them breeds with moccasins on could sure run. One night a fist fight started between the cowboys and the breeds. There was several fights going on at the same time. An old buffalo hunter was in among them, with his hands in his pockets, looking on. It was dark and some cowboy thought he was a breed. He took a run at him and hit him on the side of his head with all his strength and he went down. About that time he discovered his mistake and went to help him up. He said, “Fred, I am sure sorry. I didn’t know that was you.” Fred said, “I guess you are sorry all right—but that don’t help my ear any.” There was several commission men in town that night, trying to get cattle consigned to their different houses in Chicago. One of them had never been West before. There were some of them playing a social game of cards in one of the saloons. Every little while some cowboy would shoot his six-shooter off right in the saloon. This fellow was very nervous and could not get his attention on the game. Finally he went to light his cigar. About that time somebody shot a gun off and his match went out. He jumped up right quick and said, “Quit playing cards. This is getting too damn close for me!” That tickled Charlie Russell and he told the fellow he saw the bullet go right by his nose. He said he knew it did. Somebody stole my saddle that night off my horse which was tied to a hitch rack. So next morning I was in a pretty bad way. We hunted and searched all the breed camps but didn’t find the saddle. Everybody had given up when Charlie Russell came in and had found the saddle and the way he found that saddle shows what a close observer he was. He was following a dusty trail, looking for tracks, when he saw the print of a cinch-ring in the dust. He said he knew nothing else would make a mark like that. He looked around and saw a little box-elder tree about a mile away. He went to that tree and there was the saddle. That cost me a good many drinks but it was sure worth it. We joked Charlie and told him it took one Indian to trail another one. There was a man by the name of Marsh kept the hotel in Big Sandy and was a great friend of the cowboys, as when they were broke they could always eat and sleep at his hotel until they got a job. I had known Marsh for some years.