ANOTHER START UP THE CHISHOLM TRAIL.
I hadn't been at home but a few days when I came very near getting
killed by a falling house.
Mother had become tired of the neighborhood she lived in and wanted me
to move her and her shanty down the creek about a mile, to Mr.
Cornelius's. So hiring a yoke of oxen--although a pair of goats would
have answered the purpose--I hauled her household goods down to the spot
selected. I then went to work tearing the shanty down.
In building it I had set eight pine posts two feet in the ground, and
then nailed the sidings, etc., to them. There was only one room and it
was eight feet wide and fourteen long. The roof had been made of heavy
pine boards. After tearing both ends out, I climbed onto the roof to
undo that.
I was a-straddle of the sharp roof, about midway, axe in one hand and a
large chisel in the other, when all at once the sides began spreading
out at the top. Of course I began sinking slowly but surely, until
everything went down with a crash. The pine posts had become rotten from
the top of the ground down; and just as soon as the roof and I had
struck bottom the sides flopped over onto us.
A neighbor's little boy by the name of Benny Williams, had been
monkeying around watching me work, and unluckily he was inside of the
shanty when the collapse came.
I was sensible, but unable to move, there being so much weight on me.
Finally little Benny who was one thickness of boards under me woke up
and began squalling like a six months old calf being put through the
process of branding.
After squalling himself hoarse he began to moan most pitiously. That was
too much for me. I could stand his bleating but his moaning for help put
new life into my lazy muscles, causing me to exert every nerve in my
body, so as to get out and render the poor boy assistance. I had, before
the boy's cries disturbed me, made up my mind to lie still and wait for
something to turn up.
In exerting myself I found that I could move my body down towards my
feet, an inch at a time. The weight was all on my left shoulder. But it
soon came in contact with something else, which relieved my bruised
shoulder of most of the weight.
I got out finally after a long and painful struggle; and securing help
from the Morris ranch, fished Benny out. He had one leg broken below the
knee, besides other bruises. I was slightly disfigured, but still in the
ring.
I put in the winter visiting friends, hunting, etc. I had sold my
cattle--the mavricks branded nearly four years before--to Mr. Geo.
Hamilton, at the market price, from five to ten dollars a head,
according to quality, to be paid for when he got his own brand put on to
them. Every now and then he would brand a few, and with the money
received for them I would buy grub and keep up my dignity.
About the first of March I received a letter from Mr. Rosencrans, one of
D. T. Beals' partners, stating that Mr. Beals had bought his cattle in
middle Texas instead of southern as he had expected, and as he had told
me in Chicago. "But," continued the letter, "we have bought a herd from
Charles Word of Goliad, on the San Antonia River, to be delivered at our
Panhandle ranch and have secured you the job of bossing it. Now should
you wish to come back and work for us, go out and report to Mr. Word at
once."
The next day I kissed mother good-bye, gave Whisky peet a hug, patted
Chief--a large white dog that I had picked up in the Indian Territory on
my way through--a few farewell pats on the head, mounted "Gotch"--a pony
I had swapped my star-spangled winchester for--and struck out for
Goliad, ninety miles west. Leaving Whisky-peet behind was almost as
severe on me as having sixteen jaw-teeth pulled. I left him, in Horace
Yeamans' care, so that I could come back by rail the coming fall. I
failed to come back though that fall as I expected, therefore never got
to see the faithful animal again; he died the following spring.
A three days' ride brought me to Goliad, the place where Fannin and his
brave followers met their sad fate during the Mexican war. It was dark
when I arrived there. After putting up my horse, I learned from the old
gent Mr. Word, who was a saddler, and whom I found at work in his shop,
that his son Charlie was out at Beeville, gathering a bunch of cattle.
Next morning I struck out for Beeville, thirty miles west, arriving
there about four o'clock in the afternoon.
About sun-down I found Charles Word, and his crowd of muddy
cow-punchers, five miles west of town. They were almost up to their ears
in mud, (it having been raining all day,) trying to finish "road
branding" that lot of steers before dark. The corral having no "chute"
the boys had to rope and wrestle with the wild brutes until the hot iron
could be applied to their wet and muddy sides.
When I rode up to the corral, Charlie came out, and I introduced myself.
He shook my hand with a look of astonishment on his brow, as much as to
say, I'll be----if Beals mustn't be crazy, sending this smooth-faced kid
here to take charge of a herd for me! He finally after talking awhile
told me that I would have to work under Mr. Stephens, until we got ready
to put up the Beals herd--or at least the one I was to accompany. He
also told me to keep the boys from knowing that I was going to boss the
next herd, as several of them were fishing for the job, and might
become stubborn should they know the truth.
I went on "night-guard" after supper and it continued to rain all night,
so that I failed to get any sleep; but then I didn't mind it, as I was
well rested.
The next day after going to work, was when I caught fits though, working
in a muddy pen all day. When night came I didn't feel as much like going
on guard as I did the night before. A laughable circumstance happened
that morning after going into the branding-pen.
As the pen had no "chute" we had to rope and tie down, while applying
the brand. The men working in pairs, one, which ever happened to get a
good chance, to catch the animal by both fore feet as he run by which
would "bump" him, that is, capsize him. The other fellow would then be
ready to jump aboard and hold him until securely fastened. There being
only seven of us to do the roping that morning, it of course left one
man without a "pard," and that one was me. Each one you see is always
anxious to get a good roper for a "pard," as then everything works
smoothly. Mr. Word told me to sit on the fence and rest until Ike Word,
an old negro who used to belong to the Word family, and who was the best
roper in the crowd, returned from town where he had been sent with a
message.
It wasn't long till old Ike galloped up, wearing a broad grin. He was
very anxious to get in the pen and show "dem fellers de art of cotching
um by boaf front feet." But when his boss told him he would have to take
me for a "pard" his broad grin vanished. Calling Mr. Word to one side he
told him that he didn't want that yankee for a "pard," as he would have
to do all the work, etc. He was told to try me one round and if I didn't
suit he could take some one else. Shortly afterwards while passing Mr.
Word old Ike whispered and said: "Dogon me if dat yankee don't surprise
de natives!" When night came, and while I was on herd, old Ike sat
around the camp fire wondering to the other boys "whar dat yankee
learned to rope so well." You see Mr. Word had told the boys that I was
from the Panhandle, and old Ike thought the Panhandle was way up in
Yankeedom somewhere, hence he thinking I was a yankee. A few days after
that though, I satisfied old Ike that I was a thoroughbred.
Mr. Word bought a bunch of ponies, new arrivals from Mexico, and among
them was a large iron-grey, which the mexicans had pointed out as being
"Muncho Deablo." None of the boys, not even old Ike, cared to tackle
him. So one morning I caught and saddled him. He fought like a tiger
while being saddled; and after getting it securely fastened he threw it
off and stamped it into a hundred pieces, with his front feet, which
caused me to have to buy a new one next day. I then borrowed Mr.
Stephens' saddle, and after getting securely seated in it, raised the
blinds and gave him the full benefit of spurs and quirt. After pitching
about half a mile, me, saddle and all went up in the air, the girths
having broken. But having the "hackimore" rope fastened to my belt I
held to him until help arrived. I then borrowed another saddle, and this
time stayed with him. From that on, old Ike recognized me as a genuine
cow-puncher.
We finally got that herd, of thirty-seven hundred steers, ready for the
trail; but the very night after getting them counted and ready to turn
over to Mr. Stephens the next morning, they stampeded, half of them
getting away and mixing up with thousands of other cattle.
Mr. Stephens thought he would try a new scheme that trip up the trail,
so he bought a lot of new bulls-eye lanterns to be used around the herd
on dark, stormy nights, so that each man could tell just where the other
was stationed by the reflection of his light.
This night in question being very dark and stormy, Stephens thought he
would christen his new lamps. He gave me one, although I protested
against such nonsense.
About ten o'clock some one suddenly flashed his bulls-eye towards the
herd, and off they went, as though shot out of a gun.
In running my horse at full speed in trying to get to the lead, or in
front of them, me, horse, bulls-eye and all went over an old rail
fence--where there had once been a ranch--in a pile. I put the entire
blame onto the lamp, the light of which had blinded my horse so that he
didn't see the fence.
I wasn't long in picking myself up and mounting my horse who was
standing close by, still trembling from the shock he received. I left
the lamp where it lay, swearing vengeance against the use of them,
around cattle, and dashed off after the flying herd.
When daylight came I and a fellow by the name of Glass, found ourselves
with about half of the herd, at least ten miles from camp. The rest of
the herd was scattered all over the country, badly mixed up with other
cattle. It took us several days to get the lost ones gathered, and the
herd in shape again.
After bidding Stephens and the boys who were to accompany him, adieu, to
meet again on Red River where he was to wait for us, we pulled for
Goliad to rig up a new outfit, horses, wagon, etc.
The horses, Word bought out of a mexican herd which had just arrived
from Old Mexico. He gave eighteen dollars a head for the choice, out of
several hundred head.
Being all ready to start for Kimble County, two hundred miles northwest,
where the herd was to be gathered, Mr. Word turned the outfit over to
me, while he went around by stage.