THE OKLAHOMA GRAFTER
That evening at the hotel he asked me whether I wished to double my
money by selling my relinquishment. "No," I answered, "but I tell you
what I do want to do," I replied firmly. "I am not here to sell; I am
here to make good or die trying; I am here to grow up with this country
and prosper with the growth, if possible. I have a little coin back in
old 'Chi.'" (my money was still in the Chicago bank) "and when these
people begin to commute and want to sell, I am ready to buy another
place." I admired the fellow. He reminded me of "the richest man in the
world" in "The Lion and the Mouse," Otis Skinner as Colonel Phillippi
Bridau, an officer on the staff of Napoleon's Army in "The Honor of the
Family", and other characters in plays that I greatly admired, where
great courage, strength of character, and firm decision were displayed.
He seemed to have a commanding way that one found himself feeling
honored and willing to obey.
But getting back to the homestead. I looked over my claim and found it
just as I had left it the fall before, excepting that a prairie fire
during the winter had burned the grass. The next morning I returned to
Oristown and announced my intentions of buying a team. The same day I
drew a draft for five hundred dollars with which to start.
Now if there is anywhere an inexperienced man is sure to go wrong in
starting up on a homestead, it is in buying horses. Most prospective
homesteaders make the same mistake I did in buying horses, unless they
are experienced. The inefficient man reasons thus: "Well, I will start
off economically by buying a cheap team"--and he usually gets what he
thought he wanted, "a cheap team."
If I had gone into the country and bought a team of young mares for say
three hundred dollars, which would have been a very high price at that
time, I would have them yet, and the increase would have kept me fairly
well supplied with young horses, instead of scouting around town looking
for something cheaper, in the "skate" line, as I did. I looked at so
many teams around Oristown that all of them began to look alike. I am
sure I must have looked at five hundred different horses, more in an
effort to appear as a conservative buyer than to buy the best team.
Finally I ran onto an "Oklahoma" grafter by the name of Nunemaker.
He was a deceiving and unscrupulous rascal, but nevertheless possessed a
pleasing personality, which stood him in good in his schemes of
deception, and we became quite chummy. He professed to know all about
horses--no doubt he did, but he didn't put his knowledge at my disposal
in the way I thought he should, being a friend, as he claimed. He
finally persuaded me to buy a team of big plugs, one of which was so
awkward he looked as though he would fall down if he tried to trot. The
other was a powerful four-year-old gelding, that would have never been
for sale around Oristown if it hadn't been that he had two feet badly
wire cut. One was so very large that it must have been quite burdensome
for the horse to pick it up, swing it forward and put it down, as I look
back and see him now in my mind.
When I was paying the man for them I wondered why Nunemaker led him into
the private office of the bank, but I was not left long in doubt. When I
crossed the street one of the men who had tried to sell me a team jumped
me with: "Well, they got you, did they?" his voice mingled with sarcasm
and a sneer.
"Got who?" I returned question.
"Does a man have to knock you down to take a hint?" he went on in a tone
of disappointment and anger. "Don't you know that man Nunemaker is the
biggest grafter in Oristown? I would have sold you that team of mine for
twenty-five dollars less'n I offered 'em, if the gol-darn grafter hadn't
of come to me'n said, 'give me twenty-five dollars and I will see that
the coon buys the team.' I would have knocked him down with a club if
I'd had one, the low life bum." He finished with a snort and off he
went.
"Stung, by cracky," was all I could say, and feeling rather blue I went
to the barn where the team was, stroked them and hoped for the best.
I then bought lumber to build a small house and barn, an old wagon for
twenty dollars, one wheel of which the blacksmith had forgotten to
grease, worked hard all day getting loaded, and wearied, sick and
discouraged, I started at five o'clock P.M. to drive the thirty miles to
Calias. When I was out two miles the big old horse was wobbling along
like a broken-legged cow, hobbling, stumbling, and making such a
burdensome job of walking, that I felt like doing something desperate.
When I looked back the wheel that had not been greased was smoking like
a hot box on the Twentieth Century Limited.
The sun was nearly down and a cold east wind was whooping it up at about
sixty miles an hour, chilling me to the marrow. The fact that I was a
stranger in a strange land, inhabited wholly by people not my own race,
did not tend to cheer my gloomy spirits. I decided it might be all right
in July but never in April. I pulled my wagon to the side of the road,
got down and unhitched and jumped on the young horse, and such a
commotion as he did make. I am quite sure he would have bucked me off,
had it not for his big foot being so heavy, he couldn't raise it quick
enough to leap. Evidently he had never been ridden. When I got back to
Oristown and put the team in the barn and warmed up, I resolved to do
one thing and do it that night. I would sell the old horse, and I did,
for twenty-two-fifty. I considered myself lucky, too. I had paid one
hundred and ninety dollars for the team and harness the day before.
I sat down and wrote Jessie a long letter, telling her of my troubles
and that I was awfully, awfully, lonesome. There was only one other
colored person in the town, a barber who was married to a white woman,
and I didn't like him.
The next day I hired a horse, started early and arrived at Calias in
good time. At Hedrick I hired a sod mason, who was also a carpenter, at
three dollars a day and we soon put up a frame barn large enough for
three horses; a sod house sixteen by fourteen with a hip roof made of
two by fours for rafters, and plain boards with tar paper and sod with
the grass turned downward and laid side by side, the cracks being filled
with sand. The house had two small windows and one door, that was a
little short on account of my getting tired carrying sod. I ordered the
"contractor" to put the roof on as soon as I felt it was high enough to
be comfortable inside.
The fifth day I moved in. There was no floor, but the thick, short
buffalo grass made a neat carpet. In one corner I put the bed, while in
another I set the table, the one next the door I placed the stove, a
little two-hole burner gasoline, and in the other corner I made a bin
for the horses grain.