Custer County, Nebraska - Chapter 5: The Coming of the Settlers, 1919 (part 2 of 2)

No new story is so fascinating as are the oft-repeated stories of the early events as given to me by these old settlers. Airs. Allen says she thought then, and she believes to this day. that the best bread she ever ate in her life time was made out of wheat "Tound in my mother's coft"ee mill. She verily declares she would gladly exchange her present luxuries for the happy days she spent in those little dugouts, with her neighbors - Airs. Wagner, Airs. Comstock, and Airs. Dowse. One sweet little story is connected with Airs. Allen's little Number 7 cook stove. Grandma Wagner's and Airs. Comstock's stoves had no ovens to them, and they would carry their bread to Airs. Allen's little Number 7 to bake it. "And," says Airs. Allen, "many a nice loaf of bread did that little stove bake. I would look out the door and see Airs. Wagner and Airs. Comstock both coming, carrying their bread - then I'd think: 'Well, Airs. Comstock will have to bake her's first, for she makes saltrising, then Airs. W^agner's turn.' And such a nice time we had." Air. Comstock declares yet that the best biscuit he ever ate were baked on top of their little stove, and he still likes them best baked that way.

Air. Darnell and Grandpa Wagner ever kept broken the monotony of life, by their quaint lives among their old neighbors. Air. Darnell spent most of his time killing snipe and catching fish, and, says Mr. Comstock, "When the snipe all left, and the fish wouldn't bite, Air. Darnell left too." He also said he was going to start a town while he was here. He. sent his neighbors up the river to cut cedar trees and float them down the river. The}' tried it but tiie trees wouldn't float ; therefore Air. Darnell's town never got started. And the old neighbors all still express their deeply felt gratitude to Grandpa Wagner for his abundant supply of deer, elk, and antelope, which kept many families from starving. Air. Comstock tells of once when they crept up on four deer ; of course the deer ran as soon as they saw them, but by Air. Comstock handing him cartridges. Grandpa shot them before they were out of range. He never missed his game when it was in range of his old rifle, and his marksmanship was still remembered long after the large game had left the country. About the latter part of August, 1874, the sun began to darken, and within a few days the air and every nook and corner were alive with grasshoppers. Alost of the settlers had some kintl of crops nicely started, and fair prospects, by close management, of raising enough to carry them through till the next summer. But now, what could those poor families, who had toiled so hard through the summer months, do to save their small crops, which were all they possessed? Must they stand, as it were, and see the food taken from the mouths of their little ones? My father thought he would save a little corn by shocking it up, but as soon as he would complete a shock it was covered with millions of grasshoppers. And thus everything was almost entirely annihilated.

February 22, 1875, I was born, and as far as we know I was the first white child born in Custer county. The following summer was a little more prosperous. The small crops that werc put in grew niceK' and unmolested. 187() b r o u g h t again those dark and gloomy days. Innumerable million.> and millions of grasshoppers came. The hardships and privations of the previous years of have those winter Dear mothers and fathers who have come to Custer county in later years, feeling discontented because your children have not the luxuries and accommodations of life that you desire they should, let nic lead your minds back to Custer county's earlier days, and that gloomy winter of 1876. Drifts and drifts of snow blocked the roads between our little .settlement and Loup City. I should have mentioned before that Loup City consisted of a few small families living close together, and one little store in a little sod building. No provisions could be obtained short of there and Grand Island.

winter nights that she placed the little ones in bed crying for something to eat, ( she had nothing in the house to give them, and her only consoling words were that papa would come soon with something to eat) it makes me feel that we are very ungrateful for the blessings that we enjoy at the present time.

Before the buffalo was the coyote : before the Indian was the coyote ; before the white hunter and the trapper was the coyote ; before the cattlemen was the coyote ; before the settlers was the coyote : before the yellowhaired scrub cur of former and latter days was the coyote ; before the deer-hound, foxh () u n (1 , g r e yhound, Russian wolf-hound, was the coyote. \Vhen the coyote first settled in the county. records fail to disclose. He was here before the first and hangs to his location with a tenacity that prophesies he will be the last. If he has been credited with priority, he deserves it. He is fleet-footed enough to maintain his advance position when pursued by fastest" horse or hounds. Consequently it is perfectly proi>er to describe him as being "before" all the rank and file of his enemies. He has been the object of every pursuit - the jihantom of every chase. He is the fastest member of Custer county society and has but little difficulty in maintaining his lead, no matter what is after him. \'elvet-footed, willowytDrmcd, Gibson-necked, keen-s:ented, he comes and goes without advance agent or press comment by the society editor. No matter where he goes or how he goes, he carries an appetite for chicken that outrivals the combination of a colored Methodist preacher. His habits have gotten him into ill-repute with the sheepmen and cattlemen. His fondness for lamb for Sunday dinner is in a measure offset by his fondness for small pigs during the week. He has always possessed a latent propensity that entitles him to be called a "sport." If there is a circle hunt staged in any portion of the county, he is sure to be there and likely to be one of the leaders.

quill of George B. Mair pays him the following tribute and prophesies his "nunc dimittis." It is far easier to subscribe to the Mair description and tribute than to swallow his prophesy and hopefully await its fulfillment. Mair says :

"The coyote is quite a large animal, although some of them are not so much so. They do most of their rustling nights, when honest folks are supposed to be in bed, and attend to their sleeping in the daytime. Once in a while he stays out until after daylight. On such occasions he may be seen making a sneak across the prairie in the direction of his hole, with his tail between his hind legs, looking about to see if he has been discovered, and trying to invent some story to tell his wife when he gets home.

"What he lacks in beauty is more than made up in ugliness. The knowledge that he is no beauty has undoubtedly soured his originally sunny disposition and caused him to shun society and look out of the corners of his eyes.

"The crowning glory of the coyote is his magnificent voice. We have heard the roar of the fierce Numidian lion in his den at Forepaugh's circus and the melodious ya-hoo of the jackass, but we never realized the weird and sublime power of music until we attended a moonlight rehearsal given by a pack of coyotes the first night we struck Custer county.

"But civilization and poisoned meat are getting in their deadly work for him. Some day the last gray-headed patriarch will sit on the brow of yon beetling cliff, with his form silhouetted against the rising moon, and then he will be seen no more. And a weatherbeaten pelt hanging on the end of an old corn crib will be the only remaining relic of a vanished race."