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who had come to his death in some manner unknown to us. We decided to bury him there, so we dug a hole and rolled him into it, with but little burial ceremony. One of our crowd was a good singer, and sang the old cowboy song that all of the old boys are familiar with, which runs something like this :
Our hearts were sad when we left that poor unknown boy out there under the sod of that lonely prairie, many miles from a habitation. Some mother's boy who went away, never to return; some husband or father, perhaps, who went out into that wild country and lost his life there.
Nearly all of my old cowboy chums of fifty years ago have passed over the trail to that home beyond the grave. A few are left here, sore-footed and dragging, but still full of life. Among those who are still in the land of the living I will mention one, for whom I have always had the highest regard and esteem, and that is P. B. Butler, who lives at Kenedy, Texas. He was always found honest and square in all of his dealings, true to his friends, and one of the best stockmen in all Southwest Texas. P. B. Butler will leave behind him a good name as a heritage to his posterity, and an example for oncoming generations to follow.
A few more of the old boys are still living near me, Munroe Hinton, Hiram Reynolds and Dick Smith being among them. Tom Edwards passed away just a short