(Researcher note: This typewritten story was found in with the obituaries. I do not know who the writer was nor do I have any information about these two individuals. I would imagine that Everett Sutton may have written this.)

Buckshot Shaw

Mike Yokums' last trip to the Republican Forks for a buffalo kill was the winter of 1881-1882.

Not wishing to go alone he 'hired' Buckshot Shaw, a venturesome youngster to drive the team of molly-mules and keep in tow a drab colored pelter used to tote in the meat and to ride when the going got too rough for the spring wagon.

Their first night on the trail was passed without incident but around the campfire Yokum spun some hair-raisers about wolf hunts that got Buckshot so spooky when a coyote yoddled on the hillside he nearly jumped out of his britches.

The second night was spent between the Forks and Collins City under a brilliant but chilling moon and not half enough bedding.

At that time Collins City was a thriving village with great aspirations, looking for the railroad. It then consisted of two cut-bank shacks on the northside of a slough, bulging out like a snake that had swallowed a goose-egg, a part of Spring creek, which ended east of the village. The creek was slow moving and mostly stagnant and carried a disreputable moniker, which the cowboys had aptly applied. It was their last stop before whooping it up in town at the Duffy 'drugstore'.

On the south side of the 'creek' were three or four soddies. One had been a deserted shed which Dave Gilbert took over as a blacksmith shop. J. R. King was in another as manager of the Taylor General Store and it was their proud boast NO articles of feminine apparel disgraced their shelves.

Frank Duffy presided behind a plank counter of a drugstore which specialized in bottled goods specifics for snake bite.

Frank was killed while working on a construction train, his stock of goods was sold to Jim Morning. It is believed that Duffy was killed at or near the present Texas Trail canyon railroad bridge and was buried about 300 yards east of the bridge along the right-of-way. Yokum hit the drugstore early in the morning and soon thawed out.

Nearer the river was a soddy erected in the early 1870's, some say buffalo hunters as a storage, but others say it was set up by the Conners "25" in 75. Mose Collins had taken it over, tho.

There was plenty of excitement. Mrs. Gilbert wrote, "I wonder if any of the McDonalds remember when Collinsville was ahead of the railroad and when those two outlaws , Belmont and Zimmerman, stopped off long enough to watch a small pen of our chickens coming from their roost in the early morning, then shoot the heads off each one as it came through the door. Those were the horse thieves who later killed sheriff Jack Wood."

The day was spent 'restin' up' and chawing the fat with the boys at the "25" ranch who had a cutbank overlooking the valley, about north of Andy Andersons Sale barn. The boys remarked that buffalo were reported in the sandhills north of Rock creek.

Leaving the city behind, Mike and Buckshot followed a couple of ruts antigoggling into the northwestern horizon, the Oak Ranch trail.

Two days later the hunters were plugging along the upper Frenchman without buffalo sign.

At times Mike would go forward with a folding ladder, a sack of ‘possibles’ and gun and spyglass.

Just under the brow of a hill he would set up his ladder and with the scope would sweep the horizon in all directions.

After several such tries, Mike nearly fell off the ladder and he rushed back to the wagon crying, “Hi Buckshot, thar I spies 'em."

Buckshot was left with the team and wagon with instructions to stay put until Mike returned and with night coming on he was to kindle a fire as a guide for Mike, and keep the coffee pot hot.

Along with the darkness came the howling of coyotes. It seemed they were everywhere and maybe by the thousands. As they grew bolder and more inquisitive, they circled nearer the campfire, the glare from their eyes sent the youngster scurrying into the shelter of the wagon box, remembering the stories by Yokum sent chills up and down the kids back.

On a distant hill a wolf pointed his nose into the air and his howl shattered the night into a million pieces, then another and another wolf took up the chorus, and the coyotes slunk away.

Buckshot hit the blankets and burrowed deep but as he laid there wondering when he was to end as wolf bait, he decided he would sell life as high as possible.

Searching for a weapon he came upon a claw-hammer. At that precise moment, not three feet away, Mike spoke up. Buckshot followed his hair into the air, as did the hammer, fortunately it missed Mike.

In answer to Mike’s question, Buckshot replied, "HELL NO I AINT scared! but do you think it is safe to come down...I think I MUST!

Mike wrinkled his nose and grinned. “Aint no think about it, son. I durn well know you MUST!”

They scattered some strictnine in the buffalo carcas and had four wolves and coyotes to skin out. The buffalo kill was three fat cows out of a herd of seven buffalo.

Before returning to Arapahoe they bagged a deer, an elk and a badger.

Buckshot drew his wages...half a buffalo.