The Morrills and Reminiscences - C. H. Morrill

all day with only a light lunch and therefore were very hungry. She answered, "I am done tired out. Last night there was a dance in Cody. There were only ten women and forty men. We danced all night and the men nearly danced us women to death. Then we drove home. To-day I got dinner for thirty and supper for twenty-two, and I tell you, Mister, living way out here is not what it is 'cracked up to be.'" After we had jollied her about her experience at the dance she got good natured, killed two chickens and prepared a fine supper. Cody was thirty miles distant and it was evident that life, even on the frontier, is sometimes quite strenuous.
One of the most pathetic scenes brought to my notice during my travels was the death and burial of a young girl, six years of age. This was in the Big Horn Basin, about one hundred and twenty miles from Billings, and thirty miles from Cody, Wyoming. Her death was the result of malignant pneumonia. There was no undertaker nearer than Billings and no place nearer than Cody where a coffin or lumber could be purchased. One of the neighbors took a door from his house and made a coffin. The women came in with their old black dresses and from these the coffin was covered. It was winter and there were no flowers so they took artificial flowers from their hats, with which to decorate the inside of the casket. One of the women delivered the funeral address. The whole scene was so touching that it can never be forgotten.
In contrast to the above, I remember attending a

dance in Cody. A general invitation was extended to everybody. I met a rancher who came sixty miles solely to attend this dance, bringing with him a wagonload of people consisting of five members of his own family and five of his neighbor's. When I expressed my surprise he said, "Before coming here six years ago, we resided in Boston, Massachussetts (sic). We like it here, but now and then we hanker for a touch of high life, so I came over with the family."
     While traveling down the Shoshone River some miles below where Garland is now located, I went to a house about one mile off the main road to get a fresh supply of water. This was the only house for several miles around and the following conversation took place, between a young man, about twenty years of age, and myself:
     "Is this your claim?"
     "No, sir, it belongs to my father and two older brothers. We have four hundred and eighty acres."
     "How long have you been here?"
     "Eight years."
     "You have no water for irrigation I see."
     "No, sir, we are waiting for water. It must be taken out of the river several miles above and it will cost a lot of money, so we must wait until settlers come in to help do the work."
     "Do you grow anything?"
     "No, sir, nothing."
     "Have you any stock?"
     "Yes, sir, we have four horses and four cows."

     "How much of a family is there?"
     "There are nine in all."
     "Where is your father?"
     "He has been sick in bed for five years. Three of my older brothers work out, herding sheep. They each make fifty dollars a month. I work out, but one of us older boys must stay at home to keep things steady and shoot the coyotes. You see mother and the children are skeery and one of us older boys must be at home to keep their heads level. When we boys work out we send home all of our money in order to keep the family going."
     "When do you expect to get water for irrigation so that you can grow crops?"
     "Why, in four or five years sure. This is fine, good land and after staying here eight years we can't afford to give it up."
     Four years after this conversation I called at the same place. They then had water for irrigation, after being on the land for ten years, and they had about three hundred acres under cultivation. Since my first visit the father had died. The family appeared to be comfortable and prosperous. At the present writing the value of this farm of four hundred and eighty acres is about forty thousand dollars.
     About the time the Burlington completed its line as far as Cody, Wyoming, I was visiting Colonel Cody, for whom the town was named. I asked him to tell me about his early experiences on the western plains. He told me the following as nearly as I can recall it:

"At twelve years' of age I left home and joined an overland freighting outfit for which, as water boy and general roustabout, I worked for my board. I was soon able to drive a freight wagon drawn by four span of mules. I rode the near wheel mule, guiding the team with one line attached to the near lead mule. I made many trips between Omaha and Denver. On these journeys we always expected trouble from the Indians. Reports of massacres of freighters and pioneer settlers were of daily occurrence. When, in after years, the construction of the Kansas Pacific railroad was in progress, the contractors found it very difficult to obtain a supply of fresh meat for their different camps strung along the route for many miles. Buffalo were plenty in those days. I agreed to supply buffalo meat to all contractors, and after much parleying and doubt on their part as to my ability to supply it in sufficient quantities, I at last succeeded in closing a contract. I employed a gang of rough riders, who were familiar with buffalo hunting, and we had no trouble in supplying all the meat the different camps could consume. It was while in this work that I was dubbed 'Buffalo Bill.'
"After the completion of the Kansas Pacific I returned to the freighting business, and later began ranching near the city of North Platte, Nebraska. It was about this time I had an idea that I could successfully organize and run a show. My plan was to depict life on the frontier to eastern people, and to illustrate some of the dangers and sacrifices made by


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