1905. FRANKLIN HUDSON PUBLISHING CO., KANSAS CITY, MO. When I was a lad of 12 years of age my father had a red-headed overseer, good-natured, loquacious and fond of telling stories, the kind that suited the understanding and tickled the fancy of a boy. His stories were always related as being truthful accounts of actual occurrences, although I suspected they were frequently creatures of his own imagination. This overseer, a Westerner born and bred, had driven an ox wagon in a train across the plains to New Mexico; had made two trips across--in 1847 and 1848--one extending as far as Chihuahua, in Old Mexico. His observation was keen, and his me…
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