"Say, Jack," said Slim, "you remember what you told me in the camphouse in Dodge City the day I left you. You recollect saying what a consarned fool I was about that young lady, and what you thought of the old man? Say, I hope to die and go to heaven if every word of what you told me was not true. I have ridden for two days to tell you what kind of a durn fool I am. You are a fortune teller, a prophet, a prognosticator. I had not ridden out to Five Mile Creek until he got to soliloquizing with myself.

You know all cow-punchers do that out on the prairie! Well, I got to fixing up how to act, what to do and say when I got out there where the young lady lives. I had read a society book that some fellow from back East had left at the ranch once. There was some of it torn out, but there was a lot of it left and I learned a whole lot out of it, and I was going to govern myself accordingly. It said that a young man in company after taking his seat, should sit erect and throw his head back, keep his knees close together, and that chewing tobacco or smoking cigarettes was not good form. Under no circ.u.mstances should the young man wear spurs, carry a gun, especially in the company of the young lady with whom he is anyways intimate. I guess that book was written for the Texas trade, as there was a proviso that gun-wearing would be permissible if there were other gentlemen present. If there was anything about the disposal of the hands, it must have been torn out or I forgot it. It was most likely torn out, as that crowd of boys at the ranch would tear the leaves out of their mother's Bible to make a cigarette. I can ride a horse or throw a rope, but what to do with my hands when I entered the house was beyond me. I knew how to hold my head, chest, and knees, but I could not for the life of me figure out what to do with those hands. I felt as if each hand was as big as a ham and the nearer I approached the house, the larger they seemed to grow. I felt pretty much like a Hottentot. He is usually pictured with a very depleted wardrobe. He has no books of instruction on the art of going into society, and I am of the opinion he had just as much trouble with his hands as I had. I guess he just folded his hands across his manly chest and backed in. By the time I arrived at the Mulberry Ranch I had decided to do all I knew and trust to luck for the rest. When I had staked out my pony, I went in and slicked up some. I washed, combed my hair, brushed my clothes, and then took about three fingers of old Tom Duggan's best bourbon, not as a stimulant, but to put some color in my cheeks. As soon as the bourbon began to show some of its efficacy, I put on a couple of rings I had bought in Dodge and headed for the old man's ranch, letting my hands take care of themselves. In my generosity of feeling I pictured myself being invited to supper and perhaps even being requested to spend the night at the old man's. With an eye to putting an appearance on things I was going to try to trade some long-horned stock for some of his short-horns. I was in terror lest the young lady I was yet to choose, would smell my breath, and if the old man and his family were prohibitionists, I knew it would be all up with my chances. However, I was encouraged in the knowledge of the fact that this was to be my first call and I was not likely to get within breath-smelling distance of the lady of my choice. Regardless of consequences, I turned in and rode up to the hitching post, dismounted, took off my spurs and my gun, and then set out for the house. It seemed miles from that hitching-post to the front door.

I finally covered the distance and rapped gently on the panel as I did not want them to think I was one of those rough, roaring, cow-punchers--the kind you mentioned. I listened attentively for one of those gentle footfalls, or the sound of an angelic voice bidding me to enter. I imagined once I heard the rustle of a silk dress but I am satisfied now that I was mistaken as I believe the sound was caused by the girls husking roasting ears for supper. You know that husking green corn makes a kind of squeaking noise. I did not have long to wait as I heard the sound of footsteps--the kind a bull moose makes when in trouble. The door was thrown open savagely and I was confronted by an old man who weighed about two hundred and fifty pounds. He had a face like a full moon with side whiskers to match and a moustache that resembled a second-hand shoe brush.

He wore a white shirt with a home-made collar that reached to his ears. I tell you he was a fierce looking object. He stared me straight in the eye and said, "What can I do for you?" Now, Jack, you know that I am a fairly good talker, but right there my voice failed me. I could not utter a word if my life depended upon it. To make matters worse, he kept those two big eyes on me just like a dog setting a quail. My throat became all tied up in a knot, but after a pause I pulled myself together and asked him if he was bothered by any range cattle breaking through his fences. I thought I would get him into conversation in that way, and said that the range foreman had asked me to make the inquiry. He turned and slammed the door in my face. My love that a few moments before threatened to burn a hole in my shirt, was turned to hate. I detest that old man, and what makes my hatred more intense is the fact that when I was riding away I saw the girls laughing and making fun of me. I have come to the conclusion that I had better stick to the ranching as I never did care much for farming anyway. As for society and things like that, I abominate them."

CHAPTER X.

What One Sheep Rancher Did--Entertaining a Hobo--A Practical Joke.

About the year 1877, an extensive sheep ranch was established in the Panhandle by a Mr. Southerland. He came from California and bought up the range in the neighborhood of the Adobe Walls, for the purpose of transferring his flocks from that far off State, where the grazing was getting very scarce, to the northern part of Texas, where there abounded better opportunities for pasturage. He was not the only one to cast a longing eye upon that territory, for many cattlemen from the same State as Mr. S--, also visited the Panhandle district looking for grazing grounds.

As Mr. S. was the first to acquire rights there, the story in this chapter will deal with his men and his flocks.

When he returned to California after securing the t.i.tle to the property, he sent his step-son, Bill Anderson, in charge of the drive from his native State to the new range. Besides the thousands of sheep that were in his care he brought along a few hundred head of horses and burros with enough Mexican help to make the drive successful. Of course, there was quite an outfit of mules and wagons to transport the equipage of an expedition of this kind. There was no opportunity of going to the corner grocery for supplies, nor was there any chance of securing them along the way, as the journey led over hills, mountains and canyons, amongst wild tribes of Indians, from California to Texas. It was a tremendous undertaking, but Bill was equal to the occasion.

He was a man of iron nerve, a good shot with either six-shooter or winchester and his skill and daring in roping wild animals excited the admiration of even the hardiest of his followers. It was a common thing for him to ride into a herd of buffalo, rope and hog-tie one, and then turn him loose again, just, as he used to say, to show the boys how it was done. Along with his great physical courage and fort.i.tude, there existed another quality often found in men of rugged health and spirits. Bill was a practical joker, and in the pursuit of his endeavors to provoke a laugh he spared neither age, s.e.x, nor previous condition of servitude. It seems to me that I can hear his merry laughter ringing in my ears though many years have pa.s.sed since I had the pleasure of being in his company. His was a sunny disposition and the dark side of a cloud never appealed to him. He saw the brightness ahead long before it was visible to others.

Such was the leader of the expedition that set out from California, and many a merry yarn or joke lessened the burden of the long drive.

At the outset of the journey, the Mexican herders were started off with a supply of bacon and coffee, besides having burros laden with bedding and other utensils. He divided the whole flock into smaller sections, each with a herder in charge. They moved along in close proximity to one another for the sake of company as they would likely be out on the road for weeks, and would return to camp only when in want of provisions. If fresh meat were wanted, all they had to do was to kill a lamb, or procure some of the wild game that infested the way, such as antelope, wild turkeys, prairie chickens, quail and other game. Their horses did not require much attention as there was plenty of gra.s.s and water was easily located.

Thus they kept on their way during the long weeks, day succeeding day with the same monotonous routine. Finally they reached their range in safety, glad that the long and tedious journey was completed. Here they made their first improvements in the way of a settled habitation. They constructed a dugout and covered it over with poles and willows. On these they piled a layer of soil to turn the rain. The furnishing of the dugout was of the simplest kind. A split log to sit on, a table made in the same way with sapplings for legs, was all they had in the way of household furniture.

Their bedchamber consisted of the open prairie with the blue sky above them for a canopy. This done, they were at home for friends and neighbors.

Among the members of the outfit that followed Anderson from California, was a faithful and trusted employee named James Farrell. He had been with them for years and was one of the family. He was a shrewd man and one hard to deceive. One thing he felt proud of was that Bill Anderson never succeeded in working off a practical joke at his expense. He boasted of the fact that Bill had often tried, but always failed and he felt confident that he would never succeed. And thereby hangs the following tale:

One day as Bill was sitting in front of the dugout doing nothing in particular and having lots of time to do it in, he spied a man in the distance coming toward him on foot. This was something very unusual in those days, as a man on foot in the prairie is very much like a man in the middle of the Atlantic, he feels as though he is twenty miles from nowhere and does not know how to get there. Bill came to the conclusion that the man afoot was some cow-puncher that had been thrown from his horse. He soon discovered his mistake, for the stranger proved to be a veritable hobo. He gave no information regarding himself, and it was impossible to find out anything about him, whence he came, or what profession he followed to gain a livelihood. He manifested an interest in only one thing and that was when meal time came. Then he was a whirlwind of energy. He had been invited to take a supper with the outfit, and Bill even went so far as to divide his blanket with him, favors which the hobo appreciated so much that he continued to stay for meals and share the proprietor's blanket. Time pa.s.sed on, as time usually does, and the sign of taking his departure. In fact he seemed so much at home that it seemed impossible to drive him away. Weeks went by, but still the hobo was not accused of showing any inclination to work except when the table was to be cleared of provisions. However, all good things come to an end, and Bill felt that he had done all that the laws of Western hospitality required and felt impelled to do something to rid himself of his unwelcome guest. He thought the matter over carefully. If he offered the hobo a job, the latter turned the subject of conversation into politics or something else. It was useless to hint to the star boarder that the climate of other localities might be better for his health. He seemed proof against hints, invitations, or even mildly expressed wishes that he would take his departure. Nothing but personal violence would rid them of his company, and they were loath to do that. Bill began to worry over the matter. He went around with a thoughtful look as though he had something serious on his mind. Finally he determined to lay the matter before Jim to see if he could not suggest some way to be rid of a guest, who was not only a burden but a nuisance. After some reflection, it was decided that Jim was to act crazy, and some time or other when all were a.s.sembled at the table, at a given sign, he was to give a jump, knock over the table, stick his dirk into one of the rafters of the dugout, and grab his gun and begin to shoot up the place. Of course, he was not to kill anybody, but the purpose was to stampede the hobo and set him on his way over the hills to other localities where he might have an opportunity of showing his staying qualities.

The next day it happened that Bill and the hobo were down at the corral to brand some colts. It dawned upon the proprietor that right here was a brilliant opportunity for a practical joke and at the same time put an end to Jim's a.s.sertions that he could not be tricked by any practical jokesmith on either side of the Rockies. It made Bill smile. He took a look around to see if Jim was in the neighborhood and found him sitting at the door of the dugout braiding a lariat. With an air of simplicity, and trustfulness he told the hobo that he had something to tell him; that he was thinking of telling it to him some time ago, and that was as good an opportunity as would present itself to him to do so. "You know," said he, in a guileless manner, "Jim has been with me for a number of years and I have found him one of the best fellows that I have ever known. He is trusty, and is a good judge of stock. I can rely on him at all times and he takes as much interest in the work and the ranch as I do myself.

However, he has been a cause of much worry to me. I do not like to tell my troubles to others but I find I must tell it to someone. I have taken quite a shine to you and I feel that the confidence I place in you will not be abused. Well, to bring the matter to a focus, I must tell you that Jim is subject to spells, and when in that condition is likely to be quite dangerous. The cause of his condition is this. A few years ago, out in California he was thrown from his horse and in falling his head struck a stone. He was quite delirious for a long time. He grew out of his condition after a year or so, but at certain periods he has a return of his old illness and is likely to turn things topsy-turvy before we can get him quited. We have tried everything in the medical line, but it was no use. We found out by accident, one day, that the only thing that would restore him to his senses was a jar on the head. He had one of his spells and made an attack on one of the hands with a knife. The man in desperation let fly at Jim with his fist and knocked him senseless for about ten minutes. When he recovered from the blow, he was as rational as any of us. I know it is painful for us to have to lay violent hands on the poor fellow, but it must be done, and besides, Jim is very thankful for our doing it, as he has a very tender heart and would not for anything in the world be the cause of injury to anyone. The reason I am telling you this is that I may have to be away some time or other and as you are pretty well acquainted with the run of things around the ranch, you will know what to do if the poor fellow has one of those sudden attacks. You may not feel like doing it, but he will thank you for it when he has recovered, and besides, Jim thinks a lot of you. When I was leaving California I promised my poor old mother that I would look after Jim and see that no harm came, to him on account of his weakness."

When Bill returned to the dug-out, it would not take a mind-reader long to figure out that there was something going to happen. He kept his face straight, but he could not conceal the merry twinkle of his eye. He kept the cause of his merriment to himself, but frequently he would take a look out of the corner of his eye at Jim and if Jim was not looking, a smile would spread over his countenance. The thought of working a practical joke on Jim was too much for him at times and he would have to go outside to conceal his feelings.

Things went along thus for a few days, but the tension became too great for him to control himself any longer. One day, at dinner he gave the pre-arranged signal to Jim. With a yell Jim jumped up upset the table and spilled the contents all over the floor of the dug-out, grabbed his dirk and stuck it into the rafter of the dug-out, then pulled his six-shooter and let blaze. He ploughed up the earthern floor with some of the bullets, others he sent flying through the roof. All the while he was yelling like a Comanche Indian on the warpath. By the time he had emptied his gun, the place was filled with smoke. At the first shot Bill and the others filed through the door, or rather threw themselves through it, but the hobo mindful of the instructions given him some time before, worked his way around through the smoke until he came within arm's length of Jim. He summoned up all his strength and let fly one of his fists. It was a mighty blow, delivered with care. It landed on the side of Jim's head and sent him reeling and senseless into a pile of gunny-sacks lying in the corner.

With an eye to the necessity of further ministrations if necessary, he stood looking at the poor fellow lying there. In a minute or more, Jim opened his eyes and reached for his gun. It was empty of course, and he reached for his cartridge box also. Bill looked in through the door when he heard no noise. He saw what Jim was doing and also noted by the flare in his eyes that there was going to be moments of activity there as soon as he succeeded in getting the chambers of his 45 filled. He took one look at the hobo, and uttered the word "run." Without waiting any further instructions, the hobo fairly flew through the door and bounded away like a cat pursued by a bull dog. Jim dashed for the door with his weapon ready for vengeance. He saw the fleeing figure bounding over the prairie and let fly at him with the six-shooter. Happily for all concerned, he was too excited to take aim, and consequently all of his shots went wild. Every shot seemed to increase the speed of the swiftly running hobo. He was over the hill and far away in about the shortest time he ever made. Jim looked around the end of the dug-out and found Bill and his companions rolling on the ground and holding their sides with laughter. He realized immediately that there was something strange about the whole affair. It seemed more than he could stand. "Bill Anderson," said he, "I believe you are at the bottom of all this. If I were certain of it I would send you back to California on a pair of wooden legs, but out of respect for your good old mother whose feeling I would not like to hurt on account of a 'b.l.o.o.d.y spalpeen' like you, I want to warn you never to do the like of it again."

Jim never afterwards made the boast that he could not be tricked by any one on either side of the Rockies.

Bill sold out the ranch sometime afterwards for $125,000, and the last I saw of him he was setting out for Old Mexico.

If Jim ever had any more crazy spells, I never heard of it.

CHAPTER XI.

The Man From Missouri; An Attempt at Dry Farming, etc.

While out hunting one day, about 18 miles south of Dodge City, I chanced to meet a stranger who inquired the way to the nearest horse corral. In the twinkling of an eye I took an inventory of his outfit, and I must say that it was good. He had a fine team of young mules, a three seated spring wagon covered over, harness all covered over with bra.s.s mountings. His wife and children who were with him were well-dressed and he himself showed traces of being well bred and was rather a good talker. His conversation showed refinement, though at times he sandwiched in a mild cuss-word to emphasize his statements. From his bearing I could see that he was rather high-strung. Before giving the required information I ventured to ask if he was going to take up land for the purpose of farming. He said that that was his intention. I looked the family over and felt sorry for them, knowing what they would have to endure on a claim. I had not the same regrets for proprietor of the outfit as I felt that a little experience and exposure was what was needed to round out his character. The more I explained the general conditions of the neighborhood of his destination, the more he seemed determined to go. I explained to him that others from the different states of the East had tried to raise crops and made a failure of the venture, and returned to their several homes disgusted with the West. "Oh, pshaw!" said he, "I have heard that same tale of woe more than a dozen times during the last three days, and the land-agents in Dodge City told me that yarn was fabricated expressly by the cow-men to discourage the farmers from settling on the range and cutting off their supply of pasture." "Moreover," said he, "I have a little provision made for the future and can stand it as long as any of them."

During my interview with that gentleman, I learned that his name was Waugh, that he was a native of Pennsylvania, and had been living in Missouri on a rented farm during the preceding two years. He had become dissatisfied with the state and had come farther West to improve his fortunes. I ask him if he did not think it better to return to Missouri where his children would have the advantage of schools, and he and his wife would be able to enjoy some society rather than establish a home on a raw prairie. He replied, "I see, stranger, that you have never lived in Missouri. I tell you those folk back there don't know the war is over yet, and besides one's standing in society depends upon how many hounds one keeps and, also, on the length of one's whiskers. Why, don't you know that there was only one razor in the neighborhood where I lived and that was owned by the school teacher. He was some up on social niceties. Once in awhile he used to go to St. Joe to have his hair cut and the back of his neck shaved and this caused some of the patrons of the school to threaten to take their children away from him if he did not stop such unwarranted proceedings. I am sure they would have done so if they had known that he used to go down to the creek every Sat.u.r.day night to take a bath. No Siree, I do not want any more of Missouri in mine. The first year I worked there I did fairly well. I made about half a crop. The next year was a complete failure. I raised nothing, absolutely nothing, and when I saw the hens bringing leaves from the timber to build nests, I told Hannah to put out the fire and call the dog and we would start for Kansas."

The next time I met Mr. Waugh was one afternoon about three months later.

I noted that his mules had fallen away in flesh, and on inquiring about his general condition, he stated that things were in poor condition. He said the gra.s.s had been poor and that it was impossible to procure corn for the cattle. In fact he had not plowed nor put in any crops. He informed me that it had not rained since he had taken up his claim and to plow was out of the question. The only line of work open for him was to gather buffalo bones. He said that things had come to such a pa.s.s that he had to exchange some of his belongings for others not as good. His spring wagon had to go for an old lumber-wagon as he could not use the spring affair in the work of gathering the bones. In this trade he received a cow to boot.

When next I met him he had traded off his mules and bra.s.s-mounted harness for a one-eyed mule and a pony, receiving boot on that occasion also in the shape of a sewing machine and a shot gun, with a set of chain harness thrown in for good measure. He said he preferred the chain harness as the dry weather did not affect the corn-husk collars and if it rained he could throw it on the ground and it would suffer no injury from the moisture.

Shortly after this he came to my blacksmith shop to have the wheels of his wagon set. Before that he used to soak them in the bed of the creek, but as the water in the creek bottom failed, he had to bring them to me to set them.

The last time I had the opportunity of meeting Mr. Waugh, he was camped at the creek with his family. He was busy at the camp-fire cooking his meal at the time. After the usual greetings, I ventured to ask him how he liked farming. He seemed very despondent. "Don't talk to me about farming in this desolate country," said he. "It has not rained enough between here and the head of the creek since I have been here to wet a postage stamp.

Moreover, there are skunks enough up there to drive the Standard Oil Co.

out of business, and coyotes without number. They gave us no rest. They would steal a chicken out of the pot while it was boiling on the fire."

"Why," he continued, "You know old man Spriggins up there? Well, only last week his chickens got so all-fired hungry that they went out on the trail and tried to hold up a bull-train to get some corn. I would not have believed myself if I had not seen it. I tell you those chickens were getting desperate and you would have believed it if you had seen that Shanghai rooster strutting back and forth in front of those oxen and crowing. When the old man saw it himself he went down to John Conrads and traded his old fiddle and a cultivator for some Kaffir corn."

"Well," said I, "you filed on a claim, didn't you?"

"Not that any one knows of," said he. "I caught on to that game in time to save my fourteen dollars. It is nothing but a gambling game anyway, and I believe that the same law applies to poker and other games of chance, ought to reach Uncle Sam for trying to unload a lot of worthless land on a lot of poor suckers that can't help themselves. Why, he don't take any chance at all. He simply puts up one hundred and sixty acres of parched vacancy against your fourteen dollars that you can't remain on it for five years without starving, to comply with the contract he makes with you. I tell you he has a dead sure thing here in Kansas. He has made some good winnings. Some of those claims he has won back five or six times each and he still holds the land waiting for another sucker to come along."

Well, then, I said, you are not inclined to engage in agriculture, nor to remain in this part of the country, are you?

"Not if I know myself," he replied, "and I think it about time I was becoming wise. You told me the whole unvarnished truth about this country the first time I met you and if I had taken your advice I would not be in this disagreeable fix."

Here he took a side glance at his one-eyed mule, which seemed to raise his temperature to about 160 in the shade. He then raised his voice to correspond with the temperature, and striking his hands together said; "any gosh-durned country that gets so dad-burned dry that it will take an antelope--and he is the fastest animal there is--twenty four hours solid traveling to find a drink of water, is a little too dry for me. I am going back to Pennsylvania. That state will be good enough for me for all the time to come."

He hitched up his one-eyed mule and made ready to go. I bade him good-bye.

He nodded, clucked to his mule and rode away.

CHAPTER XII.

Colonization Indian Scares; Organizing in Self Defense, etc.

In the autumn of the year of 1878, a gentleman by the name of John Joplin was sent out from Zanesville, Ohio, to select a suitable place in Western Kansas for the purpose of locating a colony. The intention was to start a co-operative business in farming. After surveying the country at large, he came to the conclusion that the Crooked Creek valley, Meade County, where I was living at the time, was the most desirable for the purpose. He returned home and gave a glowing report of what he had done, and his efforts and report received the approval of the future colonists. They made their arrangements and moved westward in the following spring. When they had reached their destination, they learned that Chief Dull Knife, a leader of a band of northern Chyenne Indians, had left the reservation at Ft. Reno where he and his followers were held as prisoners of war.

Followed by a numerous retinue of tribesmen he started for the Black Hills and had pa.s.sed through the Crooked Creek Valley, killing the settlers.

They continued on their way, killing, burning, and destroying everything and everybody in sight until they were re-captured at Ft. Robinson, Nebraska. From there they were brought back and placed on the reservation once more.

The particulars of the Dull Knife Raid will be given in another chapter.

Needless to say, these reports caused considerable excitement in the valley. Every few days rumors were circulated that the Indians were returning, or would return as soon as the gra.s.s had begun to sprout again. Hardly had one rumor died until another was put into circulation.

Excitement reached such a degree that all deemed it necessary to organize for protection. A meeting was called which all the settlers were invited, or requested, to attend. The Colonists a.s.sembled at the dug-out of a Mr.

M. B. Wilson, one of the leading spirits of the movement, to devise ways and means for protection in case the Indians should return. After a general discussion of the prevailing conditions, it was unanimously agreed that we should appeal to the Governor of Kansas for fire arms, as there were few of us that had any, many had none, and some had no money to purchase them, and some that did have them, had very little knowledge of their use. Our secretary was instructed to write to the governor, explain the conditions of affairs, and request him to send us the necessary guns and ammunition with which to protect ourselves against the Indians in case they should make another descent on the valley, which they would likely do as they were threatening to leave the reservation and go on the warpath a second time. After a good deal of correspondence and red tape we succeeded in getting the governor's attention, and he kindly informed us, after several week's delay, that if we wanted any a.s.sistance from the state, we should join the militia. He informed us that when we were duly sworn in, he would send the necessary arms for protection of our homes and families.

To the disinterested reader this action on the part of the governor may seem magnanimous, but to the settler whose family was living in a dug-out with nothing to protect them but a fire shovel or a hatchet in case of an Indian raid, it looked very much like a case of criminal neglect. Another meeting was called, and it was well attended. There were many women present who seemed anxious to organize a company for the protection of their homes. After some discussion it was decided to organize and join the militia. Among those present was a veteran of the Civil war. He was elected Captain on his war record--one of the home-made kind, as none of his comrades of the war recollected any time or place where he performed any deed of valor--as he would most likely know the best thing to do at the proper time. To hear the Captain tell of his numerous exploits, the number of men took prisoners of war, how he had on several occasions leaped over the breastworks of some beleagured fort in the midst of a shower of grape and canister, and tore down the Confederate flag, one would think that he, Capt. Milligan, bore a charmed life. It seemed strange to me that such a thoughtful man as Abe Lincoln did not send somebody down south to a.s.sist the Captain as he seemed to be doing all the heavy fighting himself. Such was our captain, the last and the greatest of the Milligans up to that time, and it would require a remarkable scion to eclipse his record, if one hundredth part of what he said was true.

Returning to the thread of my story, and I hope you will pardon the digression but it would be impossible to pa.s.s over the merits of our worthy Captain without bringing to the notice of the world at large his claims to the honor conferred upon him, we elected G. W. Brown First Lieutenant, Mr. Gantz, Second Lieutenant, and C. M. Rice, Sergeant. The above officers were veterans, or had been scouts, and the remainder required to complete the contingent had no military experience whatever.