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[Illustration: Book Cover]
Cowboy Life on
The Sidetrack
* * * * *
Being an Extremely Humorous and Sarcastic
Story of the Trials and Tribulations
Endured by a Party of Stockmen
Making a Shipment from the
West to the East.
* * * * *
By FRANK BENTON,
CHEYENNE, WYO.
* * * * *
ILLUSTRATED BY E. A. FILLEAU,
KANSAS CITY, MO.
* * * * *
DENVER, COLO.:
THE WESTERN STORIES SYNDICATE.
Copyright, 1903,
By FRANK BENTON.
* * * * *
Press of
Hudson-Kimberly Publishing Company
Kansas City, Mo.
DEDICATION.
* * * * *
For justice no shipper e'er asked in vain
From George H. Crosby or C. J. Lane.
We go to them, as to our dad,
When on their road our run is bad,
And when we think the freight too large
Ask them to rebate the overcharge.
No matter which road you give your freight,
To both these friends, this book I dedicate.
F. B.
[Illustration: _The Author Waiting for the Train to Start._]
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Chapter I.--The Start 11
Chapter II.--Chuckwagon's Dream 21
Chapter III.--Grazing the Sheep 29
Chapter IV.--Letters from Home Brought by Immigrants 33
Chapter V.--Eatumup Jake's Life Story 39
Chapter VI.--The Schoolmarm's Saddle Horse 42
Chapter VII.--Selling Cattle on the Range 48
Chapter VIII.--True Snake Stories 56
Chapter IX.--Chuckwagon's Death 61
Chapter X.--Disappearance of the Sheepmen 67
Chapter XI.--Our Arrival in Cheyenne 77
Chapter XII.--The Post-Hole Digger's Ghost 83
Chapter XIII.--Grafting 89
Chapter XIV.--The File 95
Chapter XV.--The Cattle Stampede 99
Chapter XVI.--Catching a Maverick 109
Chapter XVII.--Stealing Crazy Head's War Ponies 121
Chapter XVIII.--The Cattle Queen's Ghost 136
Chapter XIX.--Packsaddle Jack's Death 150
Chapter XX.--A Cowboy Enoch Arden 164
Chapter XXI.--Grand Island 170
Chapter XXII.--"Sarer" 176
Chapter XXIII.--Arrival at South Omaha Transfer 195
Chapter XXIV.--The Final Roundup 207
PREFACE.
To the readers of this little booklet: I wish to say that while some
things in the story seem over-drawn, yet I have endeavored to write it
entirely from a cowboy standpoint.
To the sheepmen of the West: I want to say that I couldn't have written
this story true to the cowboys' character without making a great many
reflections on sheepmen, and I want to tender my apologies in advance
for anything they may consider offensive, as some of my old-time and
dearest friends in the West are among the large sheep owners. But I have
been a cowboy and worked with the cowboys for thirty-two years, and have
written the things set down here just as they came from the cowboys'
lips on a stock train as we were waiting on sidetracks. The names of the
cowboys used are the actual nicknames of cowpunchers whom I worked with
on Wyoming ranges twenty years ago, and will be recognized by lots of
old-timers.
The statement has been frequently made by newspapers that this volume
was written as a roast on the Union Pacific railroad. I wish to correct
that impression by saying that I selected that road for the groundwork
of this story to give them a good advertisement free in requital for the
many courtesies extended to me in times past by the officials of the
road, for whom I have the warmest friendship.
THE AUTHOR.
CHAPTER I.
THE START.
I met a man from Utah the other day by the name of Joe Smith, and he
gave me quite an interesting history of his shipping some cattle to
market over the great Overland route from Utah to South Omaha. I shall
tell it in his own language. He said:
I don't want to misstate anything, and I don't want to exaggerate
anything, but will tell you the plain facts.
When I and my neighbors, old Chuckwagon, Packsaddle Jack, Eatumup Jake
and Dillbery Ike got into the ranch with a drive of cattle we found that
three railroad live stock agents, two representatives of the union
stockyards and five commission house drummers had been staying at the
ranch for a week waiting to get our shipment. Each one took each of us
aside and gave us a dirty private as to what they would do for us. Every
one of the commission house drummers said their house was second last
month in number of cars of live stock in their market and they were
looking for them to be first this month; said their salesmen always beat
the other firms 10 cents a hundred on even splits, and their yardmen
always got the best fill on the cattle. We went off by ourselves to talk
it over and make up our minds which firm to ship to. Packsaddle Jack
said it was remarkable that they all told the same story, said it was
confusing as nary one of them had mentioned a point but what all the
rest had coppered the same bet. Dillbery Ike gave it as his opinion that
they were the bummest lot of liars he ever see. Old Chuckwagon and
Eatumup Jake now compared notes and discovered that all the drummers
were out of whiskey, but each drummer claimed the other dead beats had
drank his up. Old Chuckwagon took a blue down-hearted fit of melancholy
on seeing they was all out of whiskey and wouldn't decide on any of
them. Eatumup Jake just chewed a piece of dried rawhide and wouldn't
talk. Packsaddle Jack and me finally decided to bill the cattle to
ourselves till we got some further light on the subject.
[Illustration: _Scott Davis Leaving to Order the Cars, and to Grease and
Sand Them._]
As the great Overland agent agreed that his road would run us all the
way to market at the rate of forty miles an hour and the other live
stock agents couldn't promise only thirty-five miles an hour, we gave
the shipment to the Overland. The Overland agent went right into town to
have the cars greased and sanded ready to start. We followed in with the
cattle. It took us about seven days to drive the cattle in, and when we
got there the cars were coming--but hadn't arrived. We waited around
nine days, grazing the steers on sage brush in daytime and penning them
nights till they got so thin we had about concluded to drive back and
keep them for another year, when the cars came. It seemed the railroad
had got them pretty near out to us once, but had run short of tonnage
cars, so just had to haul them back and forth several times over one
division to make up their tonnage for the trains. This was very annoying
to the railroad men as well as ourselves, but they had their orders to
not let any California fruit spoil on the road and to haul their
tonnage, so just had to use these stock cars. It seems Harriman and Hill
and J. P. Morgan and all the other boys who own the western railroads
are very particular about every train hauling its full tonnage, and I
heard there was places they had a lot of scrap iron close to the track,
so if the train was short a ton or so they could load it on, haul it to
some place where there was some freight to take the place of it, and
then unload it for trains going the other way that were short on
tonnage.
Finally we got the cattle loaded and our contract signed. Got a basket
of grub, as we were informed there would be no time to get meals on the
road. It is to this basket of grub that we all owe our lives to-day, so
I will give a partial description of the contents. First, we had four
dozen bottles of beer; next, eight quarts of old rye whiskey; next, two
corkscrews, a hard boiled egg, a sandwich without any meat in it and a
bottle of mustard, as Dillbery Ike said he always wanted mustard.
Eatumup Jake was for getting a can of tomatoes, but old Chuckwagon said
he never had been empty of canned tomatoes in twenty years and wanted
one chance to get them out his system.
Well, we got on the way-car, were hitched on to the cattle train and off
at last for the first sidetrack, which was a quarter of a mile from the
stockyards. The conductor said we would start right away soon as he got
his orders, so Chuckwagon proposed we open the lunch, which meeting with
direct approval from the entire party, we proceeded to consume a large
section of it, and then went to sleep. When we woke up the sun was
sinking in the east, at least I maintained it was east, but Packsaddle
Jack said it was in the north. Anyway we argued till it sunk, and never
did agree. But we found we were on the same old sidetrack, and as our
lunch was about gone we made up a jackpot and sent Dillbery Ike after
more lunch. Packsaddle Jack went up and interviewed the agent in the
meantime, as he was the only one left in the party who was on speaking
terms with that functionary, and found out they were holding us there
for the arrival of eight cars of sheep that was expected to come by
trail from Idaho. These sheep belong to Rambolet Bill and old Cottswool
Canvasback, and these two gentlemen had seen a cloud of dust ten miles
away about noon and insisted on having the train held, as they were sure
the sheep were coming, which finally proved to be correct. So when they
got them loaded, about 11 o'clock that night, we quit quarrelling with
the agent, stopped making threats against the railroad superintendent,
got Dillbery Ike to put on his coat (he had kept if off all evening to
whip the railroad agent who was to blame undoubtedly for all this
delay), and finally started, with rising spirits. But as we got up to
the depot where the conductor was waiting with his final papers, the
head brakeman reported a cow was down up near the engine, and we all
walked up there and found that one of Dillbery Ike's critters had become
so weak and emaciated that it had succumbed right in the start. We
prodded her, and hollered and yelled, and Chuckwagon twisted her tail
clear off before we discovered she was stiff and cold in death and
consequently couldn't respond to our suggestions. Dillbery asked the
advice of a hobo (who was giving us pointers how to get her up before we
discovered her dead condition) about suing the railroad company for her.
The hobo agreed to act as witness and swear to anything after Dillbery
gave him a nip out of his bottle; and after we found out what a good
fellow the hobo was, how much he knew about shipping cattle and that he
wanted to go east, we concluded to put his name on the contract and make
him one of the party. We asked his name and he said 'twas most always
John Doe, but we nicknamed him Jackdo for short.
We all went back to the way-car and started up to the switch and back on
to a sidetrack, as No. 1 was expected to arrive pretty soon, as she was
four hours late, and was liable to come any time after she got four
hours late.
After taking some lunch we lay down on the seats and went to sleep,
Jackdo, Rambolet Bill and Cottswool Canvasback on one side of the car,
and Dillbery Ike, Chuckwagon, Packsaddle Jack, Eatumup Jake and myself
on the other side. It was rather crowded on our side of the car, but
none of us liked the perfume that Jackdo and the two sheepmen used.
About the time we got to sleep the brakeman came in, woke us all up so
he could get into the coal and kindling which is under the seat in a
way-car. It was warm weather, but the train crews always build roaring
fires in hot weather on stock trains, and he was only following the
usual custom. We got our places again and dropped off to sleep. The
conductor came in, woke us all up to punch our contracts. We went to
sleep again; the conductor came around, roused us all up to know where
we wanted our stock fed. Jackdo now gave us a great deal of advice about
where to feed and how much, but Dillbery said the cattle had got used
to going without feed so long that it wasn't worth while to waste time
feeding them now. Jackdo said all the stockmen fed plenty of hay to
their stock all the way to Omaha, but never let them have any water till
they got there, as they would get a big fill that way. We finally went
to sleep again. The conductor and brakeman took turns jumping down out
of their high airy cab on top of the car (where they keep a window open)
to build up the fire and see that all the doors and windows below were
tightly closed so the stockmen couldn't get no air, but hot air.
However, we had been getting hot air from the railroad live stock agents
and commission house drummers for some time and slept on till old
Chuckwagon begun to snore and woke us up again. It seemed he was having
a fearful nightmare, and we had all we could do to keep him from jumping
off the train till we got him fairly awake. But after we had each given
him a drink from our private bottles he gave several long, shuddering,
shivering sighs and told us his dream.