Custer County, Nebraska - Old Settlers' Stories, 1919 (part 1 of 2)

Old Settlers' Stories

Entertains Bob Olive - A Wild Night For Hans - Bob Hunter has Close Call - Mrs. Hunter Learns the Way of the West - "A Wise Cow Tale" - Terrible Fall in a Deep Well - A Thousand Elk in One Herd - Made His Own Powder - Won BY A Nose - A Back-acting Wedding Fee - A Plucky Custer County Woman - Was a Justice All Right - God and Boblits - A Courtship in the Court's Office

- Experiences of a "School Marm" - Life too Short for a Sod Roof - Entertained the Pawnees - All Ready- for Indians - Mysterious Death of Tr.^pper - A Fight for "Deer Life" - Saved One Bed - J. D. Haskell's Peronal Experience - Douglass Finds Relics - - Jess Gandy Joins the Elks - Mrs. Gandy Entertains a Stranger - Jess Gandy Rides a Buffalo - The Masons Buried Him - The First Great Fl--\g Pole

- The First County Seat Contest - A Hospitable Roof - A Little Sport with Guns - Lassoed an Elk - Lost in the Sand Hills - Hunters Find Game in the Bed - Had no Religion - One of the County "Dads" - A Prairie Fire - Twin Tragedies - A Watermelon Stampede - It Killed the Toad - Dan got the Logs -

Chewed Tobacco - The Sen.\tor was not Handsome - Burlin and Kellenbarger H.we Some Experience - A Rack Through the Storm - - So.mething of a "Mixup" - Nearly Ruined His Eye

The sum total of all history is the recital of events just as they occurred, by those who were actors in the scenes, and had a chance to see and hear. First hand, or personal, knowledge is the authority of final appeal. Thou.sands of things happen in every country that by the very nature of conditions could not be recorded, in accessible files. If these things are ever unearthed and published the old settlers must recite them, blatters of personal experience, hand to hand struggles with early conditions, incidents both humorous and tragic, views of private life, and countless other things, told by the old settlers, have been collected and grouped in this chapter.

Each story is complete in itself and has no relation to any other in the chapter. In each case the truth is vouched for by the one to whom the story is credited. In the aggregate they cover the entire range of county history and will give to any reader a realistic view of the conditions which have prevailed in the county during the developing years. Read the stories of the settlers and you will see the settlers, their homes, their farms, their schools, their churches, their difficulties, their defeats and triumphs, and with all you run the gamut of the years through which they have passed. The humorous vein which runs through the entire collection is a fine tribute to the heroic actors, who cultivated the spirit of cheerfulness under the most trying circumstances.

[C. R. Mathews gives the following account of a visit paid him by Bob Olive and some of his cowboys. The judge was at home to his visitors and funnished plenty of corn and hay while the neighbors furnished plenty of camphor, as the narrative discloses.]

Grove late in November, and had gathered ten or twelve bushels of corn to leave at the house to feed mv stock while I was gone. It was in sacks in a wagon, and I intended to start the next morning. That evening Bob Olive, alias Stevens, rode up with about a dozen of his cowboys and twenty-five or thirty ponies. He walked into the house without going through the formality of knocking at the door, cold." He kindly told me that if I would give him enough corn to feed his herd of ponies that he would not turn them out to help themselves. I told him that I hoped he would not turn the horses out, as they would tear down my stacks and that he could have all the corn he wanted if he would go out in the field and husk it.

'"What is the matter with this corn in the wagon ?" he inquired. "That is corn I brought up for my hogs while I am gone to Douglas Grove," I explained.

He made no further remark, but deliberately emptied the corn out on the ground, where it was soon eaten up by the horses. The outfit concluded to stay with me all night without asking my permission, helped themselves to my coffee and anything else they could find, wrapped themselves up in their blankets and went to sleep. Olive was taken sick during the night with cholera morbus and routed his men out to see if anything for his relief could be found in the settlement. There was no doctor within eighty miles, so they went to Mr. Boley's and came back with a bottle of camphor. I\Irs. Ross also let them have a bottle of camphor, and Mrs. Forsyth, for a change, sent another bottle of camphor. Airs. Loughran and Mrs. ^Merchant, having no other kind of medicine in their houses, also sent a bottle of camphor apiece. As the men came in one after the other with the camphor. Bob got as mad as a hornet and smashed the bottles on a saddle that hung in a corner of the room. During the same night our neighbor, Smith, had the honor of entertaining two or three of the cowboys. They piled into the bed alongside of him, with their clothes on, and enjoyed a good night's rest.

Early in the '80's the pioneers on the Middle Loup put in most of their time in winter hauling wood from the canyons and getting out cedar for posts. They also went on the islands in the river and cut white willow for making corrals. There was a fine willow island about ten miles above the settlement, near the Rankin ranch, which the ranch people rather laid claim to, but for all this the settlers hauled a great portion of it away, especially a German, whom we will call Hans. He would go up and get his load, pull to the ranch for supper and lodging and breakfast. Of course, no charges were made by Mr. Rankin for such trifles.

It finally became an old story. One night Hans came as usual and it happened on this particular night Billie Erickson (better known among the cowboys as "Bill America"), Charles Austin, and Wright Rankin were at the ranch, and all you have to do after twenty years have elapsed to get a hearty laugh out of the boys is to say "Hogs in the ranch." It seems it was a put-up job to have some fun at Hans' expense. Rankin was to play crazy, and after supper the boys very confidentially told Hans that Rankin was crazy, and no difference what he did he musn't make him mad. Presently Rankin took a fit, chewing soap to make foam run out of his mouth, grabbed Hans and danced him all over the room until he almost wore the poor man out. There was a red-hot cook stove in the room and Rankin in his grand right and left would try to force Hans on top of the stove, which he avoided by nimbly jumping over it, taking the whole thing as a huge joke rather than get the crazy man mad. Finally they unrolled their beds on the floor, and Austin and Rankin occupied one bed, while Bill and Hans took the other. In a little while Rankin took another fit and declared there were hogs in the ranch. "Listen, Charlie ; can't you hear 'em breathe?" "No, Wright," responds Austin, "that's Hans and Billie." "But I say it is not and, I am going to kill one and we will have some meat. Hand me my Winchester, easv, so as not to scare 'em."

Charlie tries to reason with him, while poor Hans is scared till he daren't hardly move. At last Rankin makes a grab for his Winchester, while Charlie shouts to warn the boys to look out, Rankin has his gun. Bang! Bang! goes the gun, shooting just over their heads. Billie jumps u]) and yells like a Sioux and he and Charlie grapple with Rankin to get the gun. while Hans fairly splits the wind to get out at the door. The boys finally get Rankin back to bed and succeed in convincing him there are no hogs in the ranch. It is a bitter cold night and Hans did not stop in his flight even to secure his clothes. After a while he knocked timidly on the door, when Rankin jumped up and wanted to know who was there? "It's Hans." "Why, sure enough, Hans, it is you ; come right in ; have you fed your horses? Of course, you liaven't had any supper : the coffee is warm yet. and I will have you a bite in a jiffy." "Oh, no; Mr. Rankin." replied Hans, his teeth chattering with the cold; "I will just go to bed."

After a while Rankin again imagines there are hogs in the ranch - Bang ! Bang ! Bang ! goes the old Winchester in that direction. Another scuffle witli Rankin by Billie and Austin to get his gun. while poor Hans darts out into the chilly night very thinly clad, and after a while manages to slip in without disturbing the crazy man who sleeps quietly till morning. While Hans is out next morning caring for his team, Charles Austin bored a hole about six inches above Hans' pillow, blackening it so it would appear like a fresh bullet hole, and to this day Hans thinks his life was spared only by a miracle.

Bob Hunter was one of the early-day cattle buyers and went through the usual experiences of cattle buyers at that time. He says, "I have been in tlie saddle buving cattle, a head or two here and a few more at another place, for days and weeks at a time. We had to drive through heat and cold, fording frozen rivers and generally at night had to camp out on the prairie without very manv camping accommodations. Houses were very

"I remember one night especially, when my men and I were driving a bunch of whitefaces which we were bringing to the lion^e ranch. We camped near a deserted sod liouse and as soon as we could round up everything, we turned in for the night. Toward morning we were awakened by shots which we thought were altogether too close for comfort. On investigation we found the house surrounded by a posse who were after a ^Mexican and an Oklahoma white man who had been committing stock depredations and were wanted down in Oklahoma for horse stealing. If I hadn't been a smooth talker they would probably have taken us along with them, but as it was, I succeeded in convincing them that they were mistaken."

The present generation will never know the peculiar conditions and privations under which the pioneers began life in Custer county. These experiences were especially hard on the women. Mrs. Martha A. Hunter, who with her husband, pioneered in the vicinity of Broken Bow, and who is a very versatile writer, gives us this glimpse of early sod house life:

"Ere long the little sod abode was ready for occupancy and as the family brought little or no house furnishings, two beds were improvised by nailing split saplings to the rafters above and to the floor below and the same across, upon which were placed bed ticks filled with dry hay and above all feather beds, making a very comfortable resting place.

"Fuel was an object of much concern to the family as the winter drew near, but corn, which was the principal fuel used by the neighbors, could be obtained readily for eight cents per bushel, and the supply of buffalo and cow chips to be had for the gathering, added to the supply, which proved adequate for the winter.

four years later, in 1894. The first drouth was especially hard on the Hunter family and others who had stock. They had not been long enough in the country to know the rich food properties contained in the short, curly buffalo grass that covered the hills like a thick mat and which was abundantly rich in food properties, - - so much so that stock turned loose upon it during the winter time not only lived but also kept in good condition. But this we did not find out until after this hard winter, because we had to drive the cattle up into Cherry county for the winter. "I worried much about the education of our two small daughters, and felt that it was not right or fair to them to keep them in the hills, but God opened the way not only in providing for their education, but in furnishing a support for the family, which in those days was very welcome and much appreciated. I w-as appointed teacher in a school district seven miles from our home. We drove these seven miles to school each morning and returned in the evening, but thought that no hardship. Even though we faced many a storm and blizzard yet we always got through ; and in the end had the pleasure of seeing our daughters graduate from the Broken Bow high school."

"At the time of the Olive trial most of the men connected with that ranch were absent as witnesses, help was very scarce at the ranch, and the few that were left there were principally engaged in 'tailing up' cows that were so poor that they got stuck in the mud along the river and were not able to get up without assistance. Did you ever attempt to 'tail up' a spirited, ambitious cow? If not, you have missed, a whole lot of fun - and so has the cow. A little experience of mine in that direction may be entertaining - it was to me. I had been down at the corral attending to 'some horses when I noticed a cow on the bank of the river trying to get on her feet, but falling back after each attempt. Not wishing to take the trouble to saddle a horse, I went over to her on foot to assist her out of her difficulty. I soon saw that there was fight in her, but concluded she was too weak to make me any trouble. Grabbing her tail, I passed it over my shoulder and gave it several twists around my arm, getting as much of it in my hand as possible. The old cow puffed and shook her head in protest. I paid no attention to her objections, but bent my back and lifted. The cow did likewise, and the way that old heifer got on her feet took the breath out of me. I saw that she was on the warpath, and that my only hope of safety was to keep hold of her tail. With a bellow she turned her glaring eyes around on me and took after me, spinning around like a top. By keeping a firm hold on her tail I just managed to keep a few inches ahead of her long horns. After a few turns to the right she tried it a while to the left, but with no better success. The waltz was becoming awfully monotonous to me, and as we worked toward a bank about ten feet high, by the edge of the river, I dropped her tail and jumped over the bank with one bound. The cow was a little dazed by the performance, but as soon as she realized the situation she made for the bank, probably with the intention of following me, but gave it up when she came to the foot of it, pawed the ground and bellowed her defiance, and walked away shaking her head, probably hooking me in her mind. Two days after this, as I was riding along the bank of the river, I saw the old lady down again, but I concluded to leave her to her fate, and for all I know her bones are buried in the mud where I last saw her."

Terrible Fall In A Deep Well

The depth to water on the table-lands of Custer county entailed many hardships on the early settlers. None of them had the means to sink modern wells -to such a depth, and had consequently to resort to the laborious method of hauling water in barrels from the lower Irnds, often having to go as far as six miles for it. Some of the settlers on the tables dug wells from 200 to 300 feet in depth and hauled water out of them by horse power. The existence of these fearful holes in the ground, mostly without curbing, resulted in many ao cidents, some of which will be found described in others parts of this work. In the fall of 1895 F. W. Carlin fell into a well 143 feet deep, and in the Custer County Beacon of September 5th of that year, he thus describes the manner in which he climbed out :

"While driving through the country about fifteen miles northwest of Broken Bow on the evening of August 14th, it became quite dark and I found I had taken the wrong track and driven up to some old sod building. I turned around and started down what looked to me like a good road into the draw, when one of my horses seemed to step down into a place. I got out of the wagon and started alongside of the team to be sure that the road was all right, when without a moment's notice I became aware of the fact that I had stepped into an old well and was going down like a shot out of a gun.

"I placed my feet close together, stretched my arms straight over my head and said, 'Oh God, have mercy on me !' and I honestly believe that saved my life, but I went down, down, and it seemed to me I would never reach the bottom. The further I went, the faster I went and never seemed to touch the sides at all.

"I supposed, of course, it would kill me when I struck bottom, but God had heard my prayer. I struck in the mud and water, which completely covered me over. I was considerably stunned, but was able to straighten up and get my head above the water. I scrambled around, gradually extracting my legs from the mud. and finally stood on my feet in the water, which came just up to my anns. It was very cold, and I tried a number of times to get out of the water only to fall back. The curbing was somewhat slimy. 1 finally managed to break oflf a small piece from the curbing and found a crack in which I managed to fasten it and perched myself upon it until morning. While sitting there I heard my team running away. In them was my only hopes of rescue. For I was aware of the fact

"There I sat till morning. It was about nine o'clock when I fell in, and I was drenched with water and plastered with mud. The only serious injury I received was a badly sprained ankle, which gave me great pain. I also had a sore place on my back, which I found a number of days afterward to be a broken rib. As soon as daylight appeared, I began to look around and take in the situation. In looking up, it seemed to me at least 100 feet to the top. But I learned afterward that it was exactly 143 feet deep.

"The well was curbed in places with curbing about three feet square. There would be a place curbed for about six to sixteen feet and then there would be a ])lace that was not curbed at all. The curbing was perfectly tight, not a crack between them that I could get my fingers into, and covered with a slimy nuid. I at once concluded that my only chance for rescue was my knife, if it had not fallen out of my pocket while floundering in the mud, so thrusting my hand into my pocket, there it was, and a good one too. I took it and began cutting foot-holes in the sides of the curbing ; it was very slow but sure. I never went back a foot after I had gained it. When I would get to the top of the curbing. I took the boards that I had cut out and made me a seat in one corner, and in this way I think I got up about fifty feet the first day. Some time in the afternoon I came to a curbing which I thought I could not get through ; it was of solid one-by-six boards closely fitted together and not less than sixteen feet to the top of it. So I made myself a good seat, fi.xing myself as comfortable as possible. I concluded that I must stay here and await assistance, or die there.

"I stayed there all the next night and slept one-hall of the time, for the night did not seem very long. I would have been quite comt\)rtable had I not been so wet and cold, and my feet pained me terribly, which was the greatest drawback. I had to do most of my climbing on one foot.

"I remained at that point the greater part of the next forenoon, calling often for help. One thing was in my favor ; I was neither hungry nor thirsty. I began to give up all hopes. I thought of my wife and little boy, who were always so glad to see me when I came home from a trip. I thought how the little fellow would never see his papa or run to meet him when he returned home again. That was too great. I made up my mind that I would get out or 'die in the attempt. So I took a piece of board and put some sand on I it and got the point of my knife good and sharp and began cutting away the curbing and making one foot hole after another. I cut, climbing higher and higher, and was at last on top of the curbing. From there I would have been comfortable if my feet had not hurt me so badly. But I cut holes in the clay for my hands and feet with my knife and finally I got within about sixteen feet of the top. Right there I had the worst hindrance I had met yet. It was a round curbing four feet high and perfectly smooth on the inside. It was washed out around it until it was only held from dropping by a little peg on one side. I knew if I tried to go up through it, it was pretty sure to break loose and go to the bottom with me. So my only chance was to go up between the curb and the wall. This I was fortunate in doing. By going to work and digging away the wall, in half an hour I had a hole large enough to let me pass through. After that it was but a short job to reach the top, which I did, and I lay for some time exhausted.

"I then knelt down and thanked Almighty God for sparing my life, as I had prayed for him to do, time and again during the past two days and nights that I had been in the well.

"But my trouble was not at an end yet. I was one and a half miles from a house, with a foot I could not step on. I cut some large weeds and made out to hobble and crawl to the road, about four rods distant, and there I lay until nearly sundown, looking for a team which never came. After getting out in the sun, I became very thirsty. At last I gave up

Ico'king for any one and started to crawl onmy hands and knees to find a house, but I soon gave out and had to lie out another night. In the morning I felt somewhat better. Starting out again I finally arrived at the home of Charles Francis just at daylight, where I was given food and drink, after being without for two days and three nights.

"My team was found the next day after I fell in the well, by a man by the name of Green, with the doubletrees and neck yoke attached to them. To Mr. Green great credit is due. He took them to a justice of the peace, filed an estray notice and turned them into the pasture, thus complying with the law and taking away my last chance for being discovered."

A Thousand Elk In One Herd

A thousand elk in one Custer county herd - -that sounds extravagant, yet State Surveyor Robert Harvey says he saw a herd that large on Victoria creek. He also notes a death battle between two elk bulls. The following is Mr. Harvey's story:

"Custer county was a magnificent game country. Antelope on the hills and deer and elk in nearly every canyon, esj>ecially where there was brush. My party was not out of fresh meat for more than a day or two at the most. Returning from the completion of the work in Custer county, we crossed the county line and traveled down the old miHtary trail made by Lieutenant G. K. Warren, in 1855 or 1856. We noticed small bands of elk moving from the bluffs to the south across the valley, in direction of the Victoria, and when we came opposite that stream we saw perhaps a thousand elk gathered on a plat of flat, clay ground, south of the river and just east of Victoria creek, visiting, grazing, and fighting. For miles we could hear the clear ring, like bars of metal, when the horns clashed together. That was the largest herd of elk I ever saw.

"One evening while hunting in a large cedar canyon, now known as Cedar canyon, with numerous side pockets containing berries and plums, I came upon two pair of elk antlers.

still attached to the skulls, securely locked together around a small ash tree, perhaps five or six inches in diameter. They had become locked together in conflict around that tree. The sod had been worn away and was then overgrown with small weeds. They had fought up and down the tree until the bark was all peeled away as high as they could reach on their hind feet, down to the ground. Locked to the tree, they died there. I intended to have returned that day and cut the tree out at the roots, lop off the limbs and carry home the trunk with skulls and antlers still locked, as a trophy of a remarkably strange and rare occurrence. But I had lost so much time, I concluded that they could safely wait until winter, when 1 would be able to return. 1 heard that a party of Iowa hunters had found them and carried them away. I have heard or read of only one other similar occurrence and that was of two deer that became entangled in each others' horns."

M.Xde His Own Powder

Prominent among the interesting relics shown to visitors when calling upon the hospitable old-timer, Judge Charles R. Mathews, of New Helena, is a bottle of gun powder that the Judge keeps as a relic of former days, when ammunition was scarce and good powder very hard to obtain. The powder is some that he manufactured himself. He gave to his visitors in this instance a very interesting description of how the powder was manufactured, together with its formula, effectiveness, etc.

It is said to be a very powerful explosive. The granulation is rather coarse, and the appearance almost white. It must not be imagined that because we are talking about white powder that we are giving a description of ladies" face powder, for Judge Mathews has been a bachelor all his life and it is altogether probable that he knows nothing about the face powder in general use by the ladies. It is gun powder, pure and simple, and chickens, quail, rabbit, or any other denizen of the canyon that got in front of the Judge's gun loaded with this explosive about the time he pulled the trigger, found out what the powder was for and could generally bear witness to its effectiveness. Accordingly credit the Judge with being the only manufacturer of gim powder in Custer county.

James Lindly, who came to Custer county in the springtime of 1880, arrived at New Helena with twenty-five cents in money and with a cheerful disposition which enabled him to overcome all difficulties and remain in the country up to the present time. The first year after his settlement in \'ictoria precinct he was elected just-ice of the peace, in which capacity he served six years. He relates the following incidents which occurred while he was administering justice in these early days, and they may not be out of place here. Upon one occasion two Irishmen had some difficulty about the boundary line between their claims, and the result was a collision. The one who came out second best in the row came to Mr. Lindly to get justice, his face covered with blood and his nose in a very demoralized condition. The justice issued a warrant for the arrest of his antagonist, handed it to him and directed him to the home of the constable. In due time the constable appeared at the home of the justice with both of the men. After reading the complaint the defendant pleaded not giiilty, and a trial was had without counsel or witnesses, each man pleading his own case. The plaintiff' alleged that defendant had come to his place and commenced the row. The defendant promptly denied that he had commenced the row, but admitted that he had gone to the plaintiff's house, and said that the plaintiff had attacked him with a jjitchfork. The plaintiff then turned toward the defendant, laid his index finger on his nose and asked: "How was that done?" "Ye did it yerself whin I was takin" the pitchfork away from ye," replied the defendant.

The plaintiff then offered his nose in evidence by turning to the coitrt and saying: "The court knows very well that nose was chawed." And sure enough it had that appearance - and well chewed at that. The plaintiff was fined one dollar and costs and the

A Back-Acting Wedding Fee

Upon another occasion Mr. Lindly had occasion to go to the sod house of three bachelors, when one of them, in a joking mood, asked him how much he would charge him to ] perform a marriage ceremony. Not being rushed with business of that sort. Mr. Lindly replied that he \\ould do it for half price. The second bachelor then spoke up and wanted to know how much the justice would charge to marry him. The accommodating justice said he would marry him free. Then the third bachelor was anxious to know what the charge for marrying him would be. "O, I'll marry you for nothing, and board you and your wife free for a week," laughingly replied Mr. Lindly. The first two never called upon Mr. Lindly to assist them into wedlock, but not very long afterward number three appeared with a fair maiden and insisted that the justice fulfill his agreement, which Mr. Lindly did, and the groom being of a generous disposition, the couple boarded with the justice two weeks instead of one. From the small capital with which Mr. Lindly commenced business in Custer county he has accumulated an independence. He is the owner of 1,580 acres of land. 600 under cultivation, twenty acres of trees and all free from incumbrance.

In the crowd that assembled to witness the execution of Haunstine for the murder of Roten and Ashley. ]\Irs. Roten was in the crowd. When it became known that the governor had granted a reprieve which would stay the execution for thirty days, there was considerable commotion in the vast assemblage and a few leaders tried to incite the mob spirit. At this time, in an excellently written account of the exciting events that followed the announcement of the governor's reprieve, the State Journal thus alludes to the presence of Mrs. Roten. wife of one of the men murdered by Haunstine: "She is a splendid-looking woman, but twenty-six years of age, and the mother of four children rendered fatherless by Haunstine's crime. She stood in the very midst of the thickest part of the struggle with a nerve that excited the wonder of all who witnessed the spectacle. The leaders of the mob circled around her, whispering to her for counsel, as if she were their queen, and if she had finally insisted on Haunstine's execution, no power at the command of the sheriflf could have prevented them fulfilling her command. The peacemakers besought her earnestly, with every assurance of the justice of the outcome, to ask the men to disperse, but she called attention to the fiendishness of the crime and to her fatherless children as an excuse for refusing to say a word in the culprit's behalf. Failing in this aim, the peacemakers turned their endeavors toward preventing her from giving encouragement to the mob, and succeeded.''

Old-timers say that the city reporters catered to the spectacular and gave their descriptions more of the thrill and red paint than the facts merited.

Was A Justice All Right

In the olden days T. B. Buckner, of Oconto, was a justice of the peace. A case was brought before him, and Judge Sullivan and Judge Humphrey appeared as the attorneys. At the beginning of the case Sullivan questioned the jurisdiction of Justice Buckner. "Buck" listened to the argument on both sides until weary, then pulled out a big six-shooter and laid it on the table, and said. "Gentlemen, the decision of this court is that I am a justice of the peace and a hell of a good one." The case proceeded without further interruption.

God And Boblits

Judge Boblits, who was the first judge of Custer county, married a couple of youngsters during the first day in his office and closed the ceremony with this remark, "Whom God and Boblits hath joined together, let no man put asunder."

A Courtship In The Court'S Ofeice

found the authority for the following story: Dates seem to be lacking, but it was probably some time in the year 1888 that an attractive young lady who had just finished a term of school in the Berwyn district accepted a position as assistant in the office of the clerk of the court, J- T- Douglass, who was the first clerk of court in Custer county. In speaking of her four years' experience in that office the authority relates that many famous cases were tried during that time, such as the Demerritt case and the Haunstine case, and many others. She had to work in an office from the windowof which she could watch the erection of the scaffold upon which Haunstine was to be executed. Relating the experience in her own words :

"As the nails were being driven into the structure, how I shuddered when I thought that a human being was to be suspended from that beam. Early in the morning on the day of the execution people began to arrive from miles around to witness the only execution that ever occurred in Custer county. My heart ached and my soul was stirred to its very depths in sympathy for a fellow-being who was so soon to pass into eternity. Yet I was utterly helpless so far as extending any aid or consolation. And now the thought comes to me, will the day ever dawn when there will be no law in Nebraska permitting men to take the life of another man to avenge a crime?" Notwithstanding the varied and exciting experiences in the clerk's office the young lady remained during the entire four years of the term, after which she and the ex-clerk were married, and tlicy have ever since been foremost among the prominent citizens of Custer county. They have a beautiful hopje m Callaway.

In luly, 1881, Mrs. J. J. Douglass arrived in Broken Bow. That village looked strange to her, with not a tree in sight excepting a few little cuttings of cottonwood and boxelder here and there upon the few lawns. After having lived all her life in a country where every home was surrounded by groves and ornamental shade trees, it seemed that she was in a desert.

She had just completed a course of study in a normal school, prior to coming to Nebraska, and was worn out in mind and body, so naturally her first consideration was the climate of the countn,' and its corresponding effect upon life and health. Slie wondered how the peol)le stood the heat of the day, but soon discovered that a light breeze was blowing nearly all the time, so that the heat did not seem so intense as it did in her Iowa home.

After she had been in Broken Bow about two weeks she was offered a position in the mortgage loan office of Trefren & Hewitt. The latter was the first county clerk of Custer county. She held this position a few weeks and then resigned to take charge of the Berwyn school, at the request of Charles Randall, the county superintendent. Berwyn was a village situated ten miles east of Broken Bow. It consisted of one general merchandise store, a postoffice, depot, and a blacksmith shop. It was not daylight when the train stopped at the little depot and a feeling of loneliness came over her as she w'atched the train speed on its way behind the eastern hills. She found her way to the home of J. O. Taylor (who was then living in the back end of his store building), informed him that she was the teacher who had come to teach the school and asked him to direct her to her boarding place. Being a member of the school board, Mr. Taylor gave her the necessary information and then sent his hired man with a team and buggy to take her farther east to the home of Ben Talbot, where she was to stay.

The Talbot home was a little sod house consisting of two small rooms. On entering she found Mrs. Talbot preparing breakfast for the family. She was given a cordial welcome, and after breakfast, started in company with Mrs. Talbot's little girl to the schoolhouse. The sense of loneliness which had taken possession of her on her way to this place now began to be dispelled. She found Mrs. Talbot to be a woman of kind heart and generous impulses, the mother of two little girls, the older one being of school age. She could see the schoolhouse up on the side of a hill. It was made of brush and weeds and some sod and was twelve by fifteen feet in dimensions. The roof was of brush and weeds and some sod. and she could see the blue sky by gazing up through the roof at almost any part of it. She looked out upon the hills and valleys and wondered where the pupils were to come from, as she saw no houses and no evidence of habitation anywhere excepting 'Sir. Talbot's home. By nine o'clock about twelve children had arrived from some place, she knew not where.

She found in that little, obscure schoolhouse some of the brightest and best boys and girls it was ever her good fortune to meet. There soon sprang between them a bond of sympathy. She sympathized with them in their almost total isolation from the world, and they in turn sympathized with her in her loneliness and homesickness.

On opening her school that first morning, great was her surprise to learn how well those children could sing. She had never been in a school where there were so many sweet voices. Her attention was particularly directed to the voices of two little girls, as they seemed remarkable for children of their years. She often recalled one bright, sunny evening after she had dismissed school and stood watching the pupils starting out in various directions for their homes, her attention was called to a path that led down the valley through the long grass. She heard singing and at once recognized the voices of these two little girls. The song was a favorite of Mrs. Douglass and she could hear those sweet tones long after the children were out of sight in the tall grass. She will never forget how charmingly sweet that music seemed to her.

The roofs on the early sod houses were made by putting up small logs for ridgepoles to support cross poles and upon these was placed a thatch of brush and hay and then over the hay, a layer of sod or clay. This kind of a roof was often open to both storm and

"From hardly any rain we soon had more than we needed. Our roof would not stand the heavy downpours that sometimes continued for days at a time, and it would leak from one end to the other. We could keep our beds comparatively dry by drawing them into the middle of the room directly under the peak of the roof. Sometimes the water would drip on the stove while I was cooking, and I would have to keep tight lids on the skillets to prevent the mud from the roof falling into the food. With my dress pinned up, and rubbers on my feet, I waded around until the clouds rolled by. Then we would clean house. Aln'ost everything had to be moved outdoors to dry in the sun. But I never complained much. It has been said that a spirit was given us to stand all these trials - for they were indeed trials, and hard ones, too. Would I asfain eo through with \Vhat I then did? No, indeed! A thousand times, no! Life is too short to be spent under a sod roof."

Entertained The P.-Wvnees

On one occasion the home of H. C. Stuckey and wife was visited by a band of Pawnee Indians. Mrs. Stuckey gives the following account of the way they entertained them:

"We had but one Indian scare. One day fourteen big, ugly fellows came in, squatted down on the floor, and, as usual, wanted something to eat. We stirred up corn dodgers for them and gave them syrup. I can see them yet, licking and daubing their corn cakes with many grunts of satisfaction. They played with my baby and called him 'heap good papoose.' I was very much frightened and could stand their presence no longer, so I took my baby and went into the other room and got a large revolver and held it in my hand until they went away. I do not know what I intended to do with the revolver. The Indians were Pawnees and very peaceful. They were on a hunting trip, and before leaving showed my husband a piece of well worn, dirty paper, written at the reservation and signed by the agent, requesting settlers to give the Indians food. - dead dogs and chickens, or an\ihing else that would serve to fill up their capacious stomachs. These were the only Indians that ever came to our ranch."

In the fall of 1878, while Uncle Swain Finch and John Finch were at Brady Island, on the Platte, after supplies for their South Loup ranch, a dispatch came from the commander at Fort ]\IcPherson that three hundred well mounted Cheyenne Indians had broken away from the southern reservation and were headed north, aiid that having barely enough soldiers to protect the fort, the settlers would have to. look out for themselves. From the way the Indians were headed it was thought they would probably cross the Platte river at the old Indian crossing east of Brady Island. The boys had no arms with them except one rifle, which Uncle Swain generously left with the little settlement of four families at Brady Island with which to protect themselves in case the savages came upon tliem. Shortly after dark they started out for their home on the Loup, thirty-five miles across the prairie, without even a trail to go by. It was intensely dark, and raining a part of the time, but occasionally a little patch of blue sky. with a star or two shining through it, could be discerned. When about eighteen miles out, the darkness increased and the rain also, until the travelers began to think they had lost their course. John asked Uncle Swain if he thought they were on the right track.

"Well, I don't know, boy ; it"s so dog-goned dark I cain't tell if we are right or not; but if we are we ought to come to the water hole where old Sailor died, about half a mile ahead."

Soon they stopped, and while John held the horses, L'ncle Swain felt around in the darkness and a few moments later returned with some of old Sailor's bones in his hand. Old Sailor was a dog belonging to Uncle Swain which had died there a year before, while chasing a deer, and this incident shows with what unerring accuracy an old frontiersman could find his way over these trackless plains, even in the darkness. They had proceeded about five miles further, and were on what is now known as Tallin Table, when they saw a flickering light some distance ahead of them. They halted, held a council, and decided to steer clear of the light, as there was no telling whether the makers of the fire were friends or enemies. The detour which they were obliged to make in order to avoid the light threw them oflf their bearings and bewildered them to such a degree that they thought it best to stop and wait until the morning began to dawn. As soon as it was light enough for them to get the direction they resumed their journe)^ and arrived at the ranch before any of the occupants were astir. The boys at the ranch were immediately routed out of bed and set to work molding bullets and loading cartridges, while Uncle Swain and John lay down to snatch a little sleep. A few minutes later John Woods, who had been outside of the ranch house trying to see if he could discern any Indians, came rushing in. his hair on end, and his face as white as a sheet, shouting: "The Indians are coming! The Indians are coming!" It is needless to say that L'ncle Swain and John were soon out of bed and that the whole ranch was in a commotion ; but as the moments passed away without any blood-curdling war whoop, they began to feel a little easier and sent a scout out to reconnoitre. He reported that it was a false alarm. Woods had seen a bunch of cattle coming out of the hills single file and his excited imagination had formed them into Indians. The relief, however, was but temporary. The Indians would no doubt be along sooner or later, and all went to work to prepare for the worst. The horses were rounded up in a log corral, and a rifle pit dug, in which John and his uncle David slept to watch the horses, while L'ncle Swain and Woods guarded the house. John was only eighteen years of age at that time and ver\' averse to having his hair cut bv the red devils, an operation which he felt, however, was likely to be performed at any time, ^^^^ile he and Woods were digging the rifle pit he remarked to the old man : "I wouldn't be surprised if we were diggin" our

Fortunately no Indians troubled them. They leally experienced a sense of disapjiointment and were inclined to regret that the alTair had ended so tamely.

In 1875 a trapper by the name of BIy came over from North Platte into Custer county to ply his vocation. One day an Indian outfit of cattle came to his camp and he bought some animals that were sore-footed and not able to travel. After a while the cattle became rested and ran away, followed by a yoke of oxen belonging to the trapper. Ely took after them on foot, having no horse, but after pursuing them over the prairie for a day he gave up the chase. He came over to the South Loup, striking the river at the Lovell and S'heety beef camp, near where Arnold now stands. This outfit had moved further down the river, and had sent John Finch and E. S. Slater, two boys, up to the old camp after a rawhide rope that had been left behind. While the boys were at the old camp they saw Ely approaching in the distance, and as he was dressed in moccasins and leggings and had a red blanket over his head they took him for an Indian. They hid their ponies, got behind an old dugout, and waited for him to come up. which he did, the boys discovering their mistake before he reached them. Bly cooked his breakfast and ate it. He then went on down to the new camp, where he bought a horse, after which he returned and rounded up his straying stock. He then worked for the Lovell and Sheety outfit until August, 1876, when he left to go to North Platte to visit his family, driving his yoke' of oxen, which were hitched to a wagon. He stopped the first night at the ranch of Swain Finch. Among other things he told Mr. Finch that he had sold his rim-fire Winchester for twenty-three dollars in cash and that he was going to buy a new gun when he got to the Platte. He resumed his journey in the morning, but was never afterward seen alive.

the firm of Ritchie & Arnold, was returning with his men from Pawnee Creek when they came across the wagon, with the dead body of Bly in it. The oxen had become detached from the wagon in some manner and were afterward found on the Loup river. Some thought that the trapper had been shot. His hat was found a few yards away, with one side badly torn. There were no marks upon the body except a small hole at the butt of the left ear and another at the back of the left heel. Word was sent to North Platte and the sherifif of Lincoln county came out and buried the body, wrapping it up in some tanned elk skins and putting it only about two feet deep in the ground, not wishing to be to any more trouble than actually necessary. The coyotes soon dug the body up, and for many years the bones lay bleaching in the sun.

Twelve years afterward John Finch, while passing through, about twelve miles southwest of Arnold, picked up the skull by the shallow grave where the unfortunate man had been buried. The locality is known to this day as Bly's Flats. David Finch was present when Bly was buried, and knowing that the trapper had received twenty-three dollars for his gun, he searched the clothing, but could not find any money. Mr. Finch noticed that the clothes on the body were not the same as those worn by the trapper the night he had stopped at the ranch. The wagon was then searched and the money found in his old clothes. It was afterward sent to the trapper's widow by Mr. Finch.

A very careful search was made to see if any indications of foul play could be found, and the conclusion was that the man had been struck by lightning. It was remembered that a dark cloud had been seen in the direction the trapper took on the day he left the ranch. The tracks left by the oxen and the marks of the wagon which had been dragged about when the animals were becoming detached from it, indicated that the ground was in a muddy condition at the time. Finally an examination of the skull found by John Finch proved beyond a doubt that the man had not been shot, as no bullet hole was found in it.

Uncle Swain Finch, a pioneer character whom all the early settlers remember, was somewhat of a deer hunter in the early days. The following incident is constructed from his own writing.

One day in 1883 he started out on a deer hunt. He was not feeling very well that day. and was creeping along rather slowly until finally he discovered two deer just around a point of a hill a short distance ahead of him. He crept up to the top of the little hill behind which they were standing and blazed away at them, the distance being about 200 yards as he thought, but he afterward found that it was 300 yards.

As soon as he fired they jumped up and ran, followed by another shot from him. which apparently took no effect. A third shot was sent after the one he had picked out. and he thought he could see him stagger, but they ran about three-quarters of a mile, stopped for a few minutes on the top of a hill, and then went off on a lope about a quarter of a mile further. All this time he had been standing on the spot from which he had fired his first shot. After stopping again for a short time, the deer commenced feeding and walking down over the top of the little knoll on which they had been standing, disappearing from his sight. He followed, and when arriving at the place where they had disappeared he again saw them walking and feeding some distance ahead of him. As soon as they saw him one of them ran about 250 yards to his right, but the other was not to be seen. He proceeded on down the hill, saw the other deer about seventy-five or eighty yards ahead of him, near the bottom of the hill. It was a big buck. He gave him a shot and he rolled over on his back. He threw in another cartridge, walked down to him, opened his knife, took him by the horns, and placed the knife at his neck to cut his throat.

Before he could do it, however, the buck jumped up as if he had been shot out of a cannon, sent the knife whizzing through the air, and in order to .save himself and keep the deer he grabbed hold of the other horn. The buck doubled himself up and kicked Swain, and jerked him down the hill, and they had it hot and heavy for some time. Sometimes the deer was on top and sometimes Swain, but at every turn the deer gave a vicious kick, and Swain had to keep a death grip on him to save his life. Every little while the deer would stop to get his wind, then go at it again harder than ever. Swain's clothes were literally torn to shreds, about the only whole thing on him being the collar of his shirt.

The situation was serious, and he dared not let go. for the deer would have made a lunge at him. and there did not appear to be any way out of the difficulty except to hang on and worn,- him out. He looked over his shoulder to see how far they were from the gun, and found that it was not less than twentj'- five yards away. The only hope he had was to get the gun before turning the buck loose. In their struggles they worked down the hill, of course, and Swain started in to pull the deer back in the direction of the gun. Whenever he made a lunge he would pull with all his might and move him up a little, every time he lunged getting a little nearer to where the gun was lying. It was a slow and laborious job. but they were getting there by degrees, and at last Swain had the satisfaction of seeing the gun within six feet of him.

The next question was could he let go of the deer, grab his gun, and shoot him before he came down on him with his sharp hoofs? It was a dangerous experiment, and the slightest hitch in the operation might cost him his life. At this particular moment he thought, for the first time during the whole adventure, of the Lord, and he is not sure but that he prayed just a litle bit as he suddenly let go of' those horns, grabbed his gim, and shot his antagonist dead before it had time to regain its feet.

S.Wed Oxe Bed

Loup City, the metropolis of Sherman county, which consisted of a log liotel kept by C. Y. Rossiter, and a general store of which Frank Ingram was the owner and proprietor. About this time Frank had some friends who had come to make him a visit. His family consisted of liimself, wife, one child, and a hired man and hired girl. The house was small and sleeping rooms scarce. But Frank's mind was active, and he soon had a plan to help himself out of the difficulty and provide sleeping apartments for the visitors, without seriously inconveniencing the family. He went to the room of the hired man and told him that it would be necessary for him to vacate his bed, as he had company that would have to be taken care of. He then went to the room of the hired girl, woke her up and laid the situation before her. He said either her bed or the hired man's must be given up for the company. He didn't like to make one of them sit up all night, but he thought as the hired man and the hired girl had been keeping company, and intended to get married, anyway, they might just as well get married then and there and thus settle the whole difficulty about the beds. This seemed to meet with the approval of the two parties most interested, and Mr. Ingram, being the county judge, immediately issued a license and married them on the spot.

"In Februar}', 1874, an acquaintance, who had just returned from an excursion trip to Nebraska, told me in glowing colors of that wonderful western country. He wanted me to go to Cozad and handle the butcher business. I was then twenty years old, and being full of a boy's love for adventure and fired by the glowing tales of the west, I did not ask many questions. In March, 1874, I was on my way west, having chartered a car for my one horse, two milch cows, four sows, butcher tools, and a bulldog - every real butcher had to have a bulldog. The freight on the car was $200. The different railroads passed me to Omaha, but there I was obliged to pay twelve dollars and fifty cents for a ticket to

Cozad, a distance of 250 males. When I reached my destination I was a discouraged lad. My aircastles collapsed like a balloon. There was no depot, and only five buildings in the town. The first question was how to unload my property. I got some planks and the stock slid down them from the car to the ground. We had landed in Nebraska. In a short time things looked fairly prosperous. Excursion trains were coming in every month bringing new settlers, we were getting the spring rains, more houses were being built in the town and country, and the prairie was being plowed up and put in crops. People had to eat, and being the butcher, I commenced business. My business as a butcher lasted about sixty days. In July we had hot winds and grasshoppers, the latter in such number as to shade the sun when passing over the country. Everything was eaten by them. I bought flour to make slop for my pigs, and there being no mowing machine in the country I bought a scythe and cut grass in the sloughs to winter my horse. That ^vinter we had lots of snow, with the mercury thirty degrees below zero. The new settlers were short of fuel, clothing, and provisions. The latter part of that winter the government sent out a lot of army shoes and clothing that was out of date for the soldiers, and flour and beans were issued to the settlers. No clothing was issued for the women, but you would often see a woman wearing army shoes and a blue army overcoat. We had the grasshoppers and hot winds again the summer of 1875, and times were harder than ever that winter. The spring of 1875 I went to the Ozark mountains of Missouri, and an Ohio boy (Lew Williams) met me there. We bought 600 head of sheep, which we trailed across the country to Cozad. We had a good deal of trouble in crossing the numerous streams. At night we slept on the ground or in our wagon, and made a corral out of muslin to pen our sheep in. We sold the sheep soon after reaching Cozad. That same summer we made two trips to eastern Kansas, by wagon, and on each trip brought back milch cows, which we sold to settlers from Hastings to Cozad. The spring of 1876 I went to Ellis, Kansas, on horseback, and when the Texas cattle drive came in I bought 100 yearling heifers for $700. I put my cattle in with a herd that came to the Loup valley. We located about eight miles this side of Callaway. I worked for my board and furnished my own saddle horses and bed. We hauled our supplies from Cozad and Lexington (then Plum Creek). This county was not organized. There were no mail routes and we got our mail only when we went to the railroad. That fall I wanted to cast my first vote for president, consequently, I made a fifty-mile ride to Cozad and voted for R. B. Hayes. The spring of 1877 I hired out to Gassman and Dufree, ranchmen, for thirty dollars per month. That fall (1877) I took charge of a ranch as foreman. The owners lived in Illinois. I had the whole responsibility of managing the ranch in all its details. I have ridden all night to get to the railroad to send out important mail to the ranch owners. The spring of 1878 I was aj)- pointed county commissioner, and I held the office continuously until township organization went into efTect. During 1881 I moved to my present home, in Arnold township, My first house was a log cabin. In 1882 I hauled lumber from Lexington (seventy miles) to build a hoi:se. In December of the same vear T went back to Ohio, my home state, and was married. When my wife and I reached Cozad, the sleeping room at the hotel' was a large room containing six beds, no stove. About luidniglit a drunken man came stumbling in, looking for a bed. The next day we started for our home on the Loup with a span of ponies and a buckboard. It was dead winter and deep snow covered the ground. That night we stopped with a farmer in the Platte valley, fifteen miles from Cozad. The house was not plastered and we could look out through the holes in the roof and see the stars shining. The second day we started bright and early. We had to break our road through the snow. There was no house between our own home and the Platte valley, a distance of thirty-five miles. When we reached home. Grandpa Hughey had supper ready, with some of his good hot biscuits, coflfee. and beefstead. -As we had gone without our dinner, we did full justice to that supper, and here we have been ever since, wrestling with the ups and downs of western life."

Dougl.Ass Finds Relics

J. J. Douglass says: "Relics of unusual interest have at diflferent times been found in this country. In the summer of 1880, while riding on the Middle Loup, with others, we came to a bed of charred wood near where the Milburn bridge now crosses that stream. A number of beads were scattered about, and upon closer examination we found among the coals the under jaw of a man, and also a silver medal, two and a half inches in diameter, with a hole in it. On one side' was the bust of a man, with the name, 'Pierre Choteau,' under it, while on the other side were the words: "L'pper Missouri Outfit.' Our supposition was that some. Indian trader had been in that country trading beads and other trinkets to the Indians for furs, that they had gotten into a quarrel and that the savages had killed and burned the trader."

Jess Gandy Joins The Elks

Once during the summer of 1881, while Jess Gaudy still lived near \\'est L'nion, he and his wife were out gathering wild fruit. Jess was a short distance from the wagon. He heard a shot, and rushing out, found his wife had shot a four-pronged buck. But he proved to be only stunned. What was to be done must be done quickly, as the buck was liable to jump up and get away at a second's notice. The suddenness of the thing rather rattled Jess. He had no more ammunition, and not even a jack knife to cut its throat. He was indeed in a dilemma. A dozen different plans flashed through his mind in a few seconds as to the best way to kill the buck, and he saw with alarm that it showed signs of reviving. Jess was so excited he forgot he could take oflf his neckyoke and dispatch him, but what he did do was about as funny as Judge Kilgore is said to have done in the winter of 1880. The judge packed water two miles for several weeks through two feet of snow, till some one suggested that snow, when melted, made water. But we left Jess with the buck showing signs of returning life. All at once a bright idea occurred to Mr. Gandy, and quick as a flash he had acted on it, and had dumped Mr. Buck into the wagon and tied him with his halter ropes. Then, sitting astride its head and neck, he yelled, "Let 'em go," and Mrs. Gandy did "let 'em go," for Jarvis Kimes' farm, a distance of half a mile east across the prairie. They had gone but a short distance when the buck came to his senses, and finding Jess astride of him, a struggle for life ensued between the two. It was just about an equal match, and for some time it was a matter of doubt whi:h would come out on top. The buck had free use of his hind legs and when he brought them down on the sides of the wagon box it looked as if he would soon kick the wagon to pieces. The noise frightened the ponies and away they flew\ up hill and down hill, over the rough ground, Mrs. Gandy holding them straight ahead and letting them go. The sharp feet of the deer tore Jess' clothing into ribbons and bruised his body fearfully. He had a veritable white elephant on his hands, and when the ponies dashed up to the door of Mr. Kimes he was about exhausted, panting and gasping for breath, his face flushed and perspiration rolling down in big drops. Kimes helped him to let go the buck.

In September, 1881, Mr. Gandy was making hay with a neighbor, Mr. Lyle, three miles west of the river, coming home only on Saturday nights, ]\Irs. Gandy being left at home to liiok after the cattle. One Saturday evening a man came to the house and got his supper, telling Mrs. Gandy that he had eaten nothing for two days. He was a pitiful-looking object. He had a blanket rolled upon his back and carried a pair of shoes in his hand, his feet being so swollen that he could not wear them. After he had eaten his supper he requested of Mrs. Gandy the privilege of staying all night. vShe told him that she was alone, and that he would have to seek accommodation elsewhere. As he had come down the river in a boat, and there was a settlement at West Union, two miles further on, he started off and Mrs. Gandy got her pony and proceeded to round up her cattle. She returned, attended to her milking and other duties, and went to the house, it being by this time quite dark. When she entered the house, what was her consternation to discover the stranger sitting upright in bed, with two huge revolvers lying by his side and a number of papers scattered about him. When she came in he remarked to her that he was making himself at home. She replied : "I should think you are," and left the room. As it was Saturday night, she knew that Jess would be home about eleven o'clock, so she took her horse and started for Mr. Lyle's, meeting her husband on the way. When they returned to the house they found the man still sitting up in the bed, groaning with the pain in his swollen limbs. He begged so piteously to be allowed to remain that they had not the heart to turn him out, and he was allowed to remain until morning, although they suspected that he was a criminal. The supposition proved to be correct, as it was afterward learned that he had robbed a postofifice at Stem's ranch.

A funny incident is related of the experience of Jess Gandy in trying to ride a buffalo. He had made his boast that he was going to ride the first buffalo he saw. Sliortly after that, while out hunting one day, he came across four or five of the beasts. He fired at short range and shot an old bull through the lungs, which dropped down on his haunches and dropped its head, the blood coming out of its nostrils. Jess thought this would be an excellent opportunity to mount and to make good his boast. He succeeded in getting on the back of' the dying buffalo, but soon found that he had mounted a very lively corpse, as the old fellow came to his feet with a bound and started off at a rapid pace. Dave Hickman, who was an eye witness of the performance, declares that at the second jump of the scared buffalo Jess was thrown about fifteen feet into the air. He came down on his feet and lost no time in making for a tree about a hundred yards distant, into which he climbed while the buffalo was flying in the opposite direction.

The Masons Buried Him

Eber Barber, who came to Custer county a little while before the buffaloes got out of it. has had some experiences that do not fall to the lot of every pioneer. He was here before he was married, and as a cowbov and an allround utility chap was in niuch demand on the big ranches. He was here in time to kill a buffalo in the county. In speaking of his experiences he tells the following:

A young Englishman by the name of Dan Todd died at the "White House," down on the South Loup, in the winter of 1882. It was very cold at the time and two feet of snow covered the ground. It was impossible to dig a grave and nobody seemed disposed to take the initiative in the obsequies. Barber says he knew that Todd was a Free Mason and accordingly he resolved to take the body to Lexington and turn it over to the Masons there for burial. He loaded the body on to a sled and with a yoke of oxen hauled it down to the head of Wood river, where a man named Marve Henr>' hitched on his mules in the place of the oxen and accompanied lUubcr and the dead man the rest of the way. All day long they wallowed through the dcej) snow with their uncomplaining passenger. It was as gruesome as it was tiresome and hazardous. All day they bucked the snow and encouraged the mules. Early in the morning, as they started out from Henry's place, they had a chance to send word to the Masons in Lexington, by the mail carrier, that they were coming. Along with this announcement went a description of their bill of lading. When within six or eight miles of Lexington, and nearly exhausted, they met two teams with eight men, all Masons, coming to meet them, and help them into town. Barber says. "Jimminy crackey, but I was glad to see them."

He aflds that the Masons took care of Henry and himself while they were in Lexington, gave them every comfort, besides holding funeral services over the remains of Todd and paying the entire bill for Christian burial.

In the summer of 1880, as the Fourth of July drew near, the people of Westerville were desirous of celebrating the day. Mr. Westervelt had a red-cedar log which he said he would give for a liberty pole, but it was not long enough, and Mr. Baker was patriotic enough to go to the cedar canyons and get another. The two were spliced together and raised, so that "Old Glory" waved above the people upon that eventful day. The pole stood in the middle of the main street, which was named Loraine, in honor of Mrs. Westervelt.

For years afterv^'ard this pole stood proudly erect, ready to receive the old flag and float it upon the winds in full view of all the surrounding country upon the occasion of every natal day or time of every public celebration. The pole is gone now, but other poles have been erected all over the county to take its place, and in these war times the patriotism of Custer county people keeps the flag floating all the time.

The first contest over the county seat in Custer county, was over the removal of the county seat and ]>ostofficc from Custer, Nebraska, to Broken How. This was in 1881. Custer was on Frank ^'oung's ranch, near the mouth of Spring creek.

The far-sighted ranchmen saw that the logical place for the county seat was in the center of the county. Mr. Young and his neighbors were for keeping it at Custer antl argued that it might have to be brought l)ack if moved, and that would mean a big bill of expense. This argument prevailed with the board of county commissioners until Jolni E. Mvers, then chairman of the board, said if it had to come back he would pay the bill. Then it went through with a whoop.

A Hospitable Roof

J. J. Douglass gives the following account of two early settlers, one famous for his hospitality and the other e(|ually as famous for his hostility.

"One of the interesting characters of this region at that time was Louis Wambsgan, one of the very earliest settlers, who located near where Oconto now stands. His house was the only stopping place for a number of years between Plum Creek and the South Loup, and there was hardly a night the year around that two or three cowboys could not be found at 'Louie's' as he was familiarly called. He could always furnish sport for the boys in some way, and his annual turkey shoots during the holidays became famous throughout this region. I have heard many a good story told under Louie's hospitable roof. Wambsgan was the first county judge, being elected at a special election held July 31. 1877.

A Little Sport With Guns

"Frederick Schreyer was another interesting character. He was the first homesteader on the South Loup between Callaway and Arnold. He was a very resolute German, about fifty years of age, and as eccentric as he was resolute. He constructed a dugout in which he imagined he would be secure from the depredations of the festive cowboy. As we have said before, there was a natural antipathy between the cowboys and the settlers, and the breach became wider and wider as time passed by and the settlers became more numerous. Armed encounters were frequent and bloodshed was often the result. Schreyer often had encounters with the cowboys and at one time was wounded in two places. He thought he was going to die, and had Charles Rockwood draw up his will. He had a ford near his house which he called his ford, and without his consent nobody was allowed to cross the river at that place if he could prevent it. He also surrounded his house with a high sod wall, which he called his fortifications. On the morning of April 1, 1878, J. D. Haskell and the writer ]nit some tools in a wagon and went up the river to repair a corral. In going we crossed the river at Schreyer's ford. We saw nothing of him at that time, but during the day he sent us word that if we attempted to cross there in coming back he would shoot us. When we arrived at the ford on the way back, and while watering our horses, we saw Schreyer and his son running toward the house with gims. As soon as we got within range they raised up from behind their fortifications and began firing at us. We were unarmed, and, thinking discretion the better part of valor, put the whip to our team and got out of the way. In our flight we had to pass pretty close to the house, and one of the shots tore the step from the side of the wagon. From that time on there was trouble. Young Schreyer w-as arrested on the Platte, but escaped and went to Lincoln, where he remained a month. He came back to Kearney, was again arrested and was brought up into Custer county. He and his father were taken, handcuffed, to Custer for preliminary examination, and were bound over to appear before the district court. Not giving bonds, they were lodged in the Lexington jail. In July they were tried and sentenced to serve a term in jail, by Judge Gaslin. They served out their time and got home the next winter.

Lassoed An Elk

James Farley tells this elk story : "Toward the end of my cowboy career I worked for the Bar-7 ranch, of which David Rankin was principal owner. This ranch was located on the Middle Loup.

"Large herds of elk roamed over the country at that time. While on the round-up in 1881 we sighted a large bunch, which had winded us. The boys ofif with their ropes and after them. C. W. Stern, John Carney, Bert Wilder, Charley Peterson (a green hand at the cattle business), and six or eight others were in the chase, and there was enacted one of the most thrilling incidents ever witnessed on the plains of Nebraska, Peterson singled out the biggest buck in the bunch, and as soon as Charley began to press him hard, he left the bunch and ran in another direction, Peterson close at his heels. 1 knew that Charley would never let up until he had secured the buck, and I knew full as well that he would have trouble when he threw his rope over the powerful beast, as he never carried a gun. I followed him as fast as my horse could carry me. I lost sight of him for a while in the chop hills, but soon discoverefl him again as I rode up a little hill. He had the elk at the end of his rope about eighty rods from me. The first move I saw was the elk making a run on the rope, and when he came to the end of it he fell heavily to the ground. He then jumped lip and charged Peterson's horse. As he came on. head down, at the rate of about fifty miles an hour, Charley spurred his horse to one side and let the elk pass, and gave him another tumble as the rope tightened up. I waited to see no more but galloped as fast as my horse could carry me to his assistance, as I knew that it was only a question of time when the infuriated brute would catch the fearless boy in one of his charges. As I rode up, the elk was making his third charge, but Peterson evaded him again and gave him another tumble at the end of his rope. When about 300 feet from Peterson the elk had again regained his feet, lowered his head for another charge, his eyes flashing fire, and with terrific bounds - made for the ])lucky boy. It seemed to me that it would be impossible for him to get out of the way of those terrible horns. But again he lei ihe elk pass by without touching him and again he brought the brute to the ground at the end of the rope, pulling him square over on his back. Quick as lightning Peterson reined his horse backward, tightened the roi^e. jumped out of the saddle, whipped out a big jack knife, and slashed it across the throat of the prostrate beast. I shouted to him with all my might to desist, as I expected to see him killed every second, but he heard nothing and saw nothing but that elk and before I came up Peterson was back in his saddle. "What the devil did you do that for?' I shouted, as soon as I reached him. T did na want loossee ma rope - da boys da laugh at ma.' The other bovs followed the bunch and C. X.

Lost Ix The Sand Hills

"Once seventy-five men started from Raymond lake, fifteen miles west of the head of Middle Loup river to go to the Newman ranch on the Running Water. We were driving 1..^00 head of cattle for the northern ranches. We missed our course and traveled for two days in a circle, among the sand hills. \\'e had water for neither horses nor cattle, and on the third day the poor brutes became frantic with thirst. It took the utmost efforts of the 'men to keep them from breaking away, and their bellowing was something absolutely heartrending, ^len could be seen on every hill around us trying to see if water could be discovered. At last I saw two men standing on a hill some distance oft' motioning in such a way that I knew they had found something. I rode u]j to them and found the nicest little lake of pure water I have ever seen among the sand hills. We all filled our kegs before letting the cattle into the water. After the rejoicing at our find had somewhat subsided we discovered that we were within half a mile of the pla:e from which we had started three days before. \\'e had a good compass, but all the men had declared the compass was no good. Stern had told them of an old trail which led to the Running Water, and they expected to follow that, but it was so dim they crossed it without noticing it. and kept traveling in a circle for three days. After a good breakfast and all the water we could drink. Jolni Darr. two other cowboys, and myself, were sent out to find the old trail, which we soon did. and led the ])arty out of the wilderness, reaching our destination safely in due time."

Jess Gandy tells the following: "In the fall of 1876. in company with Charles Penn, 1 left York. Nebraska, and came up into Custer county on a hunt. We arrived after dark at Mr. Murphy's place, on Clear creek. On our approach the dogs began a violent bark- ing, and suddenly the lights went out. We thought this rather strange, but proceeded to knock on the door several times before we received any response. Finally a childish voice rang out on the night air with a determined and rather angry accent : 'Who are you and what do you want?" 'We are hunters, and wish to stay all night." 'That's too thin. Leave or I will shoot through the door." 'Say, Sis, where is your pa?' 'That's no concern of yours. Leave or Fll shoot."

"We thought discretion the better part of valor, got out of range of the door, and finally convinced the two plucky little girls within, who were only about ten and fourteen years old, that we were friends. They had heard the dogs bark, took us for Indians or horse thieves, and had turned out the light, got the gun and proceeded to 'hold the fort." We learned that Mr. Murphy and his wife had not yet returned from a cedar canyon near by, where they were loading cedar to take to Grand Island the following day.

"There could be quite a romance written about this family. Mr. Murphy had a few cattle and the two children had to do the herding and have had to subsist for three weeks at a time on a small grass nut which they dug while herding their cattle. But to return to our story. Mr. Murphy and his wife came in presently and we were hospitably entertained. The next morning we were directed to Mr. McEndeffer's place, Mr. Murphy's closest neighbor, on the Muddy, about ten miles in a southwesterly direction. We had only proceeded a short distance when we sighted a band of elk, and everything else was forgotten in the exciting chase which ensued. We found ourselves at night over twenty miles out of our course, and in the midst of a genuine Nebraska blizzard. We selected a sheltered place on the banks of the Muddy, where we could obtain fuel, and camped until morning. We lost sight of the elk the previous evening among the hills, not having been able to get a single shot at them at less than 700 yards.

"In the morning it was still storming, and we retraced our steps and arrived at McEndeffer"s the following evening. We hunted with "Sir. McEndeflfer about a week, and had splendid success, having killed several deer. I will say Charley Penn is the only man I ever saw who could shoot quicker than I.

"While on this trip we camped all night in an old deserted sod house and found a large heap of tumble weeds and tickle grass blown up into one corner of the room. Being very tired, we did not stop to investigate what might be hidden under this immense stack of debris, but proceeded to spread our tarpaulins on it and make our bed.

"After a little, Charley was snoring away at the rate of about three knots an hour. I felt our bed move, but thought it must be my imagination. After a little the movements beneath became so violent there could be no mistake that there was something underneath our bed. I remembered when a boy of hearing that circumstances sometimes make strange bedfellows, and I thought we 'had 'em sure." I nudged Charley quietly and whispered, 'Charley, there's something under our bed.' But I might just as well have talked to the sod walls. He kept right on 'sawing wood.' The rolling and tumbling motion continued with still greater violence every minute, until I was beginning to get seasick. I got desperate, and, springing up in bed, fairly shouted in Charley's ear: 'Charley, there's something alive under our bed,' and Charley came back from dreamland with a snort and puff just as we began slowly sinking toward the ground and the heaving and surging motion ceased. Looking out toward the door we saw a long procession of little dark-looking objects, with white stripes on their backs, filing out of the door, and then realized that we had been sleeping on top of a family of skunks which had taken u[) their winter quarters in the place.""

"Your husband is a preacher, is he not?" And to the consternation of all present, she answered. "Xo. sir, he aint no preacher: dat man aint got no religum." How could he be a preacher? It is reported that the dignity of the court relaxed.

In the days when the old court house was in existence there was an antiquity in the district-court room in the shape of an old, smoky stove. At that time "Scotty" was the superintendent of the court house and he alone knew how to regulate the stove so that it would not smoke. One day while the county "Dads" were in session in the district-court room the old stove began to "smoke 'em out." and about that time Colonel Cooper came into the room. He punched the fire until he had the room full of smoke and then he put this conundrum to the crowd. "Why is this old stove like the County Dads?" No one could answer it. "Because it smokes all day and is out all night," responded Cooper.

A Pr.Mrie I'Ire

We have already mentioned the names of T. W. Dean, Leroy Leep and Gus Cosier. A peculiar incident happened to these parties on November 20. 1875. after the settlement in the precinct. About three o'clock in the morning Air. Dean was awakened from a sound sleep, and discovered that his room was as light as day - - the whole heavens seemed to be on fire. He sprang out of bed, gathered his pants, and proceeded to put them on. At this moment (nis Cosier came dashing up shouting "fire! fire! fire!" It was a prairie fire coming from the northwest - a grand and awful sight, never to be forgotten. Property and life were at stake. The head fire was coming on in the west of them at the speed of a race horse. A stiff gale was blowing from the northwest. One hundred yards in advance of the main bodv of fire. Dean had turned his horses loose, and they proceeded south toward the river. A pony was lariated near the house and Lee Leep. then being present, quickly mounted the animal and followed the loose horses, the only hope being to find them and drive them east across a piece of breaking before the fire reached them. He almost reached the place where he knew the horses were, after having left the strip of breaking which was just mentioned. Just as he came to a deep ravine, he saw the flames shoot twenty feet high and dash madly forward. Being too far from the river to make his escape in that direction, he wheeled his horse through the blinding smoke and madly lashed him toward the strip of breaking. Blinded with smoke, burned by fire, and almost sufifocated. he reached the breaking, hands and face burned, hair and eye-brows scorched, panting and exhausted. After the fire had passed, one of the horses was found on the river bank, so badly burned that it lived but a few days. The other ran into the river and made its way nearly to the opposite side, where it became mired in the quick sand and was found during the day by Air. Dean. The neighbors were summoned, and an effort was made to save the beast, but it was so bruised and burned that after trying to get it out for half a day it had to be killed.

This left Air. Dean without a team, but this matter was adjusted, however. Gus Cosier had an ox team, but no wagon, so they formed a partnership. Dean furnished the wagon and Cosier the team, and thus they succeeded in getting along until they could devise means to do otherwise.

Ex-Judge H. J. Sbinn is to be credited with this recital of a double tragedy which occurred on the table land of Cummings Park in 1883 and 188.T, by which two respected citizens of the |)ark met their death in a way so similar that the coincidence is remarkable.

The ]iark is an elevated portion of the precinct, and wells to the depth of 200 feet or more are the rule, while there are some wells that would exceed 250 feet. In the first settle- meiit of this locality the well or water question was a very perplexing one. It was known that the whole country contained sheet water on a certain level, and of course on hill land it was farther to water than on low land. Settlers were poor and as a rule were unable to bear the expense of a hydraulic or a casting well, as they now have it. As a consequence they resorted to digging wells, even at that great depth, casing them with lumber through the sand and gravel, and drawing or elevating the water by means of a horse, or two horses, as the case might be, with a rope extending over pulleys, attached to a half barrel, with a valve in the bottom. Among those who had wells as above described were Samuel Abernathy and James Cummings, and by reason of that fact a sad coincidence happened. In the fall of 1883 Samuel Abernathy caused a well to be dug on his premises to the depth of 196 feet, having procured an inexhaustible supply of water. Soon after its construction, one morning, while attempting to draw water, the bucket, or barrel, caught at the bottom of the well against the curb. Mr. Abernathy. thinking that it would be necessary to go to the bottom of the well to unfasten the bucket, there being no rope convenient except the one that the bucket was fastened to, told his brother that he could fasten the rope at the top and twine it around his foot and slide to the bottom of the well. His brother protested against such a hazardous undertaking, but to no avail, and he at once attempted to make the descent. After having proceeded about six feet from the top of the well his hold gave way and he fell to the bottom of the well, 196 feet. To the surprise of his brother he was found to be alive and conscious. Help was summoned, and on investigation it was found that by his falling into the bucket or barrel he had jarred it loose, whereupon he gave orders that he was able to hold on to the bucket or rope until they could raise him from the well. They proceeded to draw him up. and to the surprise of all they were successful in doing this, landing him at the top conscious, yet badly bruised and mangled, one arm broken in several places, his legs broken and his bodv badlv bruised.