While at Jacksonville a man came to me named Martin, who was a merchant and resided in Oakland, Cal., who wanted to hire me to go out in the mountains some twenty miles from Jacksonville and look after a man named McMahon, saying:  “There must be something wrong with McMahon, for he is the most punctual man I ever dealt with; he promised to be here three weeks ago to pay a certain party fifty dollars, but has not been seen nor heard from since.”

McMahon owned a band of sheep and was ranging them out in the mountains.  Mr. Martin gave me directions, and the next morning I started out for the sheep ranch.  I had no trouble in finding the place, but the cabin and surroundings showed that no one lived there.  I spent the balance of this day and the next in riding over the sheep range, but could see no one, and only about twenty head of sheep.

On my return to Jacksonville I went by way of Bybee’s ferry, on Rogue river, and learned that about three weeks previous to that time a band of two thousand head of sheep had crossed over the ferry, driven by two men.  Now it was almost a foregone conclusion that some one had murdered McMahon and driven his band of sheep away, and when I returned to Jacksonville there was no little excitement about the city in regard to McMahon.  Some of the business men and citizens with whom I was well acquainted, prevailed upon me to accept an appointment as deputy sheriff, and start out and track the band of sheep up if possible and capture the thieves and murderers, the sheriff himself being very busy just at that time, it being near time for court to sit in that county.  After receiving my appointment and taking the oath of office, I struck directly for Bybee’s ferry, and for the first twenty miles beyond the ferry I experienced no trouble whatever in keeping track of the sheep, finding a number of people who had seen them, and all gave the same description of the two men who were driving them.

Leaving the settlement, I went into the mountains, spent five days tracking sheep here and there in every direction between Rogue river and Umpqua.  Finally they struck off on to the breaks of the Umpqua and were soon in the settlement again, and I was able to get the description of the two men, which coincided with the description given by others.

I found the sheep within about twelve miles of Canyonville, and a young man was herding them who I soon learned to be what might be called a half idiot.  He told me that his name was Buckley.  I had quite a pleasant chat with him and spent about two hours with him, lounging around, talking about his sheep.  I asked if he had raised his sheep, and where his winter range was.

He said he had not owned the sheep but a short time.  I asked him if he had bought them here in this country.  He said he had not, but got them on the other side of the mountain in the Rogue river country.  I asked him if he owned them alone, whereupon he informed me that he had a partner in the sheep business.  I asked him what his partner’s name was, and he told me it was John Barton.  I asked where his partner lived, and he said that he lived down on the Umpqua river and was running a ferry.