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292
notches on the handle and four loaded shells. Who knows? The writer does know that on a gently sloping hill overlooking the valley of the Red River is an almost forgotten grave that contains. all that is left of the mortal remains of poor Burt Phelps, and in the inside pocket of his coat is a little Bible, on the fly-leaf of which was written, "From mother to her boy." Where he came from no one knew, but his companions on the drive believed him to be the son of a rich Eastern father with whom he had fallen out, resulting in his leaving home to cast his lot with the rough element to be found on the range.
The writer could go to this forgotten grave where poor Burt's remains are resting and where he was laid by a bunch of cowboys, who, with hats in hand, tried to say a prayer and, f ailing, their eyes dimmed with tears, one member on his knees, with eyes raised to heaven, said, "Oh, God, look down on this Thy child."
The writer lives now at Oklahoma City, not far from the old trail that could tell so many stories of human interest if it could but speak. Other men who live here and who rode the trail from 1874 to 1884 are Frank M. Gault. He was sent in 1880 by W. H. Davis to Laredo, Texas, to bring 5,000 longhorns over the trail to Dodge City, and on this drive he had as his assistant foreman Wills McCoy, now of San Antonio; James D. Cox, who drove through in 1874, and who, now at the age of 82, would rather have a good cow horse and saddle than the finest auto, has a fine ranch in Arizona and often spends his summers there; Charley Colcord, who is now a millionaire oil man, and whom the writer recently met at a reception attired in a full dress suit, which brought to mind the fact that it was he who brought the first toothbrush to Medicine Lodge, Kan., and how the punchers all wanted to borrow it till pay day, and after that day came, for a short time, each rider had a white-handled brush sticking out of his top vest or shirt pocket,