In fact, the stories of the others are generally unknown. In the rush of fifteen hundred a day that passed through Sidney, if one fell by the wayside, even though suddenly and violently, it left no lasting impression.

Only the passing of someone who was identified with the community, as townsmen or herdsmen, occasioned any extensive remark. Men like Loomis, or Tate, or the Pinkstons, or perhaps those who went at the hands of vigilantes.

In one of those graves lies "Fritzie," who, while he perished with less ostentation and dramatic suddenness than some of the others, was given that type of burial because his • friends thought he might prefer it.

The misfortunes of Fritzie were not entirely due to himself, and none of his old time acquaintances that I have met could tell me his other name. Concerning him, "The Midnight Ride of Wild Horse Harris" eclipsed many of the dramatic riders in history, which are chronicled in prose, poetry and song. Harris rode, not for the liberation of a nation, but for the relief of a suffering friend.

Many old timers knew Fritzie as the onelegged cowpuncher who, for a time, ran Miner's hotel in Sidney. Fritzie's infirmity was caused by the intoxication, carelessness, and magnified sense of humor possessed by his buddy. Said buddy arrived home late one night, after an hilarious time in Sidney. Fritzie was sleeping when his buddy entered, and buddy decided it would be funny to shoot into the bed near enough to make his partner jump. He did, the partner jumped, his leg was shattered by the bullet, and later amputated.