He said that he looked forward with great interest to his arrival in
Weston, as he expected to meet an uncle, Elijah Cody. He had seen none
of his people for many years.
"If Elijah Cody is your uncle, I am too," said my father. "You must be
the long-lost Horace Billings."
Father had guessed right. Horace had wandered long ago from the Ohio
home and none of his family knew of his whereabouts. He had been to
South America and to California, joining a band of trappers on the
Columbia River and coming with them back across the Plains.
When I showed him my pony he offered to help break him for me. With
very little trouble he rode the peppery little creature this way and
that, and at last when he circled back to camp I found the animal had
been mastered.
In the days that followed Horace gave me many useful lessons as a
horseman. He was the prettiest rider I had ever seen. There had been a
stampede of horses from the Fort, and a reward of ten dollars a head
had been offered for all animals brought in. That was easy money for
Horace. I would gallop along at his side as he chased the fugitive
horses. He had a long, plaited lariat which settled surely over the
neck of the brute he was after. Then, putting a "della walt" on the
pommel of his saddle, he would check his own mount and bring his
captive to a sudden standstill. He caught and brought in five horses
the first day, and must have captured twenty-five within the next few
days, earning a sum of money which was almost a small fortune in that
time.
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