In the Scotts Bluff mountains, about ten miles southwest of Gering, they passed the home of a "nestor," or one of the "sooners" that have exhausted all their land rights, yet move ahead of settlement, squatting on tracts which they think will become desirable, and for which they will be able to obtain a few dollars for a "squatter's right." The woman, a large lady of Irish antecedents, ran out at approach of the wagon and seeing the form of a man covered up in the back part of the wagon, requested the privilege of looking upon "the pretty corpse."

I have often heard the pleasantry of allusion to Chris with his six feet three, and two hundred and twenty-five pounds as the "makings" of a "pretty corpse."

Chris Streeks has gone now to the "Home Ranch across the Great Divide," and quit line-riding between the states of Nebraska and Wyoming, which work was necessary because Wyoming had free range and Nebraska a herd law.

And Mrs. Streeks has also gone. I wonder if she rides in a golden chariot there, or if she drives the keen spirited mustangs of the earlier days. Are there golden streets, or is it the winding trail over beautiful fresh prairies that are like these were when the west was new?

HISTORY OF WESTERN NEBRASKA

One time in the early eighties, when Doc. Middleton "went wrong," (or shall we say that what he did was wrong?) Chris Streeks was riding in the usual duties of the range, when a tall spare man with keen eyes, came "fogging up the trail" from the direction of Sidney.