SUMMER OF '68
The death of Mr. Loving ended my employment in driving cattle to Fort
Sumner. The junior member of the firm was anxious to continue the
trade then established, but the absence of any protection against the
Indians, either state or federal, was hopeless. Texas was suffering
from the internal troubles of Reconstruction, the paternal government
had small concern for the welfare of a State recently in arms against
the Union, and there was little or no hope for protection of life or
property under existing conditions. The outfit was accordingly paid
off, and I returned with George Edwards to his father's ranch. The
past eighteen months had given me a strenuous schooling, but I had
emerged on my feet, feeling that once more I was entitled to a place
among men. The risk that had been incurred by the drovers acted like a
physical stimulant, the outdoor life had hardened me like iron, and
I came out of the crucible bright with the hope of youth and buoyant
with health and strength.
Meanwhile there had sprung up a small trade in cattle with the North.
Baxter Springs and Abilene, both in Kansas, were beginning to be
mentioned as possible markets, light drives having gone to those
points during the present and previous summers. The elder Edwards had
been investigating the new outlet, and on the return of George and
myself was rather enthusiastic over the prospects of a market. No
Indian trouble had been experienced on the northern route, and
although demand generally was unsatisfactory, the faith of drovers
in the future was unshaken. A railroad had recently reached Abilene,
stockyards had been built for the accommodation of shippers during the
summer of 1861, while a firm of shrewd, far-seeing Yankees made great
pretensions of having established a market and meeting-point for
buyers and sellers of Texas cattle. The promoters of the scheme had a
contract with the railroad, whereby they were to receive a bonus on
all cattle shipped from that point, and the Texas drovers were offered
every inducement to make Abilene their destination in the future. The
unfriendliness of other States against Texas cattle, caused by the
ravages of fever imparted by southern to domestic animals, had
resulted in quarantine being enforced against all stock from the
South. Matters were in an unsettled condition, and less than one per
cent of the State's holdings of cattle had found an outside market
during the year 1867, though ranchmen in general were hopeful.
I spent the remainder of the month of October at the Edwards ranch. We
had returned in time for the fall branding, and George and I both made
acceptable hands at the work. I had mastered the art of handling a
rope, and while we usually corralled everything, scarcely a day passed
but occasion occurred to rope wild cattle out of the brush. Anxiety to
learn soon made me an expert, and before the month ended I had caught
and branded for myself over one hundred mavericks. Cattle were so
worthless that no one went to the trouble to brand completely; the
crumbs were acceptable to me, and, since no one else cared for them
and I did, the flotsam and jetsam of the range fell to my brand. Had I
been ambitious, double that number could have been easily secured, but
we never went off the home range in gathering calves to brand. All
the hands on the Edwards ranch, darkies and Mexicans, were constantly
throwing into the corrals and pointing out unclaimed cattle, while I
threw and indelibly ran the figures "44" on their sides. I was partial
to heifers, and when one was sighted there was no brush so thick or
animal so wild that it was not "fish" to my rope. In many instances a
cow of unknown brand was still followed by her two-year-old, yearling,
and present calf. Under the customs of the country, any unbranded
animal, one year old or over, was a maverick, and the property of any
one who cared to brand the unclaimed stray. Thousands of cattle thus
lived to old age, multiplied and increased, died and became food for
worms, unowned.
The branding over, I soon grew impatient to be doing something. There
would be no movement in cattle before the following spring, and a
winter of idleness was not to my liking. Buffalo hunting had lost its
charm with me, the contentious savages were jealous of any intrusion
on their old hunting grounds, and, having met them on numerous
occasions during the past eighteen months, I had no further desire to
cultivate their acquaintance. I still owned my horse, now acclimated,
and had money in my purse, and one morning I announced my intention
of visiting my other comrades in Texas. Protests were made against
my going, and as an incentive to have me remain, the elder Edwards
offered to outfit George and me the following spring with a herd of
cattle and start us to Kansas. I was anxious for employment, but
assuring my host that he could count on my services, I still
pleaded my anxiety to see other portions of the State and renew old
acquaintances. The herd could not possibly start before the middle of
April, so telling my friends that I would be on hand to help gather
the cattle, I saddled my horse and took leave of the hospitable ranch.
After a week of hard riding I reached the home of a former comrade on
the Colorado River below Austin. A hearty welcome awaited me, but
the apparent poverty of the family made my visit rather a brief one.
Continuing eastward, my next stop was in Washington County, one of the
oldest settled communities in the State. The blight of Reconstruction
seemed to have settled over the people like a pall, the frontier
having escaped it. But having reached my destination, I was determined
to make the best of it. At the house of my next comrade I felt a
little more at home, he having married since his return and being
naturally of a cheerful disposition. For a year previous to the
surrender he and I had wrangled beef for the Confederacy and had been
stanch cronies. We had also been in considerable mischief together;
and his wife seemed to know me by reputation as well as I knew her
husband. Before the wire edge wore off my visit I was as free with the
couple as though they had been my own brother and sister. The fact
was all too visible that they were struggling with poverty, though
lightened by cheerfulness, and to remain long a guest would have
been an imposition; accordingly I began to skirmish for something to
do--anything, it mattered not what. The only work in sight was with a
carpet-bag dredging company, improving the lower Brazos River, under a
contract from the Reconstruction government of the State. My old crony
pleaded with me to have nothing to do with the job, offering to share
his last crust with me; but then he had not had all the animosities of
the war roughed out of him, and I had. I would work for a Federal as
soon as any one else, provided he paid me the promised wage, and,
giving rein to my impulse, I made application at the dredging
headquarters and was put in charge of a squad of negroes.
I was to have sixty dollars a month and board. The company operated
a commissary store, a regular "pluck-me" concern, and I shortly
understood the incentive in offering me such good wages. All employees
were encouraged and expected to draw their pay in supplies, which were
sold at treble their actual value from the commissary. I had been
raised among negroes, knew how to humor and handle them, the work was
easy, and I drifted along with all my faculties alert. Before long I
saw that the improvement of the river was the least of the company's
concern, the employment of a large number of men being the chief
motive, so long as they drew their wages in supplies. True,
we scattered a few lodgments of driftwood; with the aid of a
flat-bottomed scow we windlassed up and cut out a number of old snags,
felled trees into the river to prevent erosion of its banks, and we
built a large number of wind-dams to straighten or change the channel.
It seemed to be a blanket contract,--a reward to the faithful,--and
permitted of any number of extras which might be charged for at any
figures the contractors saw fit to make. At the end of the first month
I naturally looked for my wages. Various excuses were made, but I was
cordially invited to draw anything needed from the commissary.
A second month passed, during which time the only currency current was
in the form of land certificates. The Commonwealth of Texas, on her
admission into the Union, retained the control of her lands, over half
the entire area of the State being unclaimed at the close of the civil
war. The carpet-bag government, then in the saddle, was prodigal
to its favorites in bonuses of land to any and all kinds of public
improvement. Certificates were issued in the form of scrip calling for
sections of the public domain of six hundred and forty acres each, and
were current at from three to five cents an acre. The owner of one or
more could locate on any of the unoccupied lands of the present State
by merely surveying and recording his selection at the county seat.
The scrip was bandied about, no one caring for it, and on the
termination of my second month I was offered four sections for my
services up to date, provided I would remain longer in the company's
employ. I knew the value of land in the older States, in fact, already
had my eye on some splendid valleys on the Clear Fork, and accepted
the offered certificates. The idea found a firm lodgment in my mind,
and I traded one of my six-shooters even for a section of scrip, and
won several more in card games. I had learned to play poker in the
army,--knew the rudiments of the game at least,--and before the middle
of March I was the possessor of certificates calling for thirty
sections of land. As the time was drawing near for my return to Palo
Pinto County, I severed my connection with the dredging company and
returned to the home of my old comrade. I had left my horse with him,
and under the pretense of paying for feeding the animal well for the
return trip, had slipped my crony a small gold piece several times
during the winter. He ridiculed me over my land scrip, but I was
satisfied, and after spending a day with the couple I started on my
return.
Evidences of spring were to be seen on every hand. My ride northward
was a race with the season, but I outrode the coming grass, the
budding trees, the first flowers, and the mating birds, and reached
the Edwards ranch on the last day of March. Any number of cattle had
already been tendered in making up the herd, over half the saddle
horses necessary were in hand or promised, and they were only awaiting
my return. I had no idea what the requirements of the Kansas market
were, and no one else seemed to know, but it was finally decided to
drive a mixed herd of twenty-five hundred by way of experiment. The
promoters of the Abilene market had flooded Texas with advertising
matter during the winter, urging that only choice cattle should be
driven, yet the information was of little value where local customs
classified all live stock. A beef was a beef, whether he weighed eight
or twelve hundred pounds, a cow was a cow when over three years old,
and so on to the end of the chapter. From a purely selfish motive of
wanting strong cattle for the trip, I suggested that nothing under
three-year-olds should be used in making up the herd, a preference to
be given matured beeves. George Edwards also favored the idea, and as
our experience in trailing cattle carried some little weight, orders
were given to gather nothing that had not age, flesh, and strength for
the journey.
I was to have fifty dollars a month and furnish my own mount. Horses
were cheap, but I wanted good ones, and after skirmishing about I
secured four to my liking in return for one hundred dollars in gold.
I still had some money left from my wages in driving cattle to Fort
Sumner, and I began looking about for oxen in which to invest
the remainder. Having little, I must be very careful and make my
investment in something staple; and remembering the fine prices
current in Colorado the spring before for work cattle, I offered to
supply the oxen for the commissary. My proposal was accepted, and
accordingly I began making inquiry for wagon stock. Finally I heard of
a freight outfit in the adjoining county east, the owner of which had
died the winter before, the administrator offering his effects
for sale. I lost no time in seeing the oxen and hunting up their
custodian, who proved to be a frontier surveyor at the county seat.
There were two teams of six yoke each, fine cattle, and I had hopes
of being able to buy six or eight oxen. But the surveyor insisted on
selling both teams, offering to credit me on any balance if I could
give him security. I had never mentioned my land scrip to any one,
and wishing to see if it had any value, I produced and tendered the
certificates to the surveyor. He looked them over, made a computation,
and informed me that they were worth in his county about five cents an
acre, or nearly one thousand dollars. He also offered to accept them
as security, assuring me that he could use some of them in locating
lands for settlers. But it was not my idea to sell the land scrip,
and a trade was easily effected on the twenty-four oxen, yokes, and
chains, I paying what money I could spare and leaving the certificates
for security on the balance. As I look back over an eventful life, I
remember no special time in which I felt quite as rich as the evening
that I drove into the Edwards ranch with twelve yoke of oxen chained
together in one team. The darkies and Mexicans gathered about, even
the family, to admire the big fellows, and I remember a thrill which
shivered through me as Miss Gertrude passed down the column, kindly
patting each near ox as though she felt a personal interest in my
possessions.
We waited for good grass before beginning the gathering. Half a
dozen round-ups on the home range would be all that was necessary in
completing the numbers allotted to the Edwards ranch. Three other
cowmen were going to turn in a thousand head and furnish and mount a
man each, there being no occasion to road-brand, as every one knew the
ranch, brands which would go to make up the herd. An outfit of twelve
men was considered sufficient, as it was an open prairie country and
through civilized tribes between Texas and Kansas. All the darkies
and Mexicans from the home ranch who could be spared were to be taken
along, making it necessary to hire only three outside men. The drive
was looked upon as an experiment, there being no outlay of money, even
the meal and bacon which went into the commissary being supplied from
the Edwards household. The country contributed the horses and cattle,
and if the project paid out, well and good; if not there was small
loss, as they were worth nothing at home. The 20th of April was set
for starting. Three days' work on the home range and we had two
thousand cattle under herd, consisting of dry or barren cows and
steers three years old or over, fully half the latter being heavy
beeves. We culled back and trimmed our allotment down to sixteen
hundred, and when the outside contingents were thrown in we had a few
over twenty-eight hundred cattle in the herd. A Mexican was placed in
charge of the remuda, a darky, with three yoke of oxen, looked after
the commissary, and with ten mounted men around the herd we started.
Five and six horses were allotted to the man, each one had one or
two six-shooters, while half a dozen rifles of different makes were
carried in the wagon. The herd moved northward by easy marches, open
country being followed until we reached Red River, where we had the
misfortune to lose George Edwards from sickness. He was the foreman
from whom all took orders. While crossing into the Chickasaw Nation it
was necessary to swim the cattle. We cut them into small bunches, and
in fording and refording a whole afternoon was spent in the water.
Towards evening our foreman was rendered useless from a chill,
followed by fever during the night. The next morning he was worse, and
as it was necessary to move the herd out to open country, Edwards took
an old negro with him and went back to a ranch on the Texas side.
Several days afterward the darky overtook us with the word that his
master would be unable to accompany the cattle, and that I was to take
the herd through to Abilene. The negro remained with us, and at
the first opportunity I picked up another man. Within a week we
encountered a country trail, bearing slightly northwest, over which
herds had recently passed. This trace led us into another, which
followed up the south side of the Washita River, and two weeks after
reaching the Nation we entered what afterward became famous as the
Chisholm trail. The Chickasaw was one of the civilized tribes; its
members had intermarried with the whites until their identity as
Indians was almost lost. They owned fine homes and farms in the
Washita valley, were hospitable to strangers, and where the aboriginal
blood was properly diluted the women were strikingly beautiful.
In this same valley, fifteen years afterward, I saw a herd of one
thousand and seven head of corn-fed cattle. The grain was delivered at
feed-lots at ten cents a bushel, and the beeves had then been on full
feed for nine months. There were no railroads in the country and the
only outlet for the surplus corn was to feed it to cattle and drive
them to some shipping-point in Kansas.
Compared with the route to Fort Sumner, the northern one was a
paradise. No day passed but there was an abundance of water, while the
grass simply carpeted the country. We merely soldiered along, crossing
what was then one of the No-man's lands and the Cherokee Outlet, never
sighting another herd until after entering Kansas. We amused ourselves
like urchins out for a holiday, the country was full of all kinds of
game, and our darky cook was kept busy frying venison and roasting
turkeys. A calf was born on the trail, the mother of which was quite
gentle, and we broke her for a milk cow, while "Bull," the youngster,
became a great pet. A cow-skin was slung under the wagon for carrying
wood and heavy cooking utensils, and the calf was given a berth in the
hammock until he was able to follow. But when Bull became older he
hung around the wagon like a dog, preferring the company of the outfit
to that of his own mother. He soon learned to eat cold biscuit and
corn-pone, and would hang around at meal-time, ready for the scraps.
We always had to notice where the calf lay down to sleep, as he was
a black rascal, and the men were liable to stumble over him while
changing guards during the night. He never could be prevailed on to
walk with his mother, but followed the wagon or rode in his hammock,
and was always happy as a lark when the recipient of the outfit's
attentions. We sometimes secured as much as two gallons of milk a
day from the cow, but it was pitiful to watch her futile efforts at
coaxing her offspring away from the wagon.
We passed to the west of the town of Wichita and reached our
destination early in June. There I found several letters awaiting me,
with instructions to dispose of the herd or to report what was the
prospect of effecting a sale. We camped about five miles from Abilene,
and before I could post myself on cattle values half a dozen buyers
had looked the herd over. Men were in the market anxious for beef
cattle with which to fill army and Indian contracts, feeders from
Eastern States, shippers and speculators galore, cowmen looking for
she stuff with which to start new ranches, while scarcely a day passed
but inquiry was made by settlers for oxen with which to break prairie.
A dozen herds had arrived ahead of us, the market had fairly opened,
and, once I got the drift of current prices, I was as busy as a farmer
getting ready to cut his buckwheat. Every yoke of oxen was sold within
a week, one ranchman took all the cows, an army contractor took one
thousand of the largest beeves, feeders from Iowa took the younger
steers, and within six weeks after arriving I did not have a hoof
left. In the mean time I kept an account of each sale, brands and
numbers, in order to render a statement to the owners of the cattle.
As fast as the money was received I sent it home by drafts, except the
proceeds from the oxen, which was a private matter. I bought and sold
two whole remudas of horses on speculation, clearing fifteen of the
best ones and three hundred dollars on the transactions.
The facilities for handling cattle at Abilene were not completed until
late in the season of '67, yet twenty-five thousand cattle found a
market there that summer and fall. The drive of the present year
would triple that number, and every one seemed pleased with future
prospects. The town took on an air of frontier prosperity; saloons
and gambling and dance halls multiplied, and every legitimate line of
business flourished like a green bay tree. I made the acquaintance of
every drover and was generally looked upon as an extra good salesman,
the secret being in our cattle, which were choice. For instance,
Northern buyers could see three dollars a head difference in
three-year-old steers, but with the average Texan the age classified
them all alike. My boyhood knowledge of cattle had taught me the
difference, but in range dealing it was impossible to apply the
principle. I made many warm friends among both buyers and drovers,
bringing them together and effecting sales, and it was really a matter
of regret that I had to leave before the season was over. I loved the
atmosphere of dicker and traffic, had made one of the largest sales of
the season with our beeves, and was leaving, firm in the conviction
that I had overlooked no feature of the market of future value.
After selling the oxen we broke some of our saddle stock to harness,
altered the wagon tongue for horses, and started across the country
for home, taking our full remuda with us. Where I had gone up the
trail with five horses, I was going back with twenty; some of the oxen
I had sold at treble their original cost, while none of them failed
to double my money--on credit. Taking it all in all, I had never
seen such good times and made money as easily. On the back track we
followed the trail, but instead of going down the Washita as we had
come, we followed the Chisholm trail to the Texas boundary, crossing
at what was afterward known as Red River Station. From there home was
an easy matter, and after an absence of four months and five days the
outfit rode into the Edwards ranch with a flourish.