Many cows raised "twins" and on one occasion, a steer was credited with raising seventeen calves in one season. The smaller ranches were as busy as the grangers in this work. That is they did as much or more of it, but they held aloof from any entangling alliances.

The cowboys learned the trick, and located unbranded stuff in the herds driven ahead with the roundup. At some likely place, in some manner, one of the men would manage to single out the cow, or heifer, or steer without

a brand, and it would break away from the herd. He would ride furiously after it, and suddenly his horse would become unmanageable, and run between it and the rest of the bunch. All the time it was running farther away, and finally would disappear with the rider in full pursuit, over a ridge or down a gulch. After a bit the rider would return, but the animal never. And the next roundup would find it with the private brand of the cowboy who had chased it into the distance.

"Bay State Beef" and "Bridle Bit Beef" and "Ogallala Beef," became a sort of a standard food in the early days. Nearly everyone ate it, however, few would acknowledge it. Yet it became a subject of humor and common jest. One of the early missionaries sent out by the Presbyterians into Banner county, complained to his hosts that he was tired of Bay State Beef, and hungry for chicken.

On one occasion, I was coming through the Wildcat Range on my way to Gering, and stopped at a settler's place near Rifle Gap, for the night. The man of the place and I were talking when a roly poly boy came to his father's knee. The father fondly patted his round form, and said : "My son, what makes you so fat?" The little imp looked up and grinned as he answered: "Bay State Beef." The father laughed, and I joined, being quite sure the boy had told the truth.