The chronicle=news., 1914-07-20

One OF the most important stations
on the old Santa Fc trail was Fort
Aubrey, clutter of six or eight
adobe structures which disappeared
years ago with the relentless wrench
ing of civilization, striking down as
it does all the dear landmarks in its
cruel tread. In the middle sixties
when the famous old route was in its
zenith of its unparalleled glory,
James Anderson and Walter Stick
ney. two entcrprising fellows. fresh
from the east, came along and set up
II hotel at the Aubrck crossing of the
Arkansas, n few miles west of Cho-
tcau island and not far from the
present town of Granada in Prov
crs county.
Tho money they made catering to
the appetitcs and thirsts of the great
hungry horde passing over the trail
on its ebb and flow like the tides OF
the ocean will never be known for
they kept no accounts and it made
no difference anyway for we had no
banks in those days and mans
credit, II he needed amy, was bound
up In his personal honor. One day
as the wings of tho morning came
slanting softly in over the eastern
rim OF the sand hills. Walter Stick
ncy saw a stray calf out on the range
a mile or so from the fort and desir-
ing to possess such fine makings for
n good dinner saddlcd his pony and
sailed forth to rope the poor little
thing.
"You had better look out for In
juns," adnOni ishcd Mark Frost, the
station master at Fort Aubrck. but
tho warning was UNDECIDED by the
gallant Stickncy who said he guessed
he knew all about Injuns and there
wasn't a band of them within hun
lred miles. Wise men are often the
victims OF their own folly and Stick
ncy was just brash enough to defy
the devil when II came to Il scrap at
close range. He ropcd the dear lit
tie crittcr deserted there on the lone
prairie and was coaXinS II along
gcntly-like SO rs not to give 1t too
great a jolt. when suddenly from out
of a closc-by arroyo in regular In
dian fashion there arose like 50 many
ghosts in the cleaning Il party OF
Kiowa bucks under White Horse.
They let out yell as long as a
telegraph line and began throwing
in their arrows with that lightning
rapidity whicl, the white men could
never understand. II was n perfect
hail of winged shafts from twanginE
bows and Stickney. whose motto was
never to say die or lie down in the
middle of the pike, s2urrcd up the
pony and sailed away for the settle
mcnt as lively as humming bird
seeking It's lady love. He forgot all
about the poor little calf hitchcd at
the other end of his lariat and came
tearing on like bat out of Hadcs,
the diminutive bocfus trailing along
behind like the traditional tail of
Little Bopeep's unhappy sheep. Lit
tic calfy had its neck broken at the
first jump and S:ickncy. never
thinking of anything but his own
precious scalp, came bowling on
dragging the carcass clear into camp
without knowing that he had adead
passenger on behind.
"Why didn't you cut the ro2c?"
asked Bill Sullivan. who like the
father of the prodigal son witnessed
the performance from afar. "Oh,
replied the truthful Sickney. II
knew them 1njuns was Just starving
for half, dead or alive, and ]
didn't want them to have it after
playing such trick on me-" "Was
that it?" broke in the old stage driv-
or, Sandhil George Curricr, as he
pulled out his handy butcher knife,
cut the calfs throat and proceeded to
skin 1t. "You bet Curly will give us
u good dinner today. and she did
while Walter Stirkney, tho hero Of
the day, set up the booze to all hands
and the cook, Sandhill George, how
ever, had to butt in on the joy of