SOWING WILD OATS
The results from driving cattle north were a surprise to every one. My
employers were delighted with their experiment, the general expense of
handling the herd not exceeding fifty cents a head. The enterprise had
netted over fifty-two thousand dollars, the saddle horses had returned
in good condition, while due credit was given me in the general
management. From my sale accounts I made out a statement, and once my
expenses were approved it was an easy matter to apportion each owner
his just dues in the season's drive. This over I was free to go my
way. The only incident of moment in the final settlement was the
waggish contention of one of the owners, who expressed amazement that
I ever remitted any funds or returned, roguishly admitting that no
one expected it. Then suddenly, pretending to have discovered the
governing motive, he summoned Miss Gertrude, and embarrassed her with
a profusion of thanks, averring that she alone had saved him from a
loss of four hundred beeves.
The next move was to redeem my land scrip. The surveyor was anxious
to buy a portion of it, but I was too rich to part with even a single
section. During our conversation, however, it developed that he held
his commission from the State, and when I mentioned my intention of
locating land, he made application to do the surveying. The fact that
I expected to make my locations in another county made no difference
to a free-lance official, and accordingly we came to an agreement. The
apple of my eye was a valley on the Clear Fork, above its juncture
with the main Brazos, and from maps in the surveyor's office I was
able to point out the locality where I expected to make my locations.
He proved an obliging official and gave me all the routine details,
and an appointment was made with him to report a week later at the
Edwards ranch. A wagon and cook would be necessary, chain carriers
and flagmen must be taken along, and I began skirmishing about for an
outfit. The three hired men who had been up the trail with me were
still in the country, and I engaged them and secured a cook. George
Edwards loaned me a wagon and two yoke of oxen, even going along
himself for company. The commissary was outfitted for a month's stay,
and a day in advance of the expected arrival of the surveyor the
outfit was started up the Brazos. Each of the men had one or more
private horses, and taking all of mine along, we had a remuda of
thirty odd saddle horses. George and I remained behind, and on the
arrival of the surveyor we rode by way of Palo Pinto, the county seat,
to which all unorganized territory to the west was attached for legal
purposes. Our chief motive in passing the town was to see if there
were any lands located near the juncture of the Clear Fork with the
mother stream, and thus secure an established corner from which to
begin our survey. But the records showed no land taken up around the
confluence of these watercourses, making it necessary to establish a
corner.
Under the old customs, handed down from the Spanish to the Texans,
corners were always established from natural landmarks. The union of
creeks arid rivers, mounds, lagoons, outcropping of rock, in fact
anything unchangeable and established by nature, were used as a point
of commencement. In the locating of Spanish land grants a century and
a half previous, sand-dunes were frequently used, and when these old
concessions became of value and were surveyed, some of the corners had
shifted a mile or more by the action of the wind and seasons on the
sand-hills. Accordingly, on overtaking our outfit we headed for the
juncture of the Brazos and Clear Fork, reaching our destination the
second day. The first thing was to establish a corner or commencement
point. Some heavy timber grew around the confluence, so, selecting an
old patriarch pin oak between the two streams, we notched the tree
and ran a line to low water at the juncture of the two rivers. Other
witness trees were established and notched, lines were run at angles
to the banks of either stream, and a hole was dug two feet deep
between the roots of the pin oak, a stake set therein, and the
excavation filled with charcoal and covered. A legal corner or
commencement point was thus established; but as the land that I
coveted lay some distance up the Clear Fork, it was necessary first to
run due south six miles and establish a corner, and thence run west
the same distance and locate another one.
The thirty sections of land scrip would entitle me to a block of
ground five by six miles in extent, and I concluded to locate the bulk
of it on the south side of the Clear Fork. A permanent camp was now
established, the actual work of locating the land requiring about ten
days, when the surveyor and Edwards set out on their return. They were
to touch at the county seat, record the established corners and
file my locations, leaving the other boys and me behind. It was my
intention to build a corral and possibly a cabin on the land, having
no idea that we would remain more than a few weeks longer. Timber was
plentiful, and, selecting a site well out on the prairie, we began the
corral. It was no easy task; palisades were cut twelve feet long and
out of durable woods, and the gate-posts were fourteen inches in
diameter at the small end, requiring both yoke of oxen to draw them
to the chosen site. The latter were cut two feet longer than the
palisades, the extra length being inserted in the ground, giving them
a stability to carry the bars with which the gateway was closed. Ten
days were spent in cutting and drawing timber, some of the larger
palisades being split in two so as to enable five men to load them on
the wagon. The digging of the narrow trench, five feet deep, in which
the palisades were set upright, was a sore trial; but the ground was
sandy, and by dint of perseverance it was accomplished. Instead of
a few weeks, over a month was spent on the corral, but when it was
finished it would hold a thousand stampeding cattle through the
stormiest night that ever blew.
After finishing the corral we hunted a week. The country was alive
with game of all kinds, even an occasional buffalo, while wild and
unbranded cattle were seen daily. None of the men seemed anxious to
leave the valley, but the commissary had to be replenished, so two of
us made the trip to Belknap with a pack horse, returning the next day
with meal, sugar, and coffee. A cabin was begun and completed in ten
days, a crude but stable affair, with clapboard roof, clay floor,
and ample fireplace. It was now late in September, and as the usual
branding season was at hand, cow-hunting outfits might be expected to
pass down the valley. The advantage of corrals would naturally make my
place headquarters for cowmen, and we accordingly settled down until
the branding season was over. But the abundance of mavericks and wild
cattle was so tempting that we had three hundred under herd when the
first cow-hunting outfits arrived. At one lake on what is now known
as South Prairie, in a single moonlight night, we roped and tied down
forty head, the next morning finding thirty of them unbranded and
therefore unowned. All tame cattle would naturally water in the
daytime, and anything coming in at night fell a victim to our ropes. A
wooden toggle was fastened with rawhide to its neck, so it would trail
between its forelegs, to prevent running, when the wild maverick was
freed and allowed to enter the herd. After a week or ten days, if an
animal showed any disposition to quiet down, it was again thrown,
branded, and the toggle removed. We corralled the little herd every
night, adding to it daily, scouting far and wide for unowned or wild
cattle. But when other outfits came up or down the valley of the Clear
Fork we joined forces with them, tendering our corrals for branding
purposes, our rake-off being the mavericks and eligible strays. Many
a fine quarter of beef was left at our cabin by passing ranchmen, and
when the gathering ended we had a few over five hundred cattle for our
time and trouble.
Fine weather favored us and we held the mavericks under herd until
late in December. The wild ones gradually became gentle, and with
constant handling these wild animals were located until they would
come in of their own accord for the privilege of sleeping in a corral.
But when winter approached the herd was turned free, that the cattle
might protect themselves from storms, and we gathered our few effects
together and started for the settlements. It was with reluctance that
I left that primitive valley. Somehow or other, primal conditions
possessed a charm for me which, coupled with an innate love of the
land and the animals that inhabit it, seemed to influence and outline
my future course of life. The pride of possession was mine; with my
own hands and abilities had I earned the land, while the overflow from
a thousand hills stocked my new ranch. I was now the owner of lands
and cattle; my father in his palmiest days never dreamed of such
possessions as were mine, while youth and opportunity encouraged me to
greater exertions.
We reached the Edwards ranch a few days before Christmas. The boys
were settled with and returned to their homes, and I was once more
adrift. Forty odd calves had been branded as the increase of my
mavericking of the year before, and, still basking in the smile of
fortune, I found a letter awaiting me from Major Seth Mabry of Austin,
anxious to engage my services as a trail foreman for the coming
summer. I had met Major Seth the spring before at Abilene, and was
instrumental in finding him a buyer for his herd, and otherwise we
became fast friends. There were no outstanding obligations to my
former employers, so when a protest was finally raised against my
going, I had the satisfaction of vouching for George Edwards, to the
manner born, and a better range cowman than I was. The same group of
ranchmen expected to drive another herd the coming spring, and I made
it a point to see each one personally, urging that nothing but choice
cattle should be sent up the trail. My long acquaintance with the
junior Edwards enabled me to speak emphatically and to the point,
and I lectured him thoroughly as to the requirements of the Abilene
market.
I notified Major Mabry that I would be on hand within a month. The
holiday season soon passed, and leaving my horses at the Edwards
ranch, I saddled the most worthless one and started south. The trip
was uneventful, except that I traded horses twice, reaching my
destination within a week, having seen no country en route that could
compare with the valley of the Clear Fork. The capital city was a
straggling village on the banks of the Colorado River, inert through
political usurpation, yet the home of many fine people. Quite a number
of cowmen resided there, owning ranches in outlying and adjoining
counties, among them being my acquaintance of the year before and
present employer. It was too early by nearly a month to begin active
operations, and I contented myself about town, making the acquaintance
of other cowmen and their foremen who expected to drive that year.
New Orleans had previously been the only outlet for beef cattle
in southern Texas, and even in the spring of '69 very few had any
confidence of a market in the north. Major Mabry, however, was going
to drive two herds to Abilene, one of beeves and the other of younger
steers, dry cows, and thrifty two-year-old heifers, and I was to
have charge of the heavy cattle. Both herds would be put up in Llano
County, it being the intention to start with the grass. Mules were to
be worked to the wagons, oxen being considered too slow, while both
outfits were to be mounted seven horses to the man.
During my stay at Austin I frequently made inquiry for land scrip.
Nearly all the merchants had more or less, the current prices being
about five cents an acre. There was a clear distinction, however,
in case one was a buyer or seller, the former being shown every
attention. I allowed the impression to circulate that I would buy,
which brought me numerous offers, and before leaving the town I
secured twenty sections for five hundred dollars. I needed just that
amount to cover a four-mile bend of the Clear Fork on the west end of
my new ranch,--a possession which gave me ten miles of that virgin
valley. My employer congratulated me on my investment, and assured
me that if the people ever overthrew the Reconstruction usurpers
the public domain would no longer be bartered away for chips and
whetstones. I was too busy to take much interest in the political
situation, and, so long as I was prosperous and employed, gave little
heed to politics.
Major Mabry owned a ranch and extensive cattle interests northwest in
Llano County. As we expected to start the herds as early as possible,
the latter part of February found us at the ranch actively engaged in
arranging for the summer's work. There were horses to buy, wagons to
outfit, and hands to secure, and a busy fortnight was spent in getting
ready for the drive. The spring before I had started out in debt; now,
on permission being given me, I bought ten horses for my own use and
invested the balance of my money in four yoke of oxen. Had I remained
in Palo Pinto County the chances were that I might have enlarged my
holdings in the coming drive, as in order to have me remain several
offered to sell me cattle on credit. But so long as I was enlarging my
experience I was content, while the wages offered me were double what
I received the summer before.
We went into camp and began rounding up near the middle of March. All
classes of cattle were first gathered into one herd, after which the
beeves were cut separate and taken charge of by my outfit. We gathered
a few over fifteen hundred of the latter, all prairie-raised cattle,
four years old or over, and in the single ranch brand of my employer.
Major Seth had also contracted for one thousand other beeves, and it
became our duty to receive them. These outside contingents would have
to be road-branded before starting, as they were in a dozen or more
brands, the work being done in a chute built for that purpose. My
employer and I fully agreed on the quality of cattle to be received,
and when possible we both passed on each tender of beeves before
accepting them. The two herds were being held separate, and a friendly
rivalry existed between the outfits as to which herd would be ready
to start first. It only required a few days extra to receive and
road-brand the outside cattle, when all were ready to start. As Major
Seth knew the most practical route, in deference to his years and
experience I insisted that he should take the lead until after Red
River was crossed. I had been urging the Chisholm trail in preference
to more eastern ones, and with the compromise that I should take the
lead after passing Fort Worth, the two herds started on the last day
of March.
There was no particular trail to follow. The country was all open,
and the grass was coming rapidly, while the horses and cattle were
shedding their winter coats with the change of the season. Fine
weather favored us, no rains at night and few storms, and within two
weeks we passed Fort Worth, after which I took the lead. I remember
that at the latter point I wrote a letter to the elder Edwards,
inclosing my land scrip, and asking him to send a man out to my new
ranch occasionally to see that the improvements were not destroyed.
Several herds had already passed the fort, their destination being the
same as ours, and from thence onward we had the advantage of following
a trail. As we neared Red River, nearly all the herds bore off to the
eastward, but we held our course, crossing into the Chickasaw Nation
at the regular Chisholm ford. A few beggarly Indians, renegades from
the Kiowas and Comanches on the west, annoyed us for the first week,
but were easily appeased with a lame or stray beef. The two herds held
rather close together as a matter of mutual protection, as in some
of the encampments were fully fifty lodges with possibly as many
able-bodied warriors. But after crossing the Washita River no further
trouble was encountered from the natives, and we swept northward at
the steady pace of an advancing army. Other herds were seen in our
rear and front, and as we neared the Kansas line several long columns
of cattle were sighted coming in over the safer eastern routes.
The last lap of the drive was reached. A fortnight later we went into
camp within twelve miles of Abilene, having been on the trail two
months and eleven days. The same week we moved north of the railroad,
finding ample range within seven miles of town. Herds were coming in
rapidly, and it was important to secure good grazing grounds for our
cattle. Buyers were arriving from every territory in the Northwest,
including California, while the usual contingent of Eastern dealers,
shippers, and market-scalpers was on hand. It could hardly be said
that prices had yet opened, though several contracted herds had
already been delivered, while every purchaser was bearing the market
and prophesying a drive of a quarter million cattle. The drovers,
on the other hand, were combating every report in circulation, even
offering to wager that the arrivals of stock for the entire summer
would not exceed one hundred thousand head. Cowmen reported en route
with ten thousand beeves came in with one fifth the number, and
sellers held the whip hand, the market actually opening at better
figures than the summer before. Once prices were established, I was in
the thick of the fight, selling my oxen the first week to a freighter,
constantly on the skirmish for a buyer, and never failing to recognize
one with whom I had done business the summer before. In case Major
Mabry had nothing to suit, the herd in charge of George Edwards was
always shown, and I easily effected two sales, aggregating fifteen
hundred head, from the latter cattle, with customers of the year
previous.
But my zeal for bartering in cattle came to a sudden end near the
close of June. A conservative estimate of the arrivals then in sight
or known to be en route for Abilene was placed at one hundred and
fifty thousand cattle. Yet instead of any weakening in prices, they
seemed to strengthen with the influx of buyers from the corn regions,
as the prospects of the season assured a bountiful new crop. Where
States had quarantined against Texas cattle the law was easily
circumvented by a statement that the cattle were immune from having
wintered in the north, which satisfied the statutes--as there was no
doubt but they had wintered somewhere. Steer cattle of acceptable age
and smoothness of build were in demand by feeders; all classes in fact
felt a stimulus. My beeves were sold for delivery north of Cheyenne,
Wyoming, the buyers, who were ranchmen as well as army contractors,
taking the herd complete, including the remuda and wagon. Under the
terms, the cattle were to start immediately and be grazed through. I
was given until the middle of September to reach my destination, and
at once moved out on a northwest course. On reaching the Republican
River, we followed it to the Colorado line, and then tacked north
for Cheyenne. Reporting our progress to the buyers, we were met and
directed to pass to the eastward of that village, where we halted
a week, and seven hundred of the fattest beeves were cut out for
delivery at Fort Russell. By various excuses we were detained until
frost fell before we reached the ranch, and a second and a third
contingent of beeves were cut out for other deliveries, making it
nearly the middle of October before I was finally relieved.
With the exception of myself, a new outfit of men had been secured at
Abilene. Some of them were retained at the ranch of the contractors,
the remainder being discharged, all of us returning to Cheyenne
together, whence we scattered to the four winds. I spent a week in
Denver, meeting Charlie Goodnight, who had again fought his way up the
Pecos route and delivered his cattle to the contractors at Fort Logan.
Continuing homeward, I took the train for Abilene, hesitating whether
to stop there or visit my brother in Missouri before returning to
Texas. I had twelve hundred dollars with me, as the proceeds of my
wages, horses, and oxen, and, feeling rather affluent, I decided to
stop over a day at the new trail town. I knew the market was virtually
over, and what evil influence ever suggested my stopping at Abilene
is unexplainable. But I did stop, and found things just as I
expected,--everybody sold out and gone home. A few trail foremen were
still hanging around the town under the pretense of attending to
unsettled business, and these welcomed me with a fraternal greeting.
Two of them who had served in the Confederate army came to me and
frankly admitted that they were broke, and begged me to help them
out of town by redeeming their horses and saddles. Feed bills had
accumulated and hotel accounts were unpaid; the appeals of the rascals
would have moved a stone to pity.
The upshot of the whole matter was that I bought a span of mules and
wagon and invited seven of the boys to accompany me overland to Texas.
My friends insisted that we could sell the outfit in the lower country
for more than cost, but before I got out of town my philanthropic
venture had absorbed over half my savings. As long as I had money the
purse seemed a public one, and all the boys borrowed just as freely as
if they expected to repay it. I am sure they felt grateful, and had I
been one of the needy no doubt any of my friends would have shared his
purse with me.
It was a delightful trip across the Indian Territory, and we reached
Sherman, Texas, just before the holidays. Every one had become tired
of the wagon, and I was fortunate enough to sell it without loss.
Those who had saddle horses excused themselves and hurried home for
the Christmas festivities, leaving a quartette of us behind. But
before the remainder of us proceeded to our destinations two of the
boys discovered a splendid opening for a monte game, in which we could
easily recoup all our expenses for the trip. I was the only dissenter
to the programme, not even knowing the game; but under the pressure
which was brought to bear I finally yielded, and became banker for my
friends. The results are easily told. The second night there was heavy
play, and before ten o'clock the monte bank closed for want of funds,
it having been tapped for its last dollar. The next morning I took
stage for Dallas, where I arrived with less than twenty dollars, and
spent the most miserable Christmas day of my life. I had written
George Edwards from Denver that I expected to go to Missouri, and
asked him to take my horses and go out to the little ranch and brand
my calves. There was no occasion now to contradict my advice of that
letter, neither would I go near the Edwards ranch, yet I hungered for
that land scrip and roundly cursed myself for being a fool. It would
be two months and a half before spring work opened, and what to do in
the mean time was the one absorbing question. My needs were too urgent
to allow me to remain idle long, and, drifting south, working when
work was to be had, at last I reached the home of my soldier crony
in Washington County, walking and riding in country wagons the
last hundred miles of the distance. No experience in my life ever
humiliated me as that one did, yet I have laughed about it since.
I may have previously heard of riches taking wings, but in this
instance, now mellowed by time, no injustice will be done by simply
recording it as the parting of a fool and his money.