What One Sheep Rancher Did--Entertaining a Hobo--A Practical Joke.
About the year 1877, an extensive sheep ranch was established in the
Panhandle by a Mr. Southerland. He came from California and bought up the
range in the neighborhood of the Adobe Walls, for the purpose of
transferring his flocks from that far off State, where the grazing was
getting very scarce, to the northern part of Texas, where there abounded
better opportunities for pasturage. He was not the only one to cast a
longing eye upon that territory, for many cattlemen from the same State as
Mr. S--, also visited the Panhandle district looking for grazing grounds.
As Mr. S. was the first to acquire rights there, the story in this chapter
will deal with his men and his flocks.
When he returned to California after securing the title to the property,
he sent his step-son, Bill Anderson, in charge of the drive from his
native State to the new range. Besides the thousands of sheep that were in
his care he brought along a few hundred head of horses and burros with
enough Mexican help to make the drive successful. Of course, there was
quite an outfit of mules and wagons to transport the equipage of an
expedition of this kind. There was no opportunity of going to the corner
grocery for supplies, nor was there any chance of securing them along the
way, as the journey led over hills, mountains and canyons, amongst wild
tribes of Indians, from California to Texas. It was a tremendous
undertaking, but Bill was equal to the occasion.
He was a man of iron nerve, a good shot with either six-shooter or
winchester and his skill and daring in roping wild animals excited the
admiration of even the hardiest of his followers. It was a common thing
for him to ride into a herd of buffalo, rope and hog-tie one, and then
turn him loose again, just, as he used to say, to show the boys how it was
done. Along with his great physical courage and fortitude, there existed
another quality often found in men of rugged health and spirits. Bill was
a practical joker, and in the pursuit of his endeavors to provoke a laugh
he spared neither age, sex, nor previous condition of servitude. It seems
to me that I can hear his merry laughter ringing in my ears though many
years have passed since I had the pleasure of being in his company. His
was a sunny disposition and the dark side of a cloud never appealed to
him. He saw the brightness ahead long before it was visible to others.
Such was the leader of the expedition that set out from California, and
many a merry yarn or joke lessened the burden of the long drive.
At the outset of the journey, the Mexican herders were started off with a
supply of bacon and coffee, besides having burros laden with bedding and
other utensils. He divided the whole flock into smaller sections, each
with a herder in charge. They moved along in close proximity to one
another for the sake of company as they would likely be out on the road
for weeks, and would return to camp only when in want of provisions. If
fresh meat were wanted, all they had to do was to kill a lamb, or procure
some of the wild game that infested the way, such as antelope, wild
turkeys, prairie chickens, quail and other game. Their horses did not
require much attention as there was plenty of grass and water was easily
located.
Thus they kept on their way during the long weeks, day succeeding day with
the same monotonous routine. Finally they reached their range in safety,
glad that the long and tedious journey was completed. Here they made their
first improvements in the way of a settled habitation. They constructed a
dugout and covered it over with poles and willows. On these they piled a
layer of soil to turn the rain. The furnishing of the dugout was of the
simplest kind. A split log to sit on, a table made in the same way with
sapplings for legs, was all they had in the way of household furniture.
Their bedchamber consisted of the open prairie with the blue sky above
them for a canopy. This done, they were at home for friends and neighbors.
Among the members of the outfit that followed Anderson from California,
was a faithful and trusted employee named James Farrell. He had been with
them for years and was one of the family. He was a shrewd man and one hard
to deceive. One thing he felt proud of was that Bill Anderson never
succeeded in working off a practical joke at his expense. He boasted of
the fact that Bill had often tried, but always failed and he felt
confident that he would never succeed. And thereby hangs the following
tale:
One day as Bill was sitting in front of the dugout doing nothing in
particular and having lots of time to do it in, he spied a man in the
distance coming toward him on foot. This was something very unusual in
those days, as a man on foot in the prairie is very much like a man in the
middle of the Atlantic, he feels as though he is twenty miles from nowhere
and does not know how to get there. Bill came to the conclusion that the
man afoot was some cow-puncher that had been thrown from his horse. He
soon discovered his mistake, for the stranger proved to be a veritable
hobo. He gave no information regarding himself, and it was impossible to
find out anything about him, whence he came, or what profession he
followed to gain a livelihood. He manifested an interest in only one thing
and that was when meal time came. Then he was a whirlwind of energy. He
had been invited to take a supper with the outfit, and Bill even went so
far as to divide his blanket with him, favors which the hobo appreciated
so much that he continued to stay for meals and share the proprietor's
blanket. Time passed on, as time usually does, and the sign of taking his
departure. In fact he seemed so much at home that it seemed impossible to
drive him away. Weeks went by, but still the hobo was not accused of
showing any inclination to work except when the table was to be cleared of
provisions. However, all good things come to an end, and Bill felt that he
had done all that the laws of Western hospitality required and felt
impelled to do something to rid himself of his unwelcome guest. He thought
the matter over carefully. If he offered the hobo a job, the latter turned
the subject of conversation into politics or something else. It was
useless to hint to the star boarder that the climate of other localities
might be better for his health. He seemed proof against hints,
invitations, or even mildly expressed wishes that he would take his
departure. Nothing but personal violence would rid them of his company,
and they were loath to do that. Bill began to worry over the matter. He
went around with a thoughtful look as though he had something serious on
his mind. Finally he determined to lay the matter before Jim to see if he
could not suggest some way to be rid of a guest, who was not only a burden
but a nuisance. After some reflection, it was decided that Jim was to act
crazy, and some time or other when all were assembled at the table, at a
given sign, he was to give a jump, knock over the table, stick his dirk
into one of the rafters of the dugout, and grab his gun and begin to shoot
up the place. Of course, he was not to kill anybody, but the purpose was
to stampede the hobo and set him on his way over the hills to other
localities where he might have an opportunity of showing his staying
qualities.
The next day it happened that Bill and the hobo were down at the corral to
brand some colts. It dawned upon the proprietor that right here was a
brilliant opportunity for a practical joke and at the same time put an end
to Jim's assertions that he could not be tricked by any practical
jokesmith on either side of the Rockies. It made Bill smile. He took a
look around to see if Jim was in the neighborhood and found him sitting
at the door of the dugout braiding a lariat. With an air of simplicity,
and trustfulness he told the hobo that he had something to tell him; that
he was thinking of telling it to him some time ago, and that was as good
an opportunity as would present itself to him to do so. "You know," said
he, in a guileless manner, "Jim has been with me for a number of years and
I have found him one of the best fellows that I have ever known. He is
trusty, and is a good judge of stock. I can rely on him at all times and
he takes as much interest in the work and the ranch as I do myself.
However, he has been a cause of much worry to me. I do not like to tell my
troubles to others but I find I must tell it to someone. I have taken
quite a shine to you and I feel that the confidence I place in you will
not be abused. Well, to bring the matter to a focus, I must tell you that
Jim is subject to spells, and when in that condition is likely to be quite
dangerous. The cause of his condition is this. A few years ago, out in
California he was thrown from his horse and in falling his head struck a
stone. He was quite delirious for a long time. He grew out of his
condition after a year or so, but at certain periods he has a return of
his old illness and is likely to turn things topsy-turvy before we can get
him quited. We have tried everything in the medical line, but it was no
use. We found out by accident, one day, that the only thing that would
restore him to his senses was a jar on the head. He had one of his spells
and made an attack on one of the hands with a knife. The man in
desperation let fly at Jim with his fist and knocked him senseless for
about ten minutes. When he recovered from the blow, he was as rational as
any of us. I know it is painful for us to have to lay violent hands on the
poor fellow, but it must be done, and besides, Jim is very thankful for
our doing it, as he has a very tender heart and would not for anything in
the world be the cause of injury to anyone. The reason I am telling you
this is that I may have to be away some time or other and as you are
pretty well acquainted with the run of things around the ranch, you will
know what to do if the poor fellow has one of those sudden attacks. You
may not feel like doing it, but he will thank you for it when he has
recovered, and besides, Jim thinks a lot of you. When I was leaving
California I promised my poor old mother that I would look after Jim and
see that no harm came, to him on account of his weakness."
When Bill returned to the dug-out, it would not take a mind-reader long to
figure out that there was something going to happen. He kept his face
straight, but he could not conceal the merry twinkle of his eye. He kept
the cause of his merriment to himself, but frequently he would take a look
out of the corner of his eye at Jim and if Jim was not looking, a smile
would spread over his countenance. The thought of working a practical joke
on Jim was too much for him at times and he would have to go outside to
conceal his feelings.
Things went along thus for a few days, but the tension became too great
for him to control himself any longer. One day, at dinner he gave the
pre-arranged signal to Jim. With a yell Jim jumped up upset the table and
spilled the contents all over the floor of the dug-out, grabbed his dirk
and stuck it into the rafter of the dug-out, then pulled his six-shooter
and let blaze. He ploughed up the earthern floor with some of the bullets,
others he sent flying through the roof. All the while he was yelling like
a Comanche Indian on the warpath. By the time he had emptied his gun, the
place was filled with smoke. At the first shot Bill and the others filed
through the door, or rather threw themselves through it, but the hobo
mindful of the instructions given him some time before, worked his way
around through the smoke until he came within arm's length of Jim. He
summoned up all his strength and let fly one of his fists. It was a mighty
blow, delivered with care. It landed on the side of Jim's head and sent
him reeling and senseless into a pile of gunny-sacks lying in the corner.
With an eye to the necessity of further ministrations if necessary, he
stood looking at the poor fellow lying there. In a minute or more, Jim
opened his eyes and reached for his gun. It was empty of course, and he
reached for his cartridge box also. Bill looked in through the door when
he heard no noise. He saw what Jim was doing and also noted by the flare
in his eyes that there was going to be moments of activity there as soon
as he succeeded in getting the chambers of his 45 filled. He took one look
at the hobo, and uttered the word "run." Without waiting any further
instructions, the hobo fairly flew through the door and bounded away like
a cat pursued by a bull dog. Jim dashed for the door with his weapon ready
for vengeance. He saw the fleeing figure bounding over the prairie and let
fly at him with the six-shooter. Happily for all concerned, he was too
excited to take aim, and consequently all of his shots went wild. Every
shot seemed to increase the speed of the swiftly running hobo. He was over
the hill and far away in about the shortest time he ever made. Jim looked
around the end of the dug-out and found Bill and his companions rolling on
the ground and holding their sides with laughter. He realized immediately
that there was something strange about the whole affair. It seemed more
than he could stand. "Bill Anderson," said he, "I believe you are at the
bottom of all this. If I were certain of it I would send you back to
California on a pair of wooden legs, but out of respect for your good old
mother whose feeling I would not like to hurt on account of a 'bloody
spalpeen' like you, I want to warn you never to do the like of it again."
Jim never afterwards made the boast that he could not be tricked by any
one on either side of the Rockies.
Bill sold out the ranch sometime afterwards for $125,000, and the last I
saw of him he was setting out for Old Mexico.
If Jim ever had any more crazy spells, I never heard of it.