I soon became known as the cowboy fireman. I think that in every man’s life, no matter how hum drum that life may be, if he has lived the life of manhood, some bright spot, some achievement takes place, which gives him a thrill. Little I knew, when I started out on my run one morning that fame was awaiting me before the sun set, but it is only on a few that the goddess of luck smiles. For what was to happen little credit can be given to me, the greatest share of the credit should be given to that small, hair rope known as a lariat. It is entitled to all of the honor.
    That particular morning, I was called upon to go out on engine so and so at eight A. M. to take a special train west, the passengers being for the most part, politicians and barbers. They were equipped with powerful glasses which could determine what was in the earth, mineral or oil. This was their second trip. On the first trip, they had discovered the forests and Paul Bunyon had cut the timber for them. The proceeds from the sale of the timber, they had placed in their gunny sacks and the strings of the sacks were securely tied.
    Now on this second trip, they were out at the expense of the government and if either minerals or oil were found, they had promised to pay Uncle Sam the taxes and the rest of the money would go into the gunny sacks, if you know what I mean.
    The barbers were taken along to make a clean shave of the government. As I passed the special Pullmans on my way to the engine, the aroma from the dining cars assailed my nostrils. They were having their last breakfast.
    I reached my engine and tied my lariat securely to the locomotive and then wound it carefully around the dome of the engine, little thinking how soon I was to unwind it.