“That doesn’t make any difference,” said he, “for I know that you will make a good ’Squire.”  He accordingly had the county commissioners appoint me to the office of justice of the peace, and I soon received my commission.

One morning a man came rushing up to my house and stated that he wanted to get out a writ of replevin, to recover possession of a horse which a stranger was taking out of the country.  I had no blank forms, and had not yet received the statutes of Nebraska to copy from, so I asked the man: 

“Where is the fellow who has got your horse?”

“He is going up the road, and is about two miles away,” replied he.

“Very well,” said I, “I will get the writ ready in a minute or two.”

I saddled up my horse, and then taking my old reliable gun, “Lucretia,” I said to the man:  “That’s the best writ of replevin that I can think of; come along, and we’ll get that horse, or know the reason why.”

We soon overtook the stranger who was driving a herd of horses, and as we came up to him, I said: 

“Hello, sir; I am an officer, and have an attachment for that horse,” and at the same time I pointed out the animal.

“Well, sir, what are you going to do about it?” he inquired.

“I propose to take you and the horse back to the post,” said I.

“You can take the horse,” said he, “but I haven’t the time to return with you.”

“You’ll have to take the time, or pay the costs here and now,” said I.

“How much are the costs?”

“Twenty dollars.”

“Here’s your money,” said he, as he handed me the greenbacks.

I then gave him a little friendly advice, and told him that he was released from custody.  He went on his way a wiser and a poorer man, while the owner of the horse and myself returned to the fort.  I pocketed the twenty dollars, of course.  Some people might think it was not a square way of doing business, but I didn’t know any better just then.  I had several little cases of this kind, and I became better posted on law in the course of time, being assisted by Lieutenant Burr Reilly, of the Fifth Cavalry, who had been educated for a lawyer.

One evening I was called upon to perform a marriage ceremony.  The bridegroom was one of the sergeants of the post.  I had “braced up” for the occasion by imbibing rather freely of stimulants, and when I arrived at the house, with a copy of the Statutes of Nebraska, which I had recently received, I felt somewhat confused.  Whether my bewilderment was owing to the importance of the occasion and the large assembly, or to the effect of Louis Woodin’s “tanglefoot,” I cannot now distinctly remember—­but my suspicions have always been that it was due to the latter cause.  I looked carefully through the statutes to find the marriage ceremony, but my efforts were unsuccessful.  Finally the time came for the knot to be tied.  I told the couple to stand up, and then I said to the bridegroom: