"When finally the great annual round-up came, I held my own with the best
riders, on trial I could draw and shoot with the quickest and surest
shots, and could handle a rope fairly well. I enjoyed the life.

"Generally every one was my friend, but there was one rough customer, a
man named Turner, who did not like me, though I had never done a thing in
the world to offend him. He made his boasts that no one had ever 'got
away' with him or ever would. He had a tough record and many people
feared him, for he was a powerful man physically, and cruel in all his
instincts.

"One day something was needed from the station, and I rode Buckskin down
to get it. The station was a couple of miles from Jordan's house. Thirty
or forty cowboys were there on a lark, and all had been drinking a
little.

"They hailed me boisterously and wanted me to drink. I laughingly told
them I never drank, and good-naturedly threatened to make it hot for the
whole band if they did not behave themselves. I had neither coat nor vest
on, and they could all see I had no weapons about me. They all laughed,
for they were a jovial, good-hearted crowd.

"But just then this rough Turner showed up and said: 'Who is threatening
to make it hot for us?'

"Half a dozen of the boys explained that I was only joking, but Turner
was bent on mischief.

"'He won't drink with us, hey? Well, we'll drink with him,' he said, and
turning to me ordered me to call up the crowd and treat, or tell the