Some years later—after he had spent a couple of years in Arkansas, and was now back in the hotel again, in Wetmore—”Papa” was in a tight spot at Enid, Oklahoma, the third day after the opening of the Cherokee Strip, September 16,1893. He had made the run, staked a claim, and was in line—a very long line—at the Land Office, waiting his turn to file. I had already filed on my claim. While in line, I observed soldiers, who were supposed to be on hand to see that everyone would get a fair deal, were running in people ahead of me—and a little later, a man I shall simply call Eddie—apparently in the role of chief grafter—whom I had known in Wetmore, approached me with a proposition to advance me in line for $5. I was too near the door to be interested—and besides, my brother Dave who held a filing number next to mine, promised to “wipe the earth up” with Ed if we should be delayed further. Might say here that the gang followed this remunerative activity with another dirty practice. They filed contests on claims, so that the rightful locators would, in many instances, buy them off rather than stand the expense of fighting the case. Then Dave had to give Mr. Ed that promised thrashing. It got Dave a prompt withdrawal of the contest. I was the only one of our party of four who did not have to fight a contest. My friendship, or co-operation with the crooks, whichever way you choose to look at it, had, I presume, saved me. After I had filed on my claim, I carried the “good” news of Mr. Eddie’s activities to “Papa.” I knew he was anxious to get back home to his hotel business, where he was trying hard to re-establish himself after returning from Arkansas. He asked me to contact Mr. Eddie for him—and said, “I’ll be your uncle.” The soldiers advanced him to near the door—and there the line became static once more, as other advancements were being pushed in ahead of him. Then Ed told me that for $10 more the soldiers would put him through the door without delay. “Papa” dug up the $10, and said, “Do this for me Son, and I’ll dance at your wedding.” Now he could call me “Son” and offer to dance at my wedding. There are three girls prominently featured in this story, whose names I do not wish to divulge. Substituting, I maybe should call the first one Miss Beautiful, for she was all that. But from here on, until further notice, I shall refer to them as My Best Girl, The Old Girl, and The Kid. In all too short time my nemesis, in the person of a certain rich man’s son, an older brother of that other boy, got on my trail. I do not think it was to avenge his disappointed brother, but it could have been that. He told the boys it was to prove that he was “man enough” to “bump” me.