he had been my bartender at the "Bull's Head," and had married my daughter I said to

him:

"Roswell," said I, "you've got to take care of the place here for two or three months. I'm going out to Ohio to get a drove of cattle. He looked hull life ba at me with eyes as big as saucers.

"What's that?" said he.

"Just what I say," I answered. "I'm going to bring some of those there critters from the West, right here into the New York market."

"How in the world are you going to get them over the mountains?" said he. "It's a wild-goose chase; they'll die if you drive them that far."

"Leave that to me, son," said I, "leave that to me. I calculate to manage it fine as a fiddle." So I began to make my plans. First I went to Henry Astor, the butcher. He had been pretty well riled up against me once, because of some deals we had had together. I think I've wrote about it, somewhere in these papers. But he got over being mad after a time, and he and I had become good friends once more. He had made a peck of money as a butcher in the Fulton Market. So much, in fact, that he had retired and now was a kind of private banker. I went to him and got a loan of money to make the Western trip. I saw that it wouldn't pay to drive just a herd of ordinary size that distance. I had to do it on a big scale

or not at all. So I the got

made me give all-fired heavy security and started out. I took a Mr. Robinson with me. He later went in with me in the banking business, when I became a Wall Street operator. He was an A No. I drover; I wanted that kind of a partner. I also took along our cow-dogs. A good cow-dog is not to be picked up everywheres. A drover learns, when he once gets a good animal of that type, to keep him. They are marvellous intelligent. I've had cow-dogs that knew almost as much as I did about driving cattle or sheep. And they are faithful, too. They aren't spiggot-suckers, like some of your hired help. They will work for you night and day, and for pay only ask a few bones and a pan of milk at night.

We started out in the stage coach, going by day's journeys through Jersey and Pennsylvania - Robinson, the dogs, and myself. The dogs were lots of company on the journey out. Much of the way through Pennsylvania the woods were thick; the dogs, following behind, would do some hunting on the side, and often brought in a rabbit, partridge, or such like game. It took over a week to get to Ohio. Out there I found that what I had heard tell about the richness of that Western country was gospel. The Scioto Valley was full of fat beef cattle which could be bought - for cash - at a price that would have made a farmer out East turn up his nose at the

offer. I had no trouble in getting together a drove of fine cattle and other stock over two thousand head in all. Then we started towards home. I didn't know how long it was going to take to get back. Because this was pioneer work. No drove of cattle had ever been taken across the Alleghany Mountains before. So I was anxious to get started. Besides, I wanted to get them into the New York market before the heat of summer came on.

We got along prosperous. The spring of the year is a good time for drover's work. In the first place, it is the right time to buy the cattle from the farmers. Then again, at this season the roads are soft, so as not to lame the animals. And besides, there is lots of water for drinking purposes, and plenty of pasture at night. In taking a big drove, the order of march is for the drover to ride ahead, sometimes several miles in advance, in order to pick out the road and to make arrangements for sheltering the animals at nightfall. In the present case that work fell to me. Another duty of mine was to find fit places for fording the rivers either a natural ford, or else some places where the animals could get down into the water safely, swim over, and get up again onto the bank opposite. Because those were early days in the Western country. The roads didn't have bridges at all places. And although there were ferries for the stage-coach, there wasn't any ferry big enough to take care of two

thousand head of live stock. So we had to swim or ford the rivers.

In driving a herd, the cattle are placed first. The dogs are trained to follow along just behind and alongside the cattle; because the sheep will come along behind of themselves, being timid. They don't need much tending. After the first day or two they get to know the cattle, and crowd in close behind them without any urging. It's curious, anyhow, to see how a drove of live stock will form itself into a herd after one or two days of marching. They seem to get acquainted with each other, they become a kind of a big family the cows, the sheep,

the dogs, the horses and the boys.

They get introduced, so to speak, and hang together after that as though they had growed up on one farm.

This flocking spirit was a great help on the journey. Because pretty soon after leaving Ohio and getting over into Pennsylvania, the country became so wild that, unless the animals had learned to herd together, they could easily have strayed and many would have been lost. In fact, the country became so much of a wilderness after a while that I wasn't always able to find cattle boys when I wanted them. On a long drive like this, you don't have cattle boys for the entire journey. Boys such as you hire for this kind of business are youngsters, and aren't allowed to go far from home. Therefore, we used to pick up a set of boys in the settlements

we passed through, take them with us for a day's drive, and let them go back the next day, taking a new set in their place. But when we came to the mountains, the settlements were so scattered that sometimes we had to use the same set of boys for several days' journeys. The farmers along the road were very obliging. They seemed to know that this was the first of what would probably become a frequent custom, and so helped me along. Fodder and living were cheap out there, anyhow. At nightfall, when I would put up at a farmhouse and ask for accommodations for the drove, they would let me have it at a most reasonable figure. Sometimes I paid these bills by leaving with the farmer the lambs or calves that had been dropped during that day's march. They were very trustful farmers out there. All I would need to do, sometimes, would be to say:

"Neighbour, a couple of miles back, down by that ledge of rock, you'll find a ewe. She dropped a lamb yesterday, and we left her behind. Pretty good pair. Send your boy down and you can have them. We can't stop to take them with us. These new-born youngsters would delay our march."

Two or three of that kind would sometimes pay our entire bill for the night's lodging. Besides, there were the cattle that got sick. A critter is often too sick to drive; when, if he can only have a little spell to rest up under a cattle-shed, he'll