Monday, 6th. Traveled about 7 miles.
Well, that’s not much. But yesterday we were discussing horses, mules, and oxen. So to fill in, I will give you a story that Nicholas “Cheyenne” Dawson told about how he got his ride while still on the prairie.
Before we passed beyond the range of friendly Indians, I made a trade, which, as it brought in what proved to be a very important member of our company, I will tell of. The old mule I had traded my horse for proved very unsatisfactory. When I wanted him to go to water he wanted to go to grass; when I wanted him to go to grass, he wanted water — perhaps enough is told when I say that it was he that taught me to swear.
One day we met a gang of Indians. The leader was riding a spirited white pony, which I at once coveted. Riding up alongside the Indian, I drew my forefingers across each other and holloed “swap!” “Swap!” grunted the Indian. He jumped from his horse, I from my mule. He took off his saddle, I took off mine. He fastened his saddle upon my old mule, and I girthed mine around the white pony. Then we each sprang into our saddles and rode off. Thus came into my possession, “Monte.” This was the only trade I remember ever to have made in which I did not get the worst of the bargain.
Another fine painting from the Facebook page Art of the Wild West.
