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Charlie Siringo
A TEXAS COW BOY
True Story of Cowboy
Published by
Books
- Advanced Digital Solutions & High-Quality eBook Formatting -
2017 OK Publishing
ISBN 978-80-272-2045-8
Table of Contents
Chapter II. My Introduction to the Late War
Chapter III. My First Lesson in Cow Punching
Chapter IV. My Second Experience in St. Louis
Chapter VI. Adopted and Sent to School
Chapter VII. Back at Last to the Lone Star State
Chapter VIII. Learning to Rope Wild Steers
Chapter IX. Owning My First Cattle
Chapter X. A Start Up the Chisholm Trail
Chapter XI. Buys a Boat and Becomes a Sailor
Chapter XII. Back To My Favorite Occupation, That of a Wild and Woolly Cow Boy
Chapter XIII. Mother and I Meet at Last
Chapter XIV. On a Tare in Wichita, Kansas
Chapter XV. A Lonely Trip Down the Cimeron
Chapter XVI. My First Experience Roping a Buffalo
Chapter XVII. An Exciting Trip After Thieves
Chapter XVIII. Seven Weeks Among Indians
Chapter XIX. A Lonely Ride of Eleven Hundred Miles
Chapter XX. Another Start Up the Chisholm Trail
Chapter XXI. A Trip Which Terminated in the Capture of "Billy the Kid"
Chapter XXII. Billy the Kid's Capture
Chapter XXIII. A Trip to the Rio Grande on a Mule
Chapter XXIV. Waylaid by Unknown Parties
Chapter XXV. Lost on the Staked Plains
Chapter XXVI. A Trip Down the Reo Pecos
Chapter XXVII. A True Sketch of "Billy the Kid's" Life
Chapter XXVIII. Wrestling with a Dose of Small Pox on the Llano Esticado
Chapter XXIX. In Love with a Mexican Girl
Chapter XXX. A Sudden Leap from Cow Boy to Merchant
Preface
My excuse for writing this book is money—and lots of it.
I suppose the above would suffice, but as time is not very precious I will continue and tell how the idea of writing a book first got into my head:
While ranching on the Indian Territory line, close to Caldwell, Kansas, in the winter of '82 and '83, we boys—there being nine of us—made an iron-clad rule that whoever was heard swearing or caught picking grey backs off and throwing them on the floor without first killing them, should pay a fine of ten cents for each and every offense. The proceeds to be used for buying choice literature—something that would have a tendency to raise us above the average cow-puncher. Just twenty-four hours after making this rule we had three dollars in the pot—or at least in my pocket, I having been appointed treasurer.
As I was going to town that night to see my Sunday girl, I proposed to the boys that, while up there, I send the money off for a years subscription to some good newspaper. The question then came up, what paper shall it be? We finally agreed to leave it to a vote—each man to write the one of his choice on a slip of paper and drop it in a hat. There being two young Texans present who could neither read nor write, we let them speak their choice after the rest of us got our votes deposited. At the word given them to cut loose they both yelled "Police Gazette", and on asking why they voted for that wicked Sheet, they both replied as though with one voice: "Cause we can read the pictures." We found, on counting the votes that the Police Gazette had won, so it was subscribed for.
With the first copy that arrived was the beginning of a continued story, entitled "Potts turning Paris inside out." Mr. Potts, the hero, was an old stove-up New York preacher, who had made a raise of several hundred thousand dollars and was over in Paris blowing it in. I became interested in the story, and envied Mr. Potts very much. I wished for a few hundred thousand so I could do likewise; I lay awake one whole night trying to study up a plan by which I could make the desired amount. But, thinks I, what can an uneducated cow puncher do now-a-days to make such a vast sum? In trying to solve the question my mind darted back a few years, when, if I had taken time by the forelock, I might have now been wallowing in wealth with the rest of the big cattle kings—or to use a more appropriate name, cattle thieves. But alas! thought I, the days of honorable cattle stealing