The Cannibal

In chug water, Wyoming territory, there is a way station for the Cheyenne and Black Hills stage line. Because of a rainstorm, I witnessed a tragedy there. Fun-tier gentlemen, herewith an Englishman's account of life and death in the West.

As a reporter for the London Times, he writes his colorful and unusual stories. But as a man with a gun, he lives and becomes a part of the violent years in the new territories. Now starring John Dana, this is the story of J.B. Kendall, frontier gentleman.

I was on my way to Chuck Water. Jack Chase, editor of the Cheyenne Daily Press had suggested that if I wanted an accurate picture of life in Wyoming territory, hyena Bob Saunders was the man to see.

He ran the Cheyenne and Blackhill stage line station in Chugwater. In the coach with me were three other passengers, one at Greyhead, quiet man who introduced himself as Boone Thompson, the others Duncan Webster and his wife Rose.

Webster, a dark face handsome chap of about 40, was unaccountably nervous. His wife, composed in her middle 30s a strong face, not unattractive. Our driver Bill Cuddle had expected us to arrive at our destination in the late afternoon.

But a bad storm delayed us so that it was dark before we pulled into the chug water station. You got a mite wet lady, warm yourself over to the fire. My name's Hayena Bob, folks.

Now you just all sit down and I'll get hot coffee and vidles. Mr. Saunders? No, not Saunders, partner. Ain't nobody never called me Mr. Saunders, except my wife. The yellow grass has been waving over her and I only 15 years.