Early, Texas - Trail Drivers of Texas : Interesting Sketches of Early Cowboys and The (part 11 of 20)

shaking of the earth and an awful noise, and found the whole herd coming down upon us in a furious run. I was bunking with Monte Harrell, and when I jumped up Harrell tried to hold me, but I jerked loose and ran around to the other side of the wagon. I soon had Mr. Harrell for company. I think every beef must have jumped over the wagon tongue, at least it seemed to me that every steer was jumping it.

From here on we had considerable trouble crossing the creeks and rivers, having to float our wagons across. When we reached one of these streams that was on a rise three or four men would swing on behind each wagon to hold it down until we got into the water, then the men would swim alongside the oxen and guide them across.

After going about three hundred miles without seeing anyone or knowing our exact location, we came to the old military road running north. That day about noon two negro soldiers came to our camp mounted on two big fine government horses. They asked me for grub and I told them I had none cooked, and as brother George spoke rather harsh to them, they rode away, going by one of the other herds. After they had passed on, two young men with one of the other outfits decided to follow these negroes and take their horses away from them, suspecting that they were not in rightful possession of the animals. When they overtook the negroes a fight ensued in which one of the boys was killed. The other boy returned to us one of the government horses and told us of the affair. We went out and found the body and buried it there on the trail, using axes and knives to dig the grave with. I have forgotten the murdered boy's name, but he was from Texas. The negroes, we learned afterwards, were deserters from the army. We found the other government horse grazing near where the fight took place, the negroes having secured the horses belonging to these two boys and made their escape on them.

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the chuck wagon and four Indians came up. They grunted and asked for **tarbucket,'' so I grabbed the tar bucket and gave it to them, but they shook their heads and put their hands in my pockets, took all of my tobacco, gave another grunt, and went off with the tar bucket. In camp that night my brother asked why I permitted them to take our tar, but I replied that I was glad they did not take my scalp.

A few days later as we were traveling along we saw ahead of us something that looked like a ridge of timber, but which proved to be about four hundred Comanches who were coming our way. They were on the warpath and going to battle with another tribe. When they came up to our herd they began killing our beeves without asking permission or paying any attention to us. Some of the boys of our herd went out to meet them, but the boys of the other herds hid out in the grass, and only one man from the other outfit came to us. They killed twenty-five of our beeves and skinned them right there, eating the flesh raw and with blood running down their faces, reminding me of a lot of hungry dogs. Here I witnessed some of the finest horsemanship I ever saw. The young warriors on bareback ponies would ride all over the horses' backs, oif on one side, standing up, laying down, going at full speed and shooting arrows clear through the beeves. We were powerless to help ourselves, for we were greatly outnumbered. Every time we would try to start the herd the Indians would surround the herd and hold it. Finally they permitted us to move on, and we were not slow in moving, either. I felt greatly relieved, and they could have left us sooner without my permission. These Indians had ^Halked peace" with Uncle Sam, that is all that saved us. We heard a few days afterwards that they had engaged in battle with their foes after leaving us, and had been severely whipped, losing about half of their warriors.

agent by President Grant and served in this capacity in Kansas and the Indian Territory, for the Cheyennes, Arapahoes, Kiowas and Comanches, which tribes frequently went on the warpath in those days, making it very dangerous for the trail drivers. We met Colonel Miles the next day after the Indians had attacked our herd, and he made a note of the number of beeves they had killed belonging to us, and said he would report it to Washington, and we would receive pay for all we had lost. He was traveling alone in a hack on his way to some fort, and to me he looked very lonely in that wild and woolly country.

When we reached the Canadian Eiver we found it on a big rise, so we decided to stop there a few days and allow our herd to graze while waiting for the river to go down. While we were there a man came along one day and warned us to be on the lookout for Indians, saying they were liable to attack us at any time. He passed on, and the next day we crossed the river and after traveling about ten miles we came to a pool of water where we found this man's clothes on the bank. Investigation revealed that he had been stripped and dumped into the pool.

We reached the Arkansas Biver, where we had a little trouble getting across. There were a few houses on the Kansas side, and we began to rejoice that we w^ere once more getting within the boundaries of civilization. Here we found a store and plenty of ** booze," and some of the boys got ^^full." After leaving that wayside oasis we did not see another house until we were within ten miles of Abilene. We had several stampedes in that region.

One evening Monte Harrell said the prospects were good for a storm that night, and sure enough we had a regular Kansas twister. We had prepared for it by driving a long stake pin into the ground, to which I chained the wagon, and making everything as safe as possible. At midnight the storm was on, and within a moment everything- was gone except the wagon and myself. The cattle stampeded, horses got loose, and oxen and all went with the herd. The storm soon spent its fury and our men managed to hold the cattle until daylight and got them all back the next morning and we resumed our drive to Abilene, reaching there in a few days. Abilene at this time was just a small town on a railroad, consisting of three saloons, one store and two hotels. Here we tarried to graze and fatten our cattle for market, and as several of the hands were not needed, they were paid off and allowed to return home, I being among the number.

While we were in Abilene, we found the town was full of all sorts of desperate characters, and I remember one day one of these bad men rode his horse into a saloon, pulled his gun on the bartender, and all quit business. When he came out several others began to shoot up the town. I was not feeling well, so I went over to the hotel to rest, and in a short time the boys of our outfit missed me and instituted a search, finding me at the hotel under a bed.

The next day we made preparations to start back to Texas, and went on the train to Junction City, Kansas, to get our outfit. It was the first train I ever rode on, and I thought the thing was running too fast, but a brakeman told me it was behind time and was trying to make up the schedule. We secured our outfit, took in several men wanting to come to Texas, elected a boss and started for home. The second night out we camped in a little grove of timber and during the night a storm struck us, another one of those Kansas zephyrs that was calculated to blow hell off the range. I located a stump and anchored myself to it, while the boss, a long-legged fellow, had secured a death grip on a sapling near me. During the progress of the storm his feet were constantly in my way, flying around and striking my shins and knocking the bark off the stump I was hanging to for dear life. I couhl liear him trying to pray, but I was so busy at that particular time that I did not pay much attention to what he was saying. The wind would pick us up and flop our bodies against the ground with great force, but I hung to that stump and got through all right.

We reached Fort Gibson, on the Arkansas, and here we were compelled to stay a week on account of high water. The boys chipped in and bought a lot of whiskey at 'this place, paying twelve dollars a gallon for it. I opposed buying the whiskey because it was a serious offense to convey it into the Indian Territory, but they bought it anyway, and after we had started on our way again some trouble arose among the outfit. One day an old Indian brought a horse and outfit to our camp and I bought this outfit, paying the Indian seventy-five dollars for it, so I left the bunch and pulled out alone through the Indian country. I reached Red River safely and made it through to my home without mishap, reaching there with only seventy-five cents in my pocket.

In conclusion I will say that I have seen cowboys who had been in the saddle for twenty-four hours without sleep or anything to eat, come into camp, lay down on a log and go to sleep almost instantly, and sleep sound with the rain pouring down and water four inches all around them. All of the boys who were with me on this trip mentioned a'bove are dead except one, William McBride. I was twenty years old when I made that trip ; I am now seventy years old.

The Man Who Had Hell In His Neck

I was born three miles south of Austin, Texas, January 30, 1856, and spent my boyhood days in farm and ranch work. In 1876 I went to Blanco County to work for my brother, John R. Blocker, on his ranch, roping wild steers out of the brush and mountains, and moved them to the Lockhart Prairie, fifteen miles south of Austin. In 1877 we drove these steers - 3,000 head - to Wyoming Territory and delivered them to John Sparks, forty miles this side of Cheyenne. There were sixteen men with this herd, but brother John, myself, and an old negro named Joe Tasby, are the only ones living now. We carried the herd through from Austin to Cheyenne in eighty-two days. John and Bill Blocker owned them, and John was the boss. Bill remaining at home. Frank Smith was the cook, the best that ever went on the trail. In the spring of 1878 we again started up the trail with 3,000 head of wild steers for John and Bill Blocker, with John Golden as boss. At Ogallala, Nebraska, John Blocker overtook us and put me in charge of his herd and, I delivered them near Cheyenne to Swenson Bros. Golden took the other herd to the Eed Cloud Agency, and had one man killed by lightning. Forty miles this side of Cheyenne, while we were in camp, I had my horse caught for the night relief. It began raining and the cook went to the wagon and began handing out slickers to the boys. A bolt of lightning knocked five of the men down and killed seven horses in camp. I had just left camp for the herd when this occurred.

When we crossed Red River, Golden told me one evening to look out for the herd, as he and Bill Biles were going back to the other side of the river. I thought they were going back for whiskey, but the next morning just at daylight they drove up with forty head of fine fouryear-old steers. He had given the old inspector some drag yearlings to cross our herd. That was a pretty hard set of people there at that time. Every man you saw had a pistol and Winchester and the children at the houses we passed were cutting teeth on cartridge shells.

In 1882 I drove some 3,000 head from Austin to Crazy Woman and Powder Rivers, Wyoming, for Stoddard, Howard & Blocker, and delivered them at the Stoddard & Howard ranch. After I returned from that trip I worked some, but not much, spending most of the time driving six yoke of steers for Bill, Blocker, working twenty hours out of every twenty-four, hauling everything that was to feed to cattle ; the balance of the time I spent in '^acting the dude'' in Austin and blowing in my easy-made money.

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County, for John Blocker and delivered them at the XIT ranch. Old Barbecue Campbell was in charge of this ranch, which was owned by a syndicate that had bought a lot of cattle down in South and Southwest Texas with which to stock it. At Mobeetie I was turned back and had to go dowTi across the plains. My herd was the first to reach the ranch, and I got there first by driving at night around Joe Collins, who was in charge of a herd belonging to George West. Old Barbecue Campbell was undecided as to selecting a brand to be used by the ranch syndicate, and when I suggested XIT it pleased him so well he decided to use that brand, and it became known all over Texas, Oklahoma and New Mexico as the XIT ranch. I branded the first cow to carry the XIT brand, and after delivering this herd Alex Caspares and myself went to Los Animas,- Colorado, where we sold our saddle horses and went by train to Dodge City, Kansas, where I received a message from brother John, who was at San Antonio, instructing me to go to Camp Supply, get a horse, go back the trail and stop two or three herds of his cattle, as he had sold part of them and wanted me to deliver them and take the balance to Deer Trail, Colorado. I went by stage to Camp Supply and there met the bosses of John's herds. They had been stopped by the ranchmen on No Man's Land, who would not permit herds to pass. Several herds belonging to George West and others were also there. As soon as John Blocker and George West received news that their herds had been held up they immediately came up there and began to plan to get their cattle across that strip of country. Fourteen armed men were riding fence to keep all herds from passing, and refused to meet any reasonable demands. Blocker and West went to Camp Supply and began wiring the authorities at Washington, sending several messages, one message alone costing them about $60.00, nearly all of the messages passing tlu'ough the hands of Colonel Carr, who was very courteous and ex- tended every facility at his command to assist them. Things were looking pretty ^'squally," and I began to feel creepy. A ranchman friend of John told him that if he would give the word he would take his men and kill all of the fellows who had stopped the herds, but John told him that he thought he could beat them by law. After several days' parleying, Blocker and West got a telegram from Washington telling them to cut the fence and pass through with their herds, and if there was further trouble troops would be ordered there. When this telegram came I had a herd ready to move. A lot of the boys with axes cut the fence for a quarter of a mile, I took the lead and was the first to cross the line. In just a short time all the herds were on* the move, and as far back as you could see the cattle, men, chuck wagons, horse rustlers and all were coming, all eager to get across No Man's Land. I took my herd to Deer Trail, Colorado, this side of Denver, and delivered them to a Mr. Eobinson, who had bought them. Bill Blocker came up and helped me count them out to Eobinson, then Bill went to Denver and left me to rope and pull down those cattle with a wornout trail pony. I borrowed a good horse from Mr. Eobinson to rope on, and got him killed by a cow hooking him through the head. Eobinson said to me, ^^Now you have played h - 1 with my horse, and I can't loan you another." He then suggested that I turn the cattle out to graze and let them rest, and start with them for the ranch, twenty miles away, the next day, but I told him my wagon and cook had already gone and I had instructed the cook to drive until I caught up with him, therefore the cattle would sleep just behind that wagon that night. He and his boss walked through the pen and I heard Eobinson say, **I thought Blocker had hell in his neck all the time," and I spoke out and said, **You are right ; I have hell in my head four stories high, and I don't want you to forget it." The next day between 11 and 12 o'clock I met him at his pasture gate, drove the cattle and horses through, delivered the wagon to him, as he had bought everything but the men, and asked him where his ranch house was. He told me it was about a mile away at a cottonwood mot on the creek. I called the boys and struck a gallop, and when we got there I unsaddled my horse, pulled off my leggins and six-shooter, laid my head on my saddle on the shady side of the house, and said, ^^Now, boys, I am going to sleep, and the first d - d man that wakes me I'll kill him." I slept until dark, and when I awoke Mr. Robinson had a fine supper prepared for us boys. Bill Blocker had sent me sufficient money to pay my men, and the next day Robinson took us all to the railroad. The. men all went back to Texas, while Robinson and I went to Denver, where we found Bill Blocker at a hotel. I was wearing an old tattered Mexican hat, my clothes were showing the effects of the trail work, and I had a mashed foot. Bill said to me, "You can't eat at this hotel dressed like that." I remarked, '^I'll come d - n near eating if anyone else does," and walked into the dining room with the well-dressed guests. After dinner Bill asked me how much money I wanted and I told him about $200. He gave it to me, and I went out and got a shave and bath, and dressed up in great style, then went back to the hotel and Mr. Robinson did not know me. I remained there several days, had my picture taken and gave one to Robinson and told him to hang it in his ranch house so that he would never forget the man that had hell in his neck at Deer Trail. He thanked me and assured me that he wouUi never forget Ab. Blocker.

In 1886 I went to San Antonio, got a wagon, horses and hands and went below Pearsall to receive a herd of 1,500 steers. Drove them for Blocker, Driscoll & Davis to Hugo, Colorado, and turned them over to old Fine Earnest. Blocker, Driscoll & Davis had 57,000 cattle and 1,800 saddle horses on the trail that year. After I turned over the herd at Hugo, I came back with a few men and wagon to Tom Green Connty and gathered a herd of cattle and drove them to the mouth of Devil's Eiver, where I delivered them to George Berry and he wintered them there for John Blocker, then put them into Mexico the next spring, and I went to Austin, where I went to work on the farm for my father and mother. Here I worked like h - 1 for two years and never made a cent because of the drouth. I got four cents for my cotton the first year and five cents the next year, and I swore if I ever planted cotton any more I would boil the seed before I planted it. Mother sold the farm and I went back to the saddle on the hurricane deck of a little pony.

In 1889 I drove 3,700 cattle from Tom Green County to Wyoming for John Blocker. He met me at Fort Laramie, where he sold 1,000 out of this herd and I went to the Belle Fourche River with the balance. When I got back to Austin I had a fine time while m}^ money lasted.

In 1890 I went to the Chupadero ranch near Eagle Pass and worked for my brother, John, for a while, then went back to Austin, got a wagon and four mules from Bill Blocker and tanked for brother Jolm and Tom Cole- man. Got so d - d tired of that job Jolmnie put me on that Cliupadero ranch as boss. In 1891 John put me to feeding 1,500 steers eight miles from Eagle Pass, and I spent the winter there.

In 1893 brother John sent me with wagon and eightytwo horses from Spofford to a ranch about seventy-five miles from Colorado City, Texas, to drive a herd from there for Harris Franklin to South Dakota. Mr. Franklin and his boss were there and had received the cattle, but brother John had told me that I had the right to cut out all I thought would not stand the trip, so I cut out some and left here with 2,997 cattle and delivered all but fourteen head near Deadwood, South Dakota. John drove these cattle for $2.75 per head and paid the bosses. He had never seen the herd until I reached the ranch with them and when he looked them over he said, *^Well, Ab, that is the best herd I ever saw come over the trail." I told him the cattle were all 0. K., but I had lost thirtyseven of his d - d old horses, and he remarked, *^I did not expect you to get here with more than one horse to the man." So I felt pretty good. He sold all of the horses but two to one of the hands, and I sent Link Norwood, the cook, with the wagon and four mules back to Eagle Pass. He drove from near Deadwood, South Dakota, to Eagle Pass, Texas, in fifty-nine days. The accompanying photograph was taken just before my outfit started on this trip, and the mules shown therein made the entire trip, going and coming, with the chuck wagon.

In 1896 I married Miss Florence Baldwin, on the Rio Grande Eiver, and lived at the Chuparedo ranch until 1897, when I moved to a ranch fifteen miles southeast of Cotulla, and went broke there during the drouth. In 1902 I went to Oklahoma and in 1903 came back to Eagle Pass, where I worked for Blocker & Ford, later going back to the Chupadero ranch, where I remained until

The Trail Drivers Op Texas 513 My Third And Last Trip Up The Trail In 1886

I left Frio County on the 20th of March, 1886, in company with eleven Pearsall boys, headed for the Pena ranch to take charge of a herd of 1,100 one and two-yearold Mexican cattle belonging to Blocker, Driscoll & Davis, which were to be driven to Deer Trail, Colorado. We went by rail to Laredo and on to Hebbronville, and from there out to the ranch, where we found Mr. Blocker waiting for us, and when we had the herd ready to start he told us to go to the Catarina ranch in Dimmit County, where I would be given 1,400 more. Some of the first herd were very poor, and those we received at the Catarina ranch were big, fat, strong fellows, and I remarked to Mr. Blocker when I saw them that I would either have to drive the poor ones to death or starve the fat ones, to which he replied that I could graze them. We pulled out with the herd and passed near Carriza Springs, on to Eagle Pass, and out by Spofford Junction, where we came into the Western Trail and went up the Nueces River by Kickapoo Springs. There the hard road began to get harder, and we found no grass and but little water, therefore I did not ''graze them through,'' as Mr. Blocker had suggested. The first rain that fell on us was at Vernon, on the Pease River.

This herd belonged to Driscoll, Blocker & Davis, who at the time had about 20,000 cattle on the trail in different herds. On account of the exceedingly dry weather that had prevailed for a good while it was a very hard year for trail men, and many of them sustained heavy losses.

When we got over the divide into Llano County, where cattle rustlers were thick, I picked up a red and white hided beef which had the road brand, a big D, on him. Some rustler had tried to efface this D, but made a failure and left the brand showing very plainly. A day or two later a mountain gent came to my herd, saw this steer and claimed him for another party. I refused to give the steer up, and that is where I made a grave mistake, for, in consequence, I lost about twenty-five head of cattle and seven horses, and besides sustained serious injury. The actions of the fellow made me suspicious, and I warned my hands to look out for trouble, for we were in a region infested with rustlers, and there was no knowing just what they would resort to. I always held the herd while the first watch was getting up their night horses and at their supper. That evening I rode into camp after being relieved, and was eating my supper when the herd started to run. It was just after dusk, and as the moon had not yet risen, we had no light to see what caused the stampede, but I straddled my horse and went down the hill in front of the frightened cattle. That was the last I remembered until about midnight. The boys missed me, and supposed I was somewhere with a bunch of the cattle, but finally they discovered me sitting on my horse in the middle of the herd. Sam Oden said he called to me but I did not answer, and he came to me and found me in a dazed and speechless condition. He led my horse to camp and tried to get me to lay down, but I could get no rest in that manner. I had in some manner been painfully injured and for two weeks afterward I could sleep only when I was leaning against the end gate of the wagon. How it all happened is a mystery and will probably never be known. Even to this day that injury is still felt and I suffer from it. I do not know how I came to be on my horse when they found me. When we reached old Runnels City I was still spitting blood, and Mr. Blocker insisted that I go back home, but I refused and stayed with the herd. Instead of going to Deer Trail, I delivered the herd on the north side of the Arkansas Eiver at Coolidge, Kansas, or rather at Trail City, Colorado, there being only the state line between the two towns. My outfit went to a point about twenty miles north of Trail City, where the firm had 3,400 twoyear-old steers which they had sold to a man whose name I have forgotten. We cut them out and took them back to the south side of the Arkansas Eiver and then up that stream for some distance where we delivered them. This man had a certified check to give me in payment for these cattle. He was in a buckboard with a driver, and getting out to ride with us on the herd he told his driver to go on ahead for some distance. The driver pulled out, traveled at a lively gait and got lost from us, being found two weeks later down at Dodge City with the buckboard and everything all right.

I left a part of my crew, some went on, while others came back home. George Mudd and Frank Blair had a fist fight on this trip which helped to liven up things in camp.

Colonel Dillard R. Fant

Colonel Dillard R. Fant, who died in 1918, was born in the Anderson district of South Carolina, July 27, 1841, his parents being W. N. and Mary Fant, who were also natives of that district. They moved to Texas in 1852, locating near Goliad. At the age of fourteen, the boy Dillard. began freighting with ox teams between San Antonio and Goliad, and at the outbreak of the Civil War he joined the Confederate forces, enlisting in Captain Kinney's company of the Twenty-first Texas Cavalry and Carter's Brigade, serving in the Trans-Mississippi department in Texas, Louisiana, and Arkansas.

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After the Civil War ended Colonel Fant engaged in farming for a short time in Goliad county, but in 1886 he went into the cattle business and rapidly rose to prominence because of the extent and importance of his operations. He drove cattle to Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming, and other markets, and for a number of years he had large contracts with the government to supply beef cattle to various military posts and agencies, including Yankton and Standing Rock agencies in Dakota, and Fort Reno and Fort Sill in the Indian Territory. These contracts extended over a period of about fourteen years, during which time Colonel Fant delivered many thousands of cattle to the government. During a period of about four years he wintered vast herds of cattle on the Loup and Platte Rivers in Nebraska, but his operations extended to Wyoming, where he sold a great many cattle, and even as far as Idaho where he spent two winters. Colonel Fant drove one of the largest bunches of cattle ever taken over the trail in 1884, numbering 42,000, going in several herds to Wyoming. The magnitude of this undertaking may be imagined from the fact that these cattle cost him from $12 to $20 per head, requiring 1,200 saddle horses in making the drive, and fully two hundred men were used to handle the herds and supplies on the trail.

After the quarantine laws against Texas became effective. Colonel Fant ceased taking his cattle to the north and confined his operations to trips to the Indian Territory, where he secured pasturage and grazing privileges for his herds. It is estimated that he took fully two hundred thousand head of cattle over the trail to the north during the fifteen years he was engaged in the business. During all these years Colonel Fant had continued in the cattle business at his home in Goliad county, and it is claimed that he was the second man to fence a pasture in Texas, enclosing his first range in 1874, when he began to improve his stock by the introduction of Durhams and

Herefords. He gradually extended his land holdings, placed more pastures under fence, and located ranches in Frio, Live Oak, Hidalgo and other counties, some as far north as Tarrant county. He owned and operated the Santa Eosa ranch in Hidalgo county, which comprised 225,000 acres, a pasture of sixty thousand acres in Live Oak county, and altogether had holdings amounting to 700,000 acres of grazing land in various parts of the state.

Colonel Fant was married at Goliad, Texas, October 15, 1865, to Miss Lucy A. Hodges, daughter of Colonel Jack Hodges, a prominent Texan who won distinction in the Mexican war. Eight children were born to Colonel and Mrs. Fant, and some of them are today prominent in the business and social life of the state.

A few years ago Colonel Fant disposed of his ranch holdings, retired from the cattle business, and established his home in San Antonio, where he resided until his death.

Relates Of A Trip Made In 1872

My first experience on the trail was in the year 1871, which was followed by another trip in 1872, and concerning the latter I shall relate.

I was a member of the crew of W. T. Avery of Hutto, Texas, and after rounding up two thousand steers and with all the necessary paraphernalia consisting of chuck wagon, extra saddle horses and other things, we left Brushy Creek for Kansas on April 15, 1872. We crossed Little Eiver west of Temple, Texas, which at that time was a prairie; the Brazos at Waco, whicli was then a small town ; the Trinity at Forth Worth, which consisted of a blacksmith shop, and Eed Eiver west of Sherman, which was at that time a large country town. Upon entering the Indian Nation, now the state of Oklahoma, we encountered Indians, buffaloes and wild horses. We followed a trail known as the main western trail and, due to heavy rains and the cattle stampeding, together with trouble with the Indians, we experienced many hardships. We crossed the Arkansas Eiver into Kansas and stopped at Baxter Springs, spending one month resting and fattening the cattle. From there we moved to Ellsworth, located on Smoky Eiver, the extreme frontier of Kansas, from which point we shipped the cattle by rail to Kansas City and sold them. On the return trip I had charge of a wagon and some extra saddle horses and after spending six weeks on the journey I arrived home in November.

Paid Three Dollars For Five Gallons Of Water

I was born in Tennessee in June, 1847, and have lived in Caldwell county over sixty-three years, witnessing all of the wonderful changes that have occurred in that great space of time. When I was sixteen years old I went into the Confederate Army and *'fit, bled and died'^ for the

In 1869 I made my first trip up the trail with a herd belonging to Colonel J. J. Myers of this county, and we went through without mishap to Abilene, Kansas, where the herd was delivered. While we were camped near Abilene, I witnessed one of the most terrific cloudbursts and water spouts that I ever saw. It washed away wagons and every movable thing, drowning several people and many head of stock.

When I left Abilene I went with a lot of fat cattle that were shipped by rail to St. Louis, coming down through Kentucky, Tennessee, Indiana, and Louisiana. On my route home I took the Morgan line from New Orleans to Galveston, and there took the stage coach for Gonzales, which put me within twenty miles of home.

In 1870 I gathered a herd for Peck & Evans, which I drove to Nebraska, and held them and other cattle until winter to fatten for market. When they were fat they were shipped to Chicago. While going up the trail with this herd, just as we struck the Kansas-Nebraska line, two men came to us one day and told us it was too late to cross the line into Nebraska and we would have to -remain right there and consider our herd under quarantine. One of the men claimed to be a sheriff and the other was his deputy. As grass and water were plentiful I told Mr. Sheriff that it made no difference to me whether I stayed there or not, as the cattle could not be shipped until they fattened, and that they would fatten there as quick as any place I ever saw. He stayed all night with us, and after he was sound asleep I had the boys to quietly move the herd across the line, getting beyond his authority to molest us. When he awoke and found we had out-generaled him, he took the trick good naturedly, and left our vicinity.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 521 Sam Gakner

ered enougli of our own cattle to make a herd and we went along with them. We sold this herd to Colonel Myers and delivered them on the Solomon Eiver in Kansas, from where I took them to Salt Lake City for him. On this trip we had a great many hardships. Snow fell so deep that it covered the grass and on-r cattle and horses froze to death right in camp, and many of our cattle died. The old wild beeves became as gentle as work oxen, and we could handle them easily enough, but the extreme cold caused us much suffering. Our oxen would bog down in the snow just the same as if it was mud, and we frequently were compelled to ram snow into their nostrils to make them get up and move. We had to walk about three hundred miles through the snow, for we could make no headway on horseback. We could not night herd because we were afoot, and it took us six weeks to make the trip, and when we arrived at the place of delivery the parties who had contracted for the cattle refused to receive them until the weather moderated, because they wanted to wait and see how many would die from the effects of the weather. It may have been good business on their part, but it gave us boys the devil to hold the herd still longer after all we had gone through to get them there.

On one of the trips I made I recall what a ''dry'* time we had when we got up in a region where the water was Ml of alkali. We were all very thirsty, and came to a beautiful stream of clear water. A spring was flowing out of the side of a mountain, and inviting us to partake freely, but all things that look good do not prove to be good. That was the saltiest water I ever tasted - ^we could not drink it at all. We had passed a spring a few miles back on the trail, and it was good water, so an Irishman said if we would give him three dollars he would go back and bring us five gallons of water from that good spring. Well, he got the money and we got the water, and while I have drank some good liquor in times gone by and thought it was the best stuff that ever went down a cowboy ^s neck, that five gallons of water on that occasion beat any liquor I had ever swallowed.

In 1872 I gathered 600 or 700 head of my cattle and put them in with Colonel Myers' herd and Mack Stewart and myself drove the herd to Salt Lake again. This trip was much more pleasant than the previous one. We started earlier than the year before, consequently we had no trouble in delivering them. Just before reaching the point of delivery, however, we passed through a very brushy section, and lost some of the cattle. Fanny Hart and myself went back about forty miles and found a lot of them which I sold to a fellow and got his check for them. We had to hire the horses we rode on this hunt, and paid three dollars per day for each of them besides a dollar and a half a day for boarding our own horses while we were away. While I believe in honesty under reasonable conditions, I did steal some oats for my horse on this trip. We had had a very hard day's drive through a region where there was no grass and when we came to a place where oats were stacked I just couldn't keep from swiping a few bundles for Old Doc.

I am now seventy-three years of age, and while I have had some very hard times in life, especially while on the trail, still, as old as I am, I think I would have the nerve to undertake to go through it all again if I knew where there was a country like this was in those good old days.

Listened To The Chant Of The Night Songs

My first trail work was under the direction of Tom Lane, in the spring of 1877, around my home at Clarksville, Texas. We put up a herd that was driven to Cheyenne, Wyoming. In the spring of 1878 I put up a herd which later was thrown in with the famous Northup herd of 3,000 head, which were driven through to Parsons, Kansas, by Northup and his Kansas jay-hawkers. This was the largest herd ever moved from that part of the state.

In the spring of 1879 I worked with Bass Baker from Eed Eiver county to Kechi Valley in Jack county, near old Fort Hog Eye. About this time, boys, we were handling them pretty lively. It is good to remember how all the boys gathered round the camp fire and told of their experiences. Many is the time I have listened to the chant of the night songs as the boys went around the herd.

I followed the trail work until 1882, when I retired from the trail and drove a herd for myself from Red River county to the western part of Brown county, and from that date to the present time I have been after the cow. I am now on the Rio Grande in Terrell county.

Sketch Of L. B. Allen

L. B. Allen, better known among his friends as Lew Allen, was born in Mississippi on February 14th, 1848, and came with his father, W. W. Allen to Texas and settled at Sweet Home, in Lavaca county, when he was about four years of age. His father was engaged in farming and stock raising. At an early age he became interested in the stock business, and is rightly classified as a pioneer of the cattle business in Texas.

L. B. Allen The Trail Drivers Op Texas 525

Lavaca county and from that time np to the time of his death, which occurred December 2nd, 1911, he was continuously in the cattle business.

In about 1873 L. B. Allen, W. J. Moore and Sam Moore formed a partnership which continued until the death of Sam Moore, and was continued with W. J. Moore up to the time of the death of L. B. Allen. They first had their ranch in Lavaca county and later moved their ranch to Uvalde and Kinney counties. Mr. Allen made many trips up the trail, driving cattle to Dakota and Nebraska. At one time Moore & Allen opened up a ranch in the Black Hills. L. B. Allen, W. J. Moore, Sam Moore, J. M. Bennett, Sol West, Ike West, George West and Mr. McCutcheon were all stockmen in the early days in Lavaca county at Sweet Home, all of them became large cattle owners and were successful in business.

One of the best evidences of the integrity of Mr. Allen and his associates and neighbors is that they all, since their early settlement at Sweet Home, have remained intimate friends.

L. B. Allen was the brother of W. W. Allen, who was also engaged in the stock business, also of R. B. Allen, who was an attorney and also engaged in the stock business.

The above early settlers of Sweet Home, Texas, were all large men of stature, and also large in character, and in their dealings with each other no other obligation was required in any contract except their word.

Had Less Trouble With Indians Than With The Grangers On The Trail

My father, John Freeman Pettus, came to Texas with Austin's Colony in 1822. He fought with old Ben Milam in San Antonio, and was also in the Battle of San

Jacinto. I was born in DeWitt county, when but few settlers lived there and spent my boyhood on the frontier. When I first started on the trail it was with my own cattle, my brother W. A. Pettus loaning me the money to buy these cattle and I drove them to Dodge City, Kansas. I drove one year to Ogallala, Nebraska.

In making trips up the trail I was always happy when we crossed Red River for we had less trouble with the Indians than with the grangers. The Indians would sometimes come into camp and beg from us, demanding fat beeves, but we always managed to pacify them. But the grangers displayed a degree of animosity toward the trail drivers that was almost unbearable.

My father settled in Bee county in 1857, and lived there for many years, moving to Goliad county in 1877. When we first resided in these counties the population was small and the country almost a wilderness. Today shows quite a contrast, and as I look back over the intervening years I can see the remarkable changes that have taken place. But foremost and above all the cowman has had his full share in the making of this glorious country, for he was the pioneer, the advance guard of the high state of civilization that is enjoyed by the present generation.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 527 My Trip Up The Trail

It was in the clay hills of Mississippi, February 5th, 1863, where I first sprung to light. My father, being an officer in the Confederate Army, soon saw the cause was lost and in 1865 ran the blockade and came to Texas. Hence, Texas got another missionary. In 1870 we landed in Medina county, where I grew up among the hardships of a frontier life, as there were no churches or schools to go to. In 1863 I left the Lytle ranch on the Chicon creek with a herd of horses and went to Kerrville where we began receiving cattle to go up the trail. We bought the cattle between Fredericksburg and Blanco City, and in a few days we had two thousand cattle under herd. The fir^t night we herded out we had the worst stampede I ever saw. At twelve o 'clock at night when I went to call first relief, the cattle came right into camp where the boys had the horses tied to a fence. Several broke loose, dragging rails and coming into the herd. I tried to cut them off from where the horses were grazing, all being hobbled, but they beat me to them, soon got mixed up and turned down a lane with a mad rush, cattle, myself and horses. We went for some time before I could get around to one side, and then held them until daylight, when I got help from the camp. We remained there several days getting the cattle together, at last hitting the trail with some three thousand steers and had but little trouble until we reached the Eed Eiver at Doan's Store. Zack Stucker, our boss, had gone ahead to look for a crossing on the river, as it was up very high from spring rains, and when he came back he ordered me to get ready to cross at two o'clock in the evening. I informed him that all the boys were drunk as old man Doan had some wagon-yard whiskey, and that we had better not cross as the men would have to swim, and a drunken man cannot swim. I told him to move camp up the river and wait until the next day, which we did, and crossed all right. We had some trouble in the Indian Territory, but got through by giving the Indians some steer yearlings. We came to Camp Supply where we saw a signboard, reading *^The Way to Camp Supply is closed - go to right." Gus Black, Til Driscoll and J. A. Kercheville were waiting for some one else to go there. My boss, Zack Stucker, being a fighting man of some reputation, said that a ^* bunch of shorthorns could not turn him back," and we went straight ahead, ignoring the signboard instructions. The next day we came to the finest country I ever saw. Here we struck the first range cattle that we had seen in the Territory. My boss came to me and told me to get another boy and go out and butcher one of these fine calves. They were sure fat and good. I told him that Mr. Lytle did not hire me to steal cattle, and I would not do it. He had no trouble in getting some one else, so the calf was butchered. He told me to go ahead and camp the wagon and have the calf ribs barbecued for dinner, which I did ; but before we had gotten the ribs on the fire, I saw him coming to camp and he said ^*Hide the meat," as there were some ten or twelve ** shorthorns" coming and all had double-barrel shotguns, and said that we would have to turn back and that they would see that we did so as they had plenty of soldiers to help them. My boss lost all of his fighting spirit and promised to turn back, and here he certainly showed his ^^gall." He said to the gang of men that had just come up and ordered him to turn back that **I would ask you to eat dinner with me but we have nothing but bacon, as you watched us so close that we haven't had a chance to steal anything."

They told him (the boss) to come to their camp and they would give him a quarter of a beef, which they did, and the boss of course accepted their hospitality. The stolen calf was the best meat, however.

I landed at Fort Dodge, Kansas, and I had a date to take a young lady to a Fourth of July barbecue and dance. I resigned my position and came home. The same lady I took to the barbecue and dance, is the same one I am taking around with me to the Old Trail Drivers' reunions.

We have six children, one girl and five boys, and all the boys are engaged in the stock business. I am living quietly on my ranch in Frio county, where I expect to pass my remaining days.

Richard King

One of the most useful men in South Texas was Captain Richard King, who died in the eighties, aged sixty years. Mr. King was born in Orange county, New York, July 10, 1825, and came to Texas when he was twenty-two years old. He first became engaged in steamboat traffic, and built up quite an extensive business, becoming associated with Captain M. Kennedy, Charles Stillman and James O'Donnell in the operation of twenty-six steamers on the Rio Grande, the firm being known as King, Kennedy & Company which continued until Captain King began to devote his entire time to cattle raising. He began purchasing grazing land and imported domesticated stock from Mexico in the later fifties. He was the pioneer importer of graded stock, purchasing Durhams from Kentucky and rams from the North. His livestock holdings at one time were 100,000 cattle, 20,000 slieep and 10,000 horses. Thouju(;hard king sands of longhorns owned by him were driven over the trail to Kansas and the territories to market and the ranges. Before the Northern markets had opened to any extent Captain King erected rendering establishments on his ranch and shipped tallow and hides to market via water.

Captain King interested himself in every enterprise that was for the good of the Southwest. He was a builder in every sense, and was interested in the construction of the San Diego, Corpus Christi & Eio Grande Eailroad.

At the time of his death Captain King owned outright more than 500,000 acres of land. He made his wife his sole legatee and executrix without bond. His son-inlaw, E. J. Kleburg, was placed in charge of the estate and under his management the King ranch has increased to more than 950,000 acres, on which today graze thousands of head of high-grade cattle. As many as 30,000 calves have been branded on this ranch in a single year.

In December, 1854, Captain King was married to Miss Henrietta M. Chamberlain, daughter of Eev. Hiram Chamberlain of Brownsville, Texas. Of this union the following children were born: Eobert Lee, deceased; Nettie M., who became the wife of Brigadier General E. B. Atwood; Mrs. Ellen M. Atwood, Eichard King and Mrs. E. J. Kleburg.

Drove Cattle For Doc Burnett

I was raised on a ranch in Gonzales county, Texas, and moved to Kimble county and located a ranch in 1897, and am still here, raising high-grade cattle, goats, sheep and hogs. Have been in the cattle business all of my life." I drove cattle up the trail in the early eighties for Doc Burnett, and could relate many thrilling experiences of those good old times, but I guess they have been pretty well covered by the sketches of other old-time cowboys. I was a member of the local exemption board during the war just closed and served as county commissioner of Kimble county for four years. My ranch is located nine miles south of Junction, in one of the best sections of this part of the state.

Worked With Cattle For Over Sixty Years

I was born in Shelby county, Texas, in 1850, and have resided in this state ever since, follomng the cattle business all of my life. If there is one class of people I love better than another it is the class that dates f back to my childhood days, for I went into the saddle at ten years old. The first night I can remember of camping out on a cow hunt was in the spring of the year. AV( camped on the banks of a creek called Deer Creek, south of Fort Worth about fifteen miles. At that time the boys carried their biscuits and dried beef and a little coffee in sacks tied behind their saddles, and their blankets generally piled on their saddle blankets and their saddles on top of that making pack horses out of the boys' saddle ponies. From that time on I have worked with cattle a part of every year without missing a single year for over sixty years and am still handling cattle as a commission man and salesman on the stockyards, Daggett- Keen Commission Co., at Fort Worth. I could give so many different statements concerning trailing and cattle driving that it would take too much space. Have been with scouting parties many times, day and night, in this section of the country doing such scout work against Indians and Indian raiders. Forty-nine years ago in this month was the last raid the Apaches and Comanches made in the vicinity about the stockyards. Fort Worth, Texas, at which time they killed hundreds of horses within a mile to ten miles of this location. At that time I pulled twenty-seven arrows out of horses that they had shot. As to myself I used to be a bronco buster and an expert roper, not as a wild west show man but roping and riding at that day and time was part of the business. It was like going into battle to make charges on wild bunches and capturing the whole band of wild outlaw cattle if possible or else capturing a part of them without ropes. The same would apply with either horses or cattle, sometimes deer, antelope or wolves for a change. I have played checkers across parts of our country by driving cattle in different directions with herds.

The hardest trip I believe I ever made with cattle was in July, 1865, when I helped move a herd of steers, ages four to eight years to Shreveport, Louisiana. Seems to me they stampeded pretty nearly every night from the time we left the prairies directly north of Fort Worth, until we got them loaded on boats for shipment to New Orleans, and will say here that the net price of those cattle after the freight, feed bills, commission and yardage was paid was $6.00 per head. Our work taking the cattle through on that drive was just added in the steer and made a part of the steer, to say nothing of the expense for driving. From the time we arrived at Marshall, Texas, the road from that point was lined with negro soldiers dressed in blue, called Yankee negro soldiers. They kept us in the brush from there on to Shreveport, most every prominent corner in that city had a negro soldier on it with a gun and a bayonet who would slightly touch the people with the bayonet and tell them to move on. Of course this was generally people that were not singing gospel Sam to them; those they would prod with the bayonet ; I often wondered why this great American Government patrolled this beautiful American country with negroes instead of white men, when it had more than sufficient numbers of white men who could take the place of negroes. But I want it understood I am not especially a negro hater, as we owned a few negroes ; we raised some of those negroes and those negroes helped to raise us. Mr. Negro is all right in his place.

I loaded out the first train of cattle that was loaded out of the Fort Worth stockyards in the fall of 1870, and had the first consignment of cattle on the North Side twenty-seven years ago.

Made First Trip In 1877

In 1877 I went up the trail with Dave Combs, who was then driving for Ellison & Sherrill. We left the coast country with 3,000 big steers and stags and delivered to Millett & Ervin in the Indian Territory. This was my first trip as a cow-puncher, and when we reached Red River a lot of Indians came and stayed with us all day. To me, a beardless boy, those Indians in the war paint was a wonderful sight. After delivering the cattle I went on to Wolf Creek, near Camp Supply, remained there two months and picked up sore-footed cattle and carried them to Ellison & Sherrill ^s Ranch on North Fork of Red River near old Fort Elliott. - That was the finest country I ever saw, and it was full of Indians, buffalo, antelope, deer, turkey and prairie chickens by the thousands. I remained in that region several years and finally drifted back to Staples on the San Marcos Eiver.

I drove a herd from Staples to the San Miguel in Frio county, where we ranched a number of years, afterward going back to my old stamping ground, Staples.

It is a great pleasure to attend the old trail drivers' meetings and meet my old time friends, especially my old comrade Dave Combs, a cowman and gentleman in every respect.

Cowboys Dressed Up At End Of The Trail

On April 10th, 1870, in company with George Lyons as trail boss for Ellison & Co., with 1,500 cattle, and I as boss for Crunk, Jennings & Co., with 1,600 cattle, we pulled out for Dodge City, Kansas. That was a good year, grass and water plentiful and a good open range. We had good horses and good men on that trip, our boys getting along like one large family. Went by way of Austin, crossed the Trinity Eiver at Fort Worth and passed near where the union depot in that city now stands. There were but a few houses in Fort Worth then. We crossed Eed River at Doan's Store and went up North Fork, which we crossed, and pulled on to Dodge City, crossing the Cimarron and Washita Rivers on the way. Indians, deer, antelope, and prairie hens were plentiful; there were a few buffaloes, too, but not many, but the prairies were covered with the skeletons of these animals which had been killed for their hides.

sold on contract to J. F. Ellison, Sr. We delivered 500 cows and had to take them to Fort Sill, Indian Territory. Mr. Lyons delivered them and left me with the big herd. I was two or three days getting away from where we cnt the cows from their yearlings; we moved like a snail climbing a slick log, so far np in daytime, slipping back at night. Gus Staples, one of our boys, was a fiddler and we had music all the way. Gus saw his first antelope on this trip, thought it was crippled and tried to catch it, but the longer he ran it the faster it got. Monkey John, the negro cook, spent a half a day trying to drown a prairie dog out of a hole, but nothing doing.

Captain Ellison finally sent us word to cut all cows above three years old and take them on towards Powder Eiver, catch up with the herd and turn them over to his boss, who he said was waiting for us two days ahead. With five men I pulled out, ate up all of our grub the second day at noon, and were four days catching up with that herd. For two days we had nothing to eat but boiled Irish potatoes without salt. We delivered the remainder of the herd as soon as I got back and checked up. I found we had about the number we started with and a few over which we picked up along the trail, which of course, if no one claimed, we did not point out.

In 1881 I left Martindale, Caldwell county, with a herd of 1,500 cattle and went to Travis county, where John R. Blocker gave me 1,500 more, making 3,000 cattle belonging to Jennings, Blocker & Co. This herd was sold to Ike T. Pryor and delivered to him on the north side of the Washita Piver in the Indian Territory. Eufus Fuller then took the herd to Fort Sill, while Mr. Blocker and I went to Dodge City on horseback. I left Mr. Blocker there and came home.

In those days I received $30 a month, furnished three horses and had money at the end of the trip. Our way back home was paid by those who employed us. We came back as immigrants, all dressed up in new suit, boots and hat, the rig-out costing about $30, and when we reached home we were *^ somebody come" sure enough, as we were usually absent about four months.

A Tenderfoot From Kentucky

In the summer of 1887, D. G. Knight was working as manager for the Durants, and was also selected as round-up boss of Presidio county. He had about 60 men and over 400 horses in the outfit.

Friends of the Durants in Kentucky had a son who was very brave and anxious for some real excitement, so they sent him out to Mr. Knight. He was a very talkative young man, and often told us of the good times people in high society had in Kentucky and of their great dinners, costing from $1.00 to $10.00 per plate. He was quite free to state that he did not think we would know how to act in such high society, and while we knew that this was perhaps true, we did not care to have him tell us that.

The boys immediately started in to show him how they did things in high cow-camp society. The first thing we did was to slip the cinches off his saddle, so that when he tried to head a steer, his horse stopped quickly, and he went off with the saddle, landing on his head. He thought it was purely an accident.

He wore a blue shirt. Every man in the outfit started telling Indian stories, and told him that the Indians thought that those who wore blue shirts were soldiers, and they would hide behind rocks and pick them out from among the cowboys. This scared him so that he pulled off his blue shirt and wore his wliite, shortsleeved undershirt on top until his arms were blistered by the sun. The boys then started in telling him about the narrow escapes they had had from ^^gwinders,'^ a very vicious animal with one short leg in front and one behind, so they could circle around a mountain and catch a man and tear him all to pieces. That made him afraid to get out of camp after dark.

One night we camped about sixty miles south of Marfa, and the boys decided it was time to put on an ** Indian fight.'' We took it turn about telling of narrow escapes from Indian raids, until bed time, and warned him to be prepared for an attack any time during the night. After we had bedded down for the night, ten or twelve of the boys slipped off, and tied bunches of grass on their heads and got sotol stalks for lances. About 12 :30 Den Knight woke him up and told him to saddle his horse and go with him to unhobble a bunch of their horses and move them closer to camp so the Indians wouldn 't get them. Just as they got off their horses and got busy with their work, the other boys came charging up on their horses, yelling, shooting and making all kinds of wild noises. Knight fell over and yelled to the boy that he was killed and for him to make his escape if possible. The boys thought they could catch him before he could get to his horse, but they failed and he got away and rode sixty miles to Marfa before 10 o'clock the next morning. He arrived there almost exhausted and told the citizens that Indians had attacked the party and he was the only one to escape. When he found out that was all a joke on him, he decided the West was a little too strenuous and went back to swell society in Kentucky.

A True Story Of Trail Days

In the late '70s, when herd after herd of Texas cattle were driven north over the old Chisholm Trail, Ike Pryor's herd was a few weeks ahead of the herd driven by Bill Jackman.

It was the custom for the man following to pick up lost cattle and drive them on until the herd they were lost from was reached. Bill Jackman's herd picked up a steer lost by Ike Pryor and was taking him along for Ike, with good intentions. Eed River was crossed and BilPs herd had now gone a few days' drive into the Indian Nation. One afternoon a band of about forty Indian warriors including their squaws, rode up to Bill Jackman's herd and the chief handed him a letter, which read as follows:

**This man is a good Indian; I know him personally. Treat him well, give him a beef and you will have no trouble in driving through his country. "

After reading the letter, Bill rode into the herd, and cut out Ike's steer for the chief. They killed the steer then and there and had a big feast. Then Bill went on North with his herd, in peace, thanking Ike for his good advice.

Traveling The Trail With Good Men Was A Pleasure

My first trip over the trail was in 1868 with my father, Col. J. F. Ellison, with about 100 cattle, which at that time, was considered a large herd. We left the old Mc- Ghee Crossing on the San Marcos River in Caldwell county, about seven miles from the town of San Marcos, and went over the old Fort Arbuckle trail to Abilene, Kansas, crossing the Trinity Eiver at Fort Worth, which at that early date was just a small frontier town. Our mess wagon was drawn by two yoke of oxen, and as it

The Trail Drivers Op Texas 539

My second trip was in 1871, over the old Chisholm trail. I went over the same trail again in 1874, and in 1876 I drove a herd for Ellison & Dewees, and Mac Stewart having charge of a herd for Millett & Maberry, we traveled together, receiving our cattle southwest of San Antonio. We went as far, if not farther west than any cattle had ever gone, crossing the Washita about eight miles west of where Chickasha is now located. This was a hard trip. We passed through the Wichita Mountains at the foot of Mt. Scott, and saw lots of butfalo and antelope. Our first stop was at Dodge City, Kansas. We delivered part of these cattle north of Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory. This year Ellison & Dewees and Millett & Maberry drove together and drove about 100,000 cattle to the northern markets. Their cattle were strung out from San Antonio almost to Dodge City. Ogallala, Nebraska, was their distributing point. For some time that year I held 7,000 head just south of Ogallala, across the Platte Eiver, my camp being near a cold spring that boiled out of the ground. The water from this spring Avas the coldest I ever drank, so cold in fact that it would make your teeth ache. They cut cattle from my herd to deliver in every direction.

In 1877 I did not drive a herd but worked on the train for Ellison & Dewees wherever I was needed, and Monroe Hardeman did the same. E. G. Head was our general foreman. On Washita Eiver, near where Chickasha is now, I cut from the herds of Giles Fenner, N. P. Ellison and Bill Green about 2,000 one and two-year-old steers and delivered them to Miller & Green of Paul's Valley. Their foreman was Tom Grant of Fort Arbuckle and he took charge of the cattle. As well as I remember they paid $9.00 for the yearling steers and $12.00 for the twoyear-olds. These were good cattle for those days, and good colors because they were all colors. From there I went to Dodge City on horseback. Had good company, for I struck up with Charley Shiner who was headed for the same point. I think I can truthfully say we were never out of sight of a herd of cattle from there to Dodge City. Arriving at Dodge City I delivered the proceeds of the cattle to Miller & Green and after resting up I was sent back down the trail by Col. John Dewees on some business that carried me almost to the Washita. As I started back to Dodge City I was again fortunate in having good company and more of it, this time coming up with Green Mills and Zeke Hilliard of Lockhart, and A. B. McQueen of Winston county, Miss. It was a pleasure to travel with such good men.

In 1880 I made my last trip over the trail, this time for myself, but in 1884 my two younger brothers, T. H. Ellison and E. R. Ellison, J. T. Block and myself sent a herd from Presidio county in the Big bend country in charge of the late Nat Jackman, who was a brother to W. T. Jackman. I met these cattle up there and delivered them to the Durbin Land & Cattle Co. on Sweetwater, about 150 miles north of Cheyenne, and had to throw them all down and brand them, some four or five thousand head.

I believe this winds up my trail experience. There is a warm place in my heart for all of the old cowmen and trail boys. The men who bought the cattle and paid me to drive them are nearly all gone now; many of my comrades who worked with me on the trail have also passed on, and the balance of us are on the shady side of life. Like the cowboy who, when asked why he had cut a certain cow back, reared in his stirrups and said **She is too ancient,'' we, too, are getting ^^ ancient." Trail driving is but a memory now, and will never return. When the summons comes for our last trip let us be ready to go. My postoffice address is Fort Cobb, ' Oklahoma, and I would be pleased to hear from any of the old boys who would care to write to me.

The Trail Drivers Op Texas 541 Had Plenty Of Fun

I have no time to write books. If I gave all of my experience on the trail it would fill this book and then some. From 1875 to 1882 I suppose I had more experience, good and bad, than any one man on the trail, with Indians, buffalo, horse rustlers, and cutthroats, and during that time I worked eighteen hours out of every twenty-four. Wound up in 1882 without a dollar in hand, but in possession of several thousand dollars worth of fun. I am now seventy-one years old and can ride a horse just the same as of old. I have been right here in Texas ever since the morning star first **riz," and when you publish your next book I hope to be a retired stockman, for my time will then be my own, and I will give you something good. HoAvever, since you insist, I will relate a few incidents and you can arrange them to suit yourself.

I went up the trail the first time with Ben Duncan and Jim Speed of Frio county, and the second time with Woodward & Oge of the same county. For many years I was boss for Lytle & McDaniel and Lytle & Schreiner.

One year while on the trail we found Eed Eiver out of banks at Eed Eiver Station, with fifteen or twenty herds there waiting to cross. I was in charge of a herd of 3500 cattle and was anxious to get across. The toll man was demanding $1.25 per head for crossing cattle at that point, but I was determined not to pay it, for the total amount seemed too high, so of two high things I decided to choose the river. While my herd was stopped on the Texas side of the river, and the toll collector was absent, I swam across to the other side and made arrangements with a man over there to come and ferry my wagons over. Then I swam back and got from two to G.ve men from each outfit there to help me. This gave me a bunch of some forty or fifty men and we pushed my cattle right into the raging river and rushed them across. Just as we emerged on the other side the toll man appeared on the bank we had left and I yelled back to him: ^^You are too slow to collect from Gus Black."

I delivered many cattle for Lytle & Schreiner in Wyoming and Nebraska. One year this firm sold several herds to Governor Bush of Wyoming. One trip Governor Bush came out to meet the herd in company with Captain Lytle, and we entertained him in camp. That morning I had found a couple of long horns which had slipped off the head of a dead cow on the trail, and in a spirit of fun I fitted them onto the just-sprouting horns of a dogie yearling with our drags. That little old yearling was a comic sight with those great long horns on its head, and caused lots of fun for the boys. When Governor Bush was looking over the herd he espied this ^'long-horned" yearling, and began to hurrah Captain Lytle about the animal. I told the Governor that it was just a yearling, but he said it was a four-year-old, and would bet any amount of money on its age. I told him I would bet $200 it was a yearling. He promptly covered the bet, saying he knew I was a hard-working man, and he hated to take my money, but he wanted to prove my ignorance and teach me a lesson. At the same time he said he would just as soon bet me $1000, but knew I could not afford to lose that much money. I told him to put it up, that I always ''blowed in" my money anyhow and would just as soon let him win it as anybody else. So the bet was made, and then I roped the dogie and took those horns off. Governor Bush was dumbfounded, and the laugh was on him. When settlement came around I told him to keep his money, as he was so d - d ignorant I just wanted to teach him a lesson. Then he set up the whiskey and cigars to the outfit.

encountered a colony of grangers who made it a rule to charge every herd fifty dollars for permitting passage through their community. I rode into the village and consulted with their chief leader who informed me that the charge was made to pay for inspecting herds for contagious diseases, etc. I told him I had no money but would give him a draft on Captain Lytle, which he said would be satisfactory as Captain Lytle 's check was good anywhere in the world. He asked me to kindly add another ten dollars to the amount for tobacco for the villagers, which I did, and then put my herd through. The first telegraph station I reached I wired Captain Lytle that I had been buncoed out of sixty dollars and to refuse to pay the draft. Those fellows were skinning us and I figured that turn about was fair play.

I am glad George Saunders took the lead in the organization of the trail drivers of the early days, for such an association has long been needed to preserve the history of the rugged noble men who made the cattle industry. I hope to live to see the day when that monument suggested by Mr. Saunders is placed on the old trail as a tribute to those who have gone their way and a reminder to oncoming generations that we ** blazed the traiP' and vouchsafed unto them peace, happiness and prosperity.

Slumbered Through The Shooting

I went up the trail the first time in the spring of 1881 with a Crouch Brothers' herd from Frio county, in charge of George Wilcox. We had the usual experiences of driving and stampeding, and at Doan's Store on Red River a near-shooting. Fortunately the bad man's pistol hung in the scabbard and as he was well covered by sev- eral guns he had to accept orders and leave. In the Territory we had, I suppose, the usual tense moments when the short-barreled hairtrigger boys wanted to cut our herd for strays, and Wilcox would not stand for it. We did not have trouble with this outfit who wanted to cut our herd because the leader recognized Wilcox as a friend who had once given him a horse, saddle and gun to leave a section of country where he was ** wanted, '* so he was very anxious to do something in return for the favor. He offered to stop the fellow we had turned off at Doan's Store, and who had threatened to follow us up and **get" one of our men, our new friend saying he would not have any trouble, just tell some Indians he knew that a bad man and a good horse were coming and he would never get by. George refused to give him a description of the man.

We arrived at Dodge City, took in the lively town, then put two Crouch herds together and drove them to Ogallala with Dick Crewes as boss. There I left them and went East and to England.

Went again in 1885, 1 think, to Caldwell, Kansas, and from there to Camp Supply and delivered to D. E. Fant at his ranch, then took the mail hack to Kiowa, and the trip and gypsum water wore me out, so I went to the hotel in Kiowa, a board affair, to rest. Some Texas boys who had had a difference with the town marshal were in the adjoining room, and I slept through all the shooting, though some twenty shots were fired by the posse from the street and the boys from the windows, the marshal being wounded. The boys were still in their room when I left the next morning.

Those old days may have been a little rough at times, but there was always such kindness and good feeling among the boys it is a pleasure worth remembering to have been one of them.

Another Successful Cowman

My parents were James M. and Malinda A. Murrah. I was born in Goliad county, Texas, August 24, 1856, and lived there with my parents until the fall of 1865, when father moved to DeWitt county and gathered a remnant of about twenty-five head of cattle, all we had left out of about two hundred head after the close of the four years of Civil War. Father subsequently sold these few cattle for the low price of three dollars per head.

In 1866 we moved to Bell county, and myself and a negro helped my uncle drive two hundred head of horses through on the trip. This was my first trail work. We ^^^^^^ settled on a little farm in Bell I F^ '^HH county, where I plowed and time longing to get old enough to go ^^up the traiP' with the cowboys. When I was twenty years of age I made my first trip to Austin, passing through San Antonio. I heard of a ranger company up on the Sabinal River and went there to get a job, but did not succeed in getting it, so I went on and secured employment with an uncle where I taught Mexicans how to use an American plow. After three months of this work I was offered a job on the trail and lost no time in accepting it. I drove on the trail from 1882 to 1887 and knew many of the old cowmen of that time. I knew D. H. and J. W. Snider quite well; worked a great deal for Capt. Dud Snider, and think he is one of the best men living. A short time

I have been in the cow business ever since leaving the trail, and it seems to me that I have known the ^'dogies" almost from the beginning of time. I have ranches in Val Verde and Webb counties, but my home is now in San Antonio. I am proud to be the vice president of the Old Time Trail Drivers' Association, for it is an organization of men who made history.

The Real Cowboy

I wish I knew as much about cowboy life of today, as my father knows of the early cowboy days in Texas. I firmly believe that my love for the open range and a good cow pony is inherited. Good cow punching is just as much an art and just as appreciated, as it was when he was a boy. Of course there is not the range, or the wild cattle. Just the same, a ranch in New Mexico or Arizona could hardly be managed without good men who thoroughly understood their business. So, the real live cowboy still exists; here and over in Old Mexico, especially, and of course in South America.

better than to see the old cow- ^^^^^^^ ^^^^ kiekt.vnd boys make a proposed trip to California. Also to re-establish the old trail. I am cspe- cially interested in that noted old trail ; and would like to make the trip from start to finish. For the old cowboys to make the trip to California would be one of the grandest things of this century, it would be history.

While I am not a man, I love to work with cattle ; and have spent a good deal of my time on the range in Southern Arizona. There is something about the way startled cattle raise their heads and look toward a horseback rider, that I enjoy. For me there is real pleasure in noting their earmarks at a glance ; and studying out their brands. Eanch life is not so exciting as it was in the early days. For one thing, when pay day comes the boys do not shoot up the town, as of old. Though the rustler is still with us, we handle him strictly within the law, but we do not love him any better than they used to thirty years ago.

I believe I could walk along the streets of any town or city and pick out the real cowboy, not by his clothes especially, but because one can nearly always notice that he has a very open countenance and almost innocent eyes and mouth. He is. not innocent of course ; but living in the open, next to nature, the cleaner life is stamped on his face. His vices leave no scars, or few, because old mother nature has him with her most of the time.

The cowboys in this part even, are rapidly passing out, for the wire fences and short horns are coming in. While- in Texas last summer I noticed that very few kept up the old custom of good saddles, ropes, etc. Here, a good saddle, rope, boots, chaps and a good ** cutting'^ horse are still the pride of any cowboy, for they are still very much needed.

In Old Mexico and along the line in Arizona, cow punching goes on in earnest. We still have the big round-up; the chuck wagons, the **remuda." Camped out for nights, the boys still tell old-time yarns and sing good old songs and play pranks on the tenderfoot they find in their midst.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 549

(Editor's Note. The above sketch was written in 1914, since which time Mrs. Kirkland has died. She was the daughter of C. H. Eust, of San Angelo, Texas, one of the active members of the Old Trail Drivers' Association.)

Cowboy From The Plains Of Nebraska

In March, 1872, I was engaged by Colin Campbell to take a herd of cattle to Nebraska for him. I went to Lodi (recent suburb of Floresville, Texas) and hired the hands to go with me; being among them Miguel Cantu, ex-police of San Antonio, Masedonia Gortari, Aurelio Carvajal, my brother, Francisco Longoria, Melchor Ximenez, and others, whom I do not remember. We started in the same month, March, 1872. Mr. Campbell gave me $1,500 for general expenses, and went with us as far as Lockhart. I had close to 1,800 head of cattle, so we went on; we crossed the Colorado river close to Austin and went on through Eound Rock, Georgetown, Belton, Lampasas, and Fort Worth, which was a small place then. At Fort Worth we bought sufficient provisions to take us across the Indian Nation, which was nothing but wilderness. We crossed Red River at Red River Station in Montague County, and went into the Indian Nation. We met some Indians and gave them three or four lame cattle in payment of custom's duties w^hich they claimed for us going through their territory, and on to Ellsworth, Kansas, where all the cowboys were taking their cattle. My boss, Colin Campbell, was there waiting for me, and he ordered me to go to North Platte, Nebraska, and he would meet me there. He bought me a compass and a map of the state of Nebraska. In those days the western part of Nebraska was nothing but wilderness. So we started for Ellsworth without any roads ; just following the North Star by the compass and examining the map to find out where we could get water for the cattle. In going to North Platte I got too close to a settlement of ^^ short horns," where there was a big river called Solomon River. My cattle were suffering for water for three days. Before I got to the river, there came about twenty ^^ short horns'' armed with doublebarreled shot guns ; they stopped me from watering the cattle - ^finally leaving. All at once there came a *' short horn" on a big horse to where I was. I asked him if he had a section of land on this side of the river where we were watering the cattle. He said yes, aboat half a mile below here. I told him that I would give him $100 gold or two cows and calves if he would let us water on his land; he told me all right, but you must not cross the river here, that we would have to go about twenty miles west and cross it on the government lands. So I watered the cattle and went west and crossed the Solomon Eiver. Then we kept traveling due north for many days ; camping one day for dinner on the divide between the Republican and Platte Rivers. Four of us having been out from camp, went back to camp and staked our horses, and started to eat our dinner. All of a sudden there came a cloud of buffaloes running toward our wagon, and three of our horses broke their ropes and started to run ahead of the buffaloes. There was one horse left in camp, so I got on him and started in pursuit of my horses that were ahead of the buffaloes. From the camp to where I overtook the buffaloes and horses there was a large city of prairie dogs and I had considerable trouble keeping my horse away from the holes. When I overtook the horses I tried to catch them but my horse was almost exhausted; so I continued to run even with the horses until my horse'could get sufficient breath to maintain his gait. I kept about one hundred yards from the horses and buffaloes, both still running. Finally I came to a nice level valley and I said to myself, if I do not catch the horses now, right here, I am going to let them go. So I put spurs to my horse and it seemed to me that he was flying. The leading horse had a piece of rope around his neck and I gained on him and caught him, holding to the rope on his neck. The other horses following as soon as I caught him. After having put my rope on him I started back in the direction of the camp. I had gone about a mile when I met one of my hands, coming to my rescue. So it made me feel happy, because I was afraid I never would find my way back, as it was getting late in the day, almost dark, and we were some fifteen miles from camp. As we were going back we met about 1,000 buffaloes coming over a ridge toward us. I asked my companion if he wanted to see my horse get on top of those buffaloes, and he answered, yes. So I turned my horse after the buffaloes and I scattered them in all directions. Finally we got into camp all right without getting lost in the wilderness. Next day we continued our journey toward North Platte, Nebraska, our destination, where we found our boss, Colin Campbell, waiting for us, after being on the trail for six months.

Echoes Of The 1916 Convention

**Y' know,'^ observed the little old man with the thin, brown fingers, ^'y' know, when the boys went into Mexico befo', I drove one of the wagons. That was 'way back in '46.

C. P. Vance, who admits to 89 years and who is '^down from Williamson County" to attend the Stock Eaisers' Convention, was the speaker. Mr. Vance glanced over the gray-haired youngsters assembled and remarked :

The old man smiled. It was a smile of good will toward children whose memories only go back to these latter 50 years of trail driving. Mr. Vance sat in the front row at the meeting of the Old Trail Drivers yesterday afternoon at the banquet hall of the City Auditorium.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 553

*^Must a been about in '68 or '69. I went up with a herd in 70 and the blazes were still bright on the trees then all through the Oklahoma timber country. ' '

*^Now this Chisholm trail, where it started and where it ended and when it was blazed, we're not plum sure of it an' I'd like to find someone that is," said George W. Saunders, presiding.

^^But these modern maps ain't right. I can't find Brown's Hole, an' I can't find Bridger Pass, nor Spear Fish, nor Bear River. Why, these new maps ain't got the old streams. They've got railroads an' railroads all over 'em - ^bnt the rivers we used to cross ain't there.

Early Days In Texas

Something like seventy years ago, in 1852 to be exact, my father, George W. Hazelwood, emigrated with his family from Mississippi to the plains of Western Texas. There being no railroads or other means of transportation at that time, he came by the mule team mode of conveyance. The country was sparsely settled after reaching the Texas line, and the trip was a long tedious one. The family would travel for days without meeting a human being, only coming in contact with vast herds of wild buffalo and numerous tribes of still wilder Indians.

The journey occupied several months, and my father with his family eventually located in Panola county, Texas. The country being wholly an open range, and the pioneers who blazed the way into this new western civilization being extremely few and far between, the early settlers apparently did not remain very long in any one place, but moved about from location to location, seeking a better range, more ample water and greater safety from marauding Indians. Fort Worth, in Tarrant county, was the nearest trading point, and all provisions and supplies of every character and description was brought into the Western country by freighters, sometimes accompanied by United States troops, but more frequently they traveled in little bands for better protection against Indian raids.