One night in July my wife, the boy, and I were sitting out on the front porch of my house trying to keep cool, when “whee-whee,” two bullets came over the house. I could not imagine what was the trouble, but hustled them into the house, got my shot-gun, and went to investigate. As I came down the hill I could hear voices in altercation down at the stable, and when I reached it I found the elder Towser trying to take a rifle away from Bud, who, it seems, was drunk, and had been trying to shoot out the lights on our porch. I was mad enough to have given him both barrels, but the old man talked me out of it. Later on, the same evening, after taking a few more drinks from his private stock, he went over to Mexico and, getting angry with a Mexican, took a few shots at him, but luckily missed, and then he started home again. Meanwhile, Mr. Brooks, the superintendent, had been notified that Bud was on the rampage, and started out to find him. He met Bud on his way home from Mexico, and said, “Bud, I want your pistol, and you are under arrest.” Bud promptly and forcibly refused. Brooks said, "Bud, if I don’t have that gun in a couple of minutes, I shall have to take it from you." There was silence for a minute, then Bud took out his gun and handed it over, saying: “All right, if you want it so d——d badly as all that.” Bud was sent into town the next day and fined $60. It is a peculiar thing how a man, with the law behind him, can cow one of these would-be “bad-men.” Brooks told me years afterwards that he was in a great stew while Bud hesitated; but as he had put up the bluff he intended carrying it through, even to killing Bud, if he could, before Bud killed him. Bud’s day was over, and shortly after he left the camp.