THE JOHNSON COUNTY WAR
This incident I write about was known as the Johnson County War in
Wyoming in the years of 1893 and 1894, and I presume some of the
old-timers of today remember those days when those things happened.
The way it first started, some of the cowboys working for the big
outfits bought a few cattle of their own and branded them and turned
them loose on the range. The cattle barons objected to this, and passed
a resolution that any cowboy owning a branding iron could not work for
them—for the reason, them days there were a great many mavericks on the
range and the cattlemen divided them up among themselves. This caused
considerable bitterness, as the cowboy claimed any animal without a
brand belonged to the first one that found it. There may have been some
justification on both sides; at any rate it developed into quite a feud.
I heard one old cattleman remark that he knew cowboys that even their
grandfathers never owned a cow, had more cattle than he did.
This feeling between stockmen and cowboys got to be very serious, as
each side took the law in their own hands to a great extent, and there
was quite a few people killed. The rustlers got so bold they took a
contract with one of the construction contractors to supply them with
beef. They would go out on the range, and butcher any animal they found,
regardless of what brand was on the animal.
The stockmen appointed a stock detective. His name was Chris Groce, who
was very capable and absolutely fearless, and for a while held the
rustlers somewhat in check, but as time went on the sympathy of all the
little ranchers and cowboys were with the cattle rustlers.
I remember two boys that the cattlemen wanted put out of the way but
could not catch up with them, so they formed a posse and went out after
them. They finally run those boys into an old cabin out on the range and
tried to get them to surrender without any success. They finally backed
a wagonload of hay up against the cabin and set it on fire. When the
cabin caught fire, the rustlers made a break to get away, and the posse
killed both of them.
There was another ex-cowboy I knew that decided to go into business for
himself. He would go out on the range, shoot a steer, butcher it, bring
it to town and sell it. He went by the name of Spokane. He got along
pretty well for a while, but one day the Sheriff was trailing some horse
thieves across the country and run on to Spokane with a steer shot down
and was butchering it. The Sheriff told him to throw up his hands, but
instead Spokane crouched down behind his steer and opened fire on the
Sheriff with his six-shooter and made it hard for the Sheriff to get
him, but the Sheriff had a Winchester and could reach him at long range.
He finally shot him in the arm and Spokane came up and surrendered. The
Sheriff told me afterwards he sure hated to shoot him, as he was plenty
game. I was in the hotel the night they brought Spokane in and the
doctor dressed his arm without any anesthetic. He lay on the couch and
smoked cigarettes just as unconcerned as if everything was all right and
in no pain. They sent Spokane to the Pen for three years and when he got
out he straightened up and made a very good citizen.
These conditions seemed to go from bad to worse until things got so bad
the cattlemen took it on themselves to hire a bunch of Texas Rangers to
come to Wyoming to protect their interests. That fact created more
bitter feeling and anybody taking sides with either group was sure in
danger of their lives at all times. I remember a bunch of rustlers and
cowboys, went to an old deserted ranch and built a kind of temporary
stockade. The Rangers followed them there and tried to arrest them on
their own authority. One of the boys in the stockade told me afterwards
that siege lasted several days, and they had to go to a spring for
water, and every time they did so there would be considerable shooting
from both sides.
Finally conditions got so bad that it got out of control of the local
authorities and the militia was called out to settle the trouble. They
arrested everybody—cattlemen, cowboys, rustlers and Rangers, and took
them all to Cheyenne. That broke up the feud and nobody gained anything.
Most of the cowmen lived in the East and they were sick of the whole
affair. Some of them sold out and never did come back to Wyoming. The
cowboys and rustlers drifted to parts unknown, and things in Johnson
County got on a more legitimate basis. I met several of those cowboys
afterwards in Montana. Most of them were under assumed names, and some
of them had very good jobs, such as stock inspectors and foremen of big
outfits. They generally made pretty good men, as they had had plenty of
experience.
At the time those conditions existed, I was breaking colts for the PK
Cow outfit on Soldier Creek, close to Sheridan, Wyoming, and Buffalo
Bill Cody sent notice to Sheridan that he would be there on a certain
day and wanted to buy a carload of wild horses to ship to Boston for his
show, also he wanted to hire some Wild West riders to take back to
Boston. That is a long time ago and there wasn’t the bronc riders there
is today. Some rode with tied stirrups, some with buck straps. There was
a quite a number of riders but only one boy qualified—his name was
Scotty. I tried for that job, but Bill hurt my pride very much, as he
told me I might make a rider but wouldn’t do at that time. The only
consolation I had was to say to myself that Bill didn’t know a good
rider when he saw one.