The Plains of Colorado
Tuesday, July 26. Denver did not hold many attractions for us, so we
decided not to stay here very long, perhaps a couple of days. After we
had seen Mr. Bradley off for home and laid in a supply of groceries
and feed, I examined the horses carefully to see if they were doing as
well as they should, and was surprised to find that Kate was so lame
she could hardly walk. I had intended to sell Cyclone here, as we
could get along very well with three horses, now that Mr. Bradley had
left and there were only three of us. Besides, Pete was planning to
leave us when we got to North Platte.
Finding Kate helpless, I concluded to get a fresh horse, and, not
wishing to part with any of my old standbys, I traded Cyclone even up
for a dun mare to go with Bess. This mare we called Sally. Craig, the
man I traded with, said he would rest Cyclone up and get him in good
shape and use him for his buggy horse. I asked him if he did not want
to hitch him up and try him, but he was an old horse trader and said
he guessed not; if we had driven him across Colorado he was satisfied
he was broke and gentle enough for his use. I could see the boys’ eyes
snap and was afraid they might laugh outright, but they managed to
keep sober. I kept a string on my trade, however, by saying that I
would try the mare by driving her out of town, and if she didn’t suit
me I would come back for Cyclone. This being settled, I looked the
horses over again and concluded that they would be better out on the
road than in a barn. They were not eating well and the flies in the
barn worried them, so I told the boys we would pull out right away.
Hitching up Bess and our new mare Sally, Pete saddled up Dixie and,
leading Kate, we started out. Kate was so lame she could hardly walk
and Craig said, “You better leave that mare behind; I will give you
twenty-five dollars for her and take a chance on curing her.” I was
tempted to accept his offer as she seemed hopelessly lame, but somehow
I couldn’t bear to leave her behind so long as she could follow, and
as I remembered how we had given her up once before, and she had
followed us all day crying, I didn’t have the heart to sell her; so I
drove out of the yard and she hobbled after us.
Safely out of the yard, Norman rolled over in the wagon and looking
around to see what had happened to him I found he was convulsed with
laughter.
“What is the matter?” I said. “Sit up and tell me quick.”
And between breaths he was able to say in a rather disjointed manner,
“He’s going to feed and rest Cyclone up and drive him to a buggy. My!
but I would give a dollar to be there when he does it. The first auto
will put him through a street car and over a telephone pole. Say,
Mister, how could you do it?” And he was off again in another
convulsion.
By this time Pete had ridden Dixie alongside and with a smile asked,
“What sort of a buggy horse do you suppose Craig will have when he
gets Cyclone rested up?”
I could not help but join in the laugh and wished Brad were there to
join in also.
We really were in no position to crow over the trade until we knew the
sort of horse we had. Just then we passed a man driving a team and he
stopped and said, “Did you get that mare of Craig?” On being told that
we had, he said, “Well, she is O.K. I know the mare and the man who
owned her first, and she is a good honest mare and has no bad tricks.”
And he was right. We found her a satisfactory addition to our motive
power and just as safe and as good a puller as any we had, but she was
slow and kept me busy at times to keep her up to Bess.
Well, we were on the road again, with only a day’s stop at Denver,
and, after getting over our hilarity and finding we had a good horse,
we began to feel a bit lonesome. Brad had always been the life of the
party and would have enjoyed our horse trade immensely, but in lieu of
being able to talk it over, Norman was already planning to write him
all about it.
[Illustration: THE COOK]
We soon had another horse trade under way, however, which was quite a
ludicrous affair. It came about in this way. We were headed for Hudson
and that night we camped near the South Platte River, six miles from
Denver, at the State Fish Hatchery. It was late when we pulled in
there and when Norman, who was to be the cook, came to look for his
stove he couldn’t find it. Some one had stolen it out of the wagon at
Denver.
While the boys were getting supper under difficulties, I made the
acquaintance of two urchins and, as they lived near and had a
woodpile, I got them to bring us some wood. Later I met their father
and we got to talking horse. He said he had a cowpony that he had
bought of a “puncher” who was through there with a bunch of cattle,
and he was trying to make a farm horse of him. He had only a little
patch of land and light work, so I thought it would be a good place
for Kate and suggested he trade me the saddle pony for her.
Incidentally he could pay me twenty-five dollars “to boot.” We finally
compromised on fifteen dollars and were to look the animals over in
daylight before making the transfer.
Next morning, just as I was hitching up, he came over and said he
would take the mare, and asked me if the pony suited me. He told me he
had him fairly well broken to drive and thought I would have no
trouble working him if necessary, but that he had been a saddle pony
so long he did not take to harness willingly. “We won’t worry about
that,” I said, “I just want him for the boys to ride and I want Kate
to have good care. I’ll hitch him up and make him work if I need him.
First, however, I’ll have Pete go over and ride him.” So calling Pete,
I said, “Get your saddle and bridle and go over and catch that pony
and ride him over here. If you like him, we will trade.”
[Illustration: THE HOSTLER]
The man and I waited for some time for him to come back. Finally when
he did come he was on foot, and said he couldn’t catch the pony. So we
all went over and the man caught him. I thought the pony was a bit
“wild eyed,” but said nothing. It took two of us to put the saddle and
bridle on and then, just as Pete started to get on, I had a “hunch”
and took the bridle away from him and said, “I’ll ride him myself
first.” I threw the bridle over his head and put my foot in the
stirrup, but something I had learned years before prevented me from
getting on. I looked that pony in the face again and was sure I was
right, but just to prove it I put my foot in the stirrup again, took
hold of the pommel of the saddle, then put my weight on his back. That
was enough. He broke loose and did a stunt of high and lofty bucking
that would do credit to any bronco I had ever busted, with myself the
centre of operations, and when I could take my eyes off of him long
enough to look about I could see that both the boys were laughing, and
when the pony finally started jumping stiff-legged toward his owner,
with his head down and bawling, they rolled over in the grass and just
kicked. The man ran for his life and got behind a tree; the pony,
running into a barbed wire fence, stopped, and the circus was over.
Picking up my hat that had come off in my jumping about to keep out of
the pony’s way, I said, “If you will take off that saddle and bridle
we will be going.” And looking back as we drove away we saw the man
standing where we had left him, still looking at the pony. He had
never ridden a horse in his life probably and was as surprised as any
one at his antics.
We drove to Barr Lake and about four miles beyond for lunch. The
country was flat, the roads sandy, and we were tangled up a bit as to
direction, but finally arrived at Hudson about 6:30 P. M., and putting
the horses in the livery barn went to the hotel. It looked very much
like rain and here I thought we would rest a while.
The next morning, Thursday, the twenty-eighth, we remained in Hudson.
Norman had a stove made so he could do better work in the cooking
line. It was not much of a stove as stoves go, but for our purpose it
was fine. It was a flat piece of sheet iron with holes punched in it,
attached to six legs.
I made some inquiry regarding the roads and found they were quite
sandy along the railroad, but that if we were not afraid to cross the
open range we would have better traveling. The open range didn’t
scare us any. We had no fear of getting lost and decided at once to go
over the range to Fort Morgan. Our instructions were to go directly
east to the “D” ranch and then northeast to Fort Morgan, getting
directions from the “D” ranch. We got to Fort Morgan O. K., but
without any further directions.
Starting at 1 P. M. we were soon out on the range, driving over a
rolling country without a tree in sight, but plenty of good grazing,
and passed bunches of cattle now and then. Pete saw a badger he wanted
to shoot and, as he sat on the seat with me, he reached back for a
rifle, picked up a 22-calibre with short cartridges in it, and instead
of shooting the badger, shot Bess in the neck.
Pete was more surprised than Bess was. He seemed unable to move
afterward. Bess merely looked around and seemed to think a horse fly
had stung her. She still carries the bullet in her neck and seems none
the worse for it, but if Pete had picked up the other gun and the same
thing had happened, we would have lost a horse right there. Pete
learned something about guns right then that may be of value to him.
Shortly after this it began to rain, and it certainly was needed. We
drove on through the rain until we got near a ranch house where we
could get water. Here they had a windmill and were trying dry farming.
The rancher said it was dry all right and this was the first rain in
months.
The next morning it was still threatening rain when I got up, and a
couple of range horses were trying to get into the wagon. I drove them
away, but as it was wet and soggy I let the boys sleep, so that it was
eight-thirty before we started that morning. We had fortunately picked
up some dry wood in town the day before, which we kept in the wagon,
and so had no trouble in making a fire.
Starting off we found a fairly good trail which we could have used to
advantage, except for our wide-tread wagon and wide tires. We are just
beginning to find almost all the vehicles in this part of the country
are standard tread, and so plan to have our wagon cut down at the
first opportunity. We made about twelve miles by noon and camped on
the open range for lunch.
Most of the country we had just driven through was being fenced, but
like most newly settled communities in the West, the first settlers
seemed to have become discouraged or dried out, and had left. We found
hardly any one on the claims. We saw a good many cattle and the
buffalo grass was still fairly good grazing, and the rain of last
night will help. It was so cloudy and cool that we wore our coats or
sweaters all the morning. We saw plenty of dogs and hawks, but no
game.
[Illustration: NORMAN BRADLEY AND KATE]
We planned to drive to Wiggins this afternoon, which we made a guess
should be fifteen miles away, but did not get more than nine miles
before the threatening weather made us decide on an early camp to get
ready for a rain we were sure was coming. We had been driving across
country with no particular road and at a deserted ranch, where we
could get water, we camped. We tied down our wagon top and used our
wagon sheet for a lean-to kitchen, and got supper while the rain,
which had begun while we were getting ready, came down in torrents. It
rained nearly all night, but the ground was so dry it soaked up the
water like a sponge.
We had no more than unhitched the team when two kittens, veritable
skeletons, came into camp from the ranch house, and we were glad to
take them in out of the wet and feed them. Camp seemed more cheerful
with those kittens about. How they had managed to live we couldn’t
tell, but decided to take them along with us and leave them at the
first house.
The next morning, Saturday, the thirtieth, while hitching up the
horses, a man came along on a pony, and riding up to our wagon began
to talk about the rain, and what a blessing it was to the country,
etc. He had just got fairly launched on the subject when he saw the
kittens, and about that time they “sensed him,” and he got off his
pony and said, “Well, I didn’t forget you, but I was afraid you might
be dead.” It seems he was the owner of the claim we were on, and these
were his kittens. He had gone to town to get some work and was coming
out to see how things were, and had brought a bottle of milk in his
pocket for the kittens, in case they were still there and able to
drink it.
We visited with him for a while and then pulled out for Corona, or
Wiggins P. O., on the railroad, where we bought some oats for the
horses and oatmeal for ourselves, and then went on and made camp
alongside the railroad, about fifteen miles from Fort Morgan. Here
Kate kicked Dixie on the left hind leg, at the stifle-joint, cutting
quite a gash with the cork on her shoe, so that I sewed it up. Dixie
was so lame that we had to lead her. This delayed us so that we did
not get into Fort Morgan until 6:30 P. M. We ate our supper at a
restaurant and then drove out about a mile and camped.
[Illustration: NORMAN HARRIS AND DIXIE]
Fort Morgan is quite a prosperous little town of twenty-five hundred
population, and our camp that night was within sight and sound of the
lights and noises of a lively country town, made by the usual Saturday
night crowd. We began to feel cramped again. To camp between fences
near a railroad and a town gave me the feeling I imagine one must have
on moving from a big country home into a stuffy city flat.
Sunday, July 31. The rain we had two days ago was quite general over
this part of the country and, now that it is over, the weather is hot
and muggy. The roads are also sticky, and with a lame horse we do not
make very good progress. To begin with, we found after going about
three miles that we had forgotten our stove, so Pete rode Kate back
after it. Kate is picking up fast, but we had not intended working her
yet; still she deserved the six-mile extra ride for kicking Dixie.
After recovering our stove, we drove about a mile beyond Brush, which
was ten miles from Fort Morgan, for lunch, and then drove on to
Snyder, about five miles farther, on the South Platte River, and made
camp about 3 P. M. in a grove of cottonwood trees and turned the
horses loose to graze while we made a very comfortable camp.
The town of Snyder (six houses) was just across a long bridge on the
other side of the river and, as the water was not very good, we took
pails and went over and got a good supply from the town pump; also
purchased some eggs. The boys took a bath in the river while I
laundried the clothes. This was a specially good camping place as we
had plenty of wood and water, besides grass for the horses, and they
enjoyed the afternoon rest. We started our oatmeal and prunes cooking
in the fireless cooker as usual, and then turned in.
The next day we continued on down the valley through Hill Rose and on
toward Sterling. Ranchers looked prosperous, although the season had
been dry. Wheat and oats seemed to be the biggest part of the crop,
but beets were raised quite extensively, and some alfalfa, but it
looked poor.
Toward evening we were stopped by a woman who said her mare was cast
in a ditch and, as her husband was away, she and the children had been
trying for hours to get her up, but couldn’t,--and would we be good
enough to take one of our horses and pull her out? We stopped, of
course, and Norman Bradley and I walked over and had no difficulty in
rolling the animal over; and the mare ran off, followed by her colt,
none the worse for her experience.
When we got back to the wagon it was 6:30 P. M., so we decided to camp
right there. After we had our supper and were cleaning up by lantern
light, the woman’s husband, who had evidently just got home, came over
to thank us for getting his mare up, and by way of further showing his
appreciation, offered to give us a three-legged dog. We did want a
dog, but wanted a whole one, so declined his generous offer with
thanks. Just as we turned in, it began to rain again. The drought
seems to be broken and, while the rain does not improve the roads, it
is such a blessing to the country we are pleased also.
After getting already to start the next morning, we dressed up, that
is, we got out our “store clothes,” and our good shoes, and made
ourselves as presentable as possible, for we had heard that Sterling
was quite a good-sized town. We planned to go to the hotel for dinner
and stay and see the sights, as we had heard they had a street fair or
circus. We were disappointed in the town and the circus didn’t
interest us, but we had dinner at the hotel, which was the best in
town, and even the dinner disappointed us. We could get up a much
better one ourselves.
The only satisfaction we got out of the hotel was permission to go
into the dining-room without our coats. We remembered our last
experience at Delta, Colorado, just at the western end of the State,
where the landlady refused to let us into the hotel, and concluded
clothes did have something to do with our treatment here to-day.
Going over to the barn where we had left our horses, I found a rancher
with his wagon broken down, and he said he was twenty miles from home;
so I just got out our box of tools, bolts, washers, etc., and fixed
him up in short order. He wanted to pay me for the job, but I told him
I wasn’t a blacksmith; I was just a farmer, and being a farmer
himself, he knew we were not allowed by law to collect money for work
of that kind. He wasn’t long in seeing the point and, after telling me
he was convinced I had never belonged to any union and probably never
would, invited me to go home with him and stay a few days and rest up
my team. Being in a hurry, I had to decline.
I am just beginning to realize that I am never so much in a hurry as
when I am on a vacation. I always plan just a little more than can be
done during vacation time, and then usually do it all, which
necessitates one grand rush. Some time I am going to do as everybody
else does, and take it easy during my vacation and not be in any
hurry. Then I will not only have just as much fun, but come back to
work all rested up.
When we left Sterling at 4 P. M. the horses seemed in good spirits,
but the next morning Bess seemed tired out and Dixie seemed to have
lost her appetite. We were still leading Dixie on account of her
lameness, also Kate, and were driving Sally and Bess. We drove through
Iliff and eight miles to Proctor, then three miles toward Crook, when
we stopped for lunch.
It had been a fine cool morning with a nice breeze. The valley had
flattened out so that we could see for miles on each side. The high
rolling land in the distance on either side looked very much like a
desert and, while not a desert exactly, it really was of little value.
We heard that a new irrigation ditch was to be put through here from
the South Platte, by Canfield & Company, that would irrigate ten
thousand acres. Just the flood waters were to be used, taken out
between October and April, and a charge of thirty dollars per acre was
to be made, plus interest. I presume this water was to be stored in a
reservoir. Practically all the land on which any good crops are raised
between here and Denver we found was irrigated. The balance, on
account of the dry season, did not raise much of anything.
In the afternoon we drove through Crook and camped about four miles
east of there and about three miles west of Red Lion. Just before
making camp we met a party of horse traders who tried to work off
something on us in exchange for Sally, but as she was about the only
workable horse we had left, we knew better than to let her go, and
after an amusing half-hour we let them go without making any trade.
Bess seemed about “all in,” for the first time, and Dixie was not much
better, although not so lame.
The next morning, Thursday, August 4, Bess seemed so weak that we put
her behind with Dixie, and drove Sally and Kate, the first time Kate
had been in harness for a month. We drove by Red Lion, which we found
to be a sign on the railroad track, and on to Sedgwick, about thirteen
miles. Here Bess hung back so much that after lunch, this side of
Sedgwick, we put her in the harness again and to lighten the load the
boys rode Kate and Dixie, and I put the stay chain back on Sally, so
she pulled practically all the load. We then got along very well and
by 4:30 P. M. drove to Ovid, eight miles, and camped on Lodge Pole
Creek, making twenty-one miles, which we thought was doing wonders
with a tired lot of horses. We had a very good camp here on Lodge Pole
Creek, but it rained hard all night and the next morning.
We should have stayed there, as the roads were frightfully muddy, but
as we were only about seven and a half miles from Julesburg, we
concluded the sooner we got there the better. About 11:30 A. M.,
during a lull in the storm, I hitched up and we started, thinking the
horses would be better traveling in the direction of a barn, than
standing there shivering in the cold rain. Sally, with the stay chain
shortened up, pulled the wagon into Julesburg by 2:15 P. M., the boys
riding inside, as it rained all the time, and Kate and Dixie walking
behind. Reaching town we found a good barn, and, after taking care of
the horses, we repaired to a restaurant for lunch.
In the afternoon I had the blacksmith pull the shoes off of Kate and
Bess so they could rest up their feet while they were resting
themselves. This blacksmith, by the way, was quite a wonder in his
line and, when I learned of his ability, I got him to promise to cut
my wagon down the next day, which he did. He took the axles down (they
were steel), took four inches out of the middle of each, welded them
together again, and no one would know they had ever been touched. He
cut the wooden parts down, changed the brake, and we were ready to
start with a standard tread wagon, which we did the following Sunday
afternoon, after two days’ stop, which rested the horses, and the
change in the tread made it very much easier pulling.
Julesburg was not so large or so tough a town as I had expected to
find. It had quite a bad reputation some years ago, but, as with all
our frontier towns, time has remedied that.
Leaving Julesburg Sunday afternoon, the roads were not very good as it
had been raining more or less for several days. The wagon, however,
ran so much easier that we were soon five miles from town on the south
side of the river, and finding a good place to camp, with feed and
water (water in this country usually means an irrigation ditch), we
decided to go no farther. It was Sunday and we should not have started
except we wanted to get out of town. Two days in Julesburg made us
anxious to leave, so at this first good camp site we stopped.
Here we did some laundry work, took a bath, and cleaned up generally.
Talking with the farmers we find many who want to sell out. They have
had a very bad year. Even the irrigation or wet farmers seem to be in
bad shape, as water failed, dams went out, etc. I told them they were
no worse off than other people we had interviewed in the West and, if
they moved out, I would advise their going east, as it certainly was
dry west of here, where we had been, and everybody was complaining. I
think this sort of talk was good for them. It didn’t help except in
their minds. People are always more apt to feel better if they know
other people are worse off.
Moving on the next morning we passed Big Spring and about 4 P. M.
reached Brule. We were now, Monday, August 8, in Nebraska, and had
left Colorado, through which we had been traveling since the evening
of July 2. We had passed over all kinds of country in this State, from
the desert, over the Rocky Mountains, to the plains, and had navigated
the prairie schooner over all kinds of roads, so that now we felt we
were over the worst end of the trip from the point of traveling, but
so far as scenery was concerned, and good camping places, we didn’t
expect much from here on.
We had given up our kerosene stove at Denver and from here on wood for
fires was scarce. In fact, it had been ever since we left the stove
behind, and we were obliged to pick up wood along the road. Next time
we will know better than to part with a good stove, but I cannot say
that we missed any meals because we did not have it.
[Illustration: OUR HORSES ON THE OPEN RANGE NEAR DENVER]