MEMORIES OF OLD MONTANA
By
Con Price
(Masachele Opa Barusha)
THE HIGHLAND PRESS
Highland at Hawthorne
HOLLYWOOD 28, CALIFORNIA
Copyright, 1945
By Con Price
All Rights Reserved
FIRST EDITION
After Deluxe edition of 125 copies, numbered and signed by the author.
DEDICATION
To all the old-time cowboys and cowmen whose hearts were as big as the
range they rode.
CONTENTS
I. Earliest Memories (1869 to 1878)
II. Black Hills of South Dakota (1878 to 1885)
III. I Start to Punch Cows
IV. With the RL Outfit
V. With the TL Outfit in the Bear Paws
VI. Line Riding With the Mounted Police
VII. In the Judith Basin Country of Montana
VIII. With the DHS Outfit
IX. Jim Spurgeon
X. Tom Daly
XI. Kid Curry
XII. Fred Reid
XIII. Indians
XIV. Open Range Days
XV. The Johnson County War
XVI. Broncos
XVII. My Marriage
XVIII. The Lazy KY
XIX. Memories of Charlie Russell
XX. Cowboy Philosophy
PREFACE
Some years ago, through my interest in the life and work of Charles M.
Russell, I met Con Price. No one could go far into the subject of
Montana’s Cowboy Artist without cutting Con Price’s trail.
These two men were more than cowpuncher friends and associates in a
ranch partnership. Charlie regarded Con as one of the greatest bronco
riders of his time, and Con considers Charlie the finest kind of friend
a man could have had.
It was a long time before Con would talk much about his close friendship
with Charlie Russell—a friendship that started on the range before
either was married, and lasted until Charlie crossed the Big Divide in
1926. After some urging Con has, over a period of years, written
something of his early days in Old Montana, with a few, too few,
references to his friend Russell.
My own knowledge of Russell has been immeasurably enriched through
knowing Con Price, but more important is our own friendship, which I
treasure even more.
H. E. BRITZMAN
July 23, 1945
Trail’s End, Michillinda,
Pasadena, California.
[Illustration: The Lazy KY]
CHAPTER I
EARLIEST MEMORIES (1869 to 1878)
I was born in the year 1869 in Manchester, Iowa. My father served in the
Civil War and during that service contracted consumption and was
discharged from the army and came home a very sick man, without any
provisions being made to take care of him—only through the efforts of my
mother, who didn’t have a dollar, only what she made working for wages
which was very small at that time.
There was four children—the oldest eight, the youngest two. So with my
father’s sickness and us hungry kids to feed, she must have had hard
going. I think my father was home about a year when he died. How she
provided for the burial, I do not know, as there was no charitable
organizations or county help those days.
I remember after the funeral my mother called in a Catholic priest to
consult him about what to do with us kids. They finally decided that the
priest would find homes for us by having some wealthy families adopt us,
which he did.
I was placed with a family by name of Calligan, near a town named
Manson, Iowa. As I remember the contract, those people were to give me
an education and when I was twenty-one years old, they were to give me a
horse and saddle and $500.00.
But after a few years my mother married again and she and her husband
decided they wanted us children back. All the parties that had the other
children gave them up, but the people I was with contested my mother’s
rights, and they had a law suit about who would have possession of me.
My mother won out, which broke my heart, as I was very much attached to
my adopted parents. And another thing, as I see the picture now, my
stepfather didn’t have intelligence enough to raise a pig, let alone a
child, and I didn’t like him.
So there was a mutual dislike between him and me right from the time
they got me home. The first thing he put me doing was herding cattle out
on the prairie. And almost every night I got a whipping or a scolding
and I was always thinking about my adopted home. I think I was about
nine years old at that time and he gave me a pretty good horse to ride
to herd those cattle. So one day I conceived the idea of stealing this
horse and run away and go back to my other home, which was about 100
miles. Of course, when I came up missing they didn’t know what happened
and they went to all the neighbors looking for me before they got the
idea that I had run away, which gave me quite a start.
It took me about three days to make the trip. I stayed over night with
ranchers and I remember they asked me, what I thought at that time, some
queer questions—where I came from and where I was going, and so forth.
But I mixed up a story that I was going on a visit, which I guess seemed
strange to them—a boy about nine years old going that far with a good
horse but no saddle. I was riding bareback. Anyway I made the trip. But
about three miles from my adopted home, I turned the horse loose and
walked—and as there was no fences to stop him, in the course of a few
days he drifted back home.
My adopted father and mother were tickled to death to see me. They were
an old couple and had become very fond of me. So they cached me around
in different places for several days until they decided my stepfather
was not going to bother about me—and I thought I was settled down in my
old home again. And they used to send me after the milk cows in the
evening when I came home from school.
They gave me a little mare to ride. She must have been a race horse, for
she could sure run. I rode her without a saddle and I was still on the
look-out for someone to come after me.
Now my stepfather had a mare that was very fast, but he sometimes worked
her in harness. Well, one evening I went after the cows—I think about
two miles—and had just started towards home, when I saw a team and wagon
coming pretty fast towards me right across the country and not on a
road. I soon recognized my stepfather and my mother in the wagon. They
were between me and my home, and I had a rather narrow place to go by
them—(a fence on one side and a creek on the other ... I think about
fifty yards space) and it looked like I was in a tough spot, as I had to
go right past them. I had to go about a quarter of a mile to be opposite
them. When I started towards them, my stepfather sensed what I was going
to do. He jumped out of the wagon and started to unharness his fast
horse. He was pretty quick and about the time I got to where he was, he
had mounted and hollered at me to stop—but I was in high and I fairly
flew past him. I looked back at him once and he was whipping that old
horse and getting all the speed he could. But he might as well be
standing still as far as his chances were of catching me. I had to go
through some timber before I got to the house, so he couldn’t see which
way I went.
I give the alarm and the old lady told me to run into the corn field and
hide. My stepfather came to the house and made all kinds of threats but
he didn’t find me. My folks went back home and everything seemed all
right again for about two weeks. I thought they were going to let me
stay where I was.
But one morning I was taking the cattle out to graze and had got off of
my horse and was trying to drive a cow out of the brush. When I looked
around there were two men close to me in a buggy. I didn’t wait a second
but started to run. One of them jumped out of the buggy. I thought he
was the largest man I ever saw—must have weighed 250 pounds. He hollered
at me to stop, which only scared me worse and away I went and that big
fellow after me.
The country around there was very brushy and rough. I tore into that
brush like a rabbit and run until I fell down and I just laid still,
hoping he wouldn’t find me. I heard him go by me. I think he missed me
about three feet and went on by. He must have been gone about an hour—I
heard him coming back and he walked right up to where I was lying. He
said, “I am the sheriff. Get up. I want you.” Boy, was I scared! He put
one handcuff on my wrist and led me back to the buggy. My stepfather had
sent him after me.
I have never had any handcuffs on since but I sure suffered agony that
day. They had to drive about 15 miles to the railroad to get a train to
take me back home and I begged the sheriff to take the handcuffs off, as
the thoughts of them scared me to death. The sheriff was a kindly man
and I know he felt sorry for me and was going to take them off—but I
heard the driver tell him, “That kid is going to give you the slip if
you turn him loose and we never will catch him again, and he sure can
run like hell.” It was a livery stable team and driver that the sheriff
had hired to go after me, and I guess they didn’t want to waste anymore
time chasing me. But the sheriff did take the cuffs off when we got to
town and took me to dinner and treated me fine, but told me if I tried
to run away he would put me in jail. That cooked me ... I stayed close
to him all day so he wouldn’t think I was trying to get away.
When I landed back home I had quite a score to settle with my folks for
running away. They kept me under pretty close guard for awhile but
finally put me back to herding cattle—but they did not give me a horse
to ride anymore. I had to walk, as my stepfather knew there was less
chance of me running away if I had to walk.
My mother tried to make peace between the old man and myself but never
made much headway, as we both hated each other. He was a comical-looking
little Irishman—I was quite a mimic and was always making fun of him
behind his back to the other kids. One day he caught me at it and it
sure made him mad and he gave me a good beating, which didn’t help my
feelings towards him. So I used to job him every chance I got and I
guess I made life about as miserable for him as he did for me.