Early, Texas - Trail Drivers of Texas : Interesting Sketches of Early Cowboys and The (part 7 of 20)

Many of the prairie fires were started by squatters on land who wanted to keep strangers away. They would plough a safety boundary around their stake and then set fire to the grass outside.

We crossed many nice cool streams whose banks were covered with wild plums. I noticed the ripe ones first when crossing the Washita, and wanted to stop to gather some. Mr. Burks wasn't ready to stop, so told me that the Indians were very troublesome at this place, and I needed no coaxing to start the horses on.

Later, when we came to the Canadian Eiver, the red, blue, and yellow plums were so tempting I had one of the Mexicans stop with me to gather some. We wandered farther away from the buggy than I realized, and when we had gone back a short way I thought the horses had run away and left us. I was panicstricken, but the Mexi- can insisted that we go farther up stream, and we soon found the horses standing just as they were left. I forgot my scare when the cook served me with delicious plum pie made from the fruit I had gathered.

Being the only woman in camp, the men rivaled each other in attentiveness to me. They were always on the lookout for something to please me, a surprise of some delicacy of the wild fruit, or prairie chicken, or antelope tongue.

In the northern part of the Territory we left the trail a while to graze the cattle, and I drove on ahead of the bunch to a stream. ^^ Jap'' Clark motioned to me to stop, but I misunderstood him and thought he meant *^go on," and plunged my horses in the swollen creek. One of the horses stumbled and fell, but was on his feet in a moment, and somehow I was jolted across to the other side. I was the subject of much chaffing because of this alleged attempt to break my neck. The crossing was so bad that the banks had to be chopped down to make it safe for crossing the cattle.

On the banks of the Arkansas Eiver we saw two Yankees who called themselves farmers. When we asked to see their farms they showed us two plots about the size of a small garden. They said they had never farmed before, and we easily believed them. Vegetables were a great treat to us, so we bought some from the ^'farmers" and enjoyed them immensely.

The camp cook on this trip was a very surly negro. He was a constant source of trouble, and everybody was glad when he was ^^fired" and a white man took his place. I heard a commotion in the camp kitchen one day and when I looked out of the tent door I saw the cook with a raised axe and a Mexican facing him with a cocked pistol. Mr. Burks rode up in time to prevent a killing.

On stormy and rainy nights a candle always burned in my tent to guide the men. One very stormy night Mr. Burks had to help the men hold the cattle, and he saw the light in the tent flare, then all was black. He rushed through the rain to the place where the tent was and found it flat on the ground, me buried under it, unhurt. The rain had softened the ground and the wind easily blew the tent down. That night all the matches got wet and it was late next morning before we got others with which to start a fire.

Mr. Burks wanted me to stay in town at Ellsmore, but after being there a few days, and witnessing another fire in which a hotel and several residences were burned, I preferred camp.

A man who lived some distance from camp was paid to feed the horses through the winter, but soon after we heard that he was starving them. A boy was sent to get them and as he was returning, the first severe snowstorm of the season overtook him at nightfall and he had to take refuge for himself and horses in a wayside stable. Next morning he was awakened by a commotion among the horses, and found the owner of the stable trying to punch out the horses' eyes with a pitchfork. Such was the hatred felt for strangers in this region.

Nine horses were lost in this snowstorm. Many of the young cattle lost their horns from the cold. Blocks of ice had to be chopped out of the streams in order that the cattle could drink.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 305

So in December we left Kansas, dressed as if we were Esquimaux, and carrying a bucket of frozen buffalo tongues as a souvenir for my friends in Texas. Our homeward journey was made by rail to New Orleans via St. Louis, and by water from New Orleans to Corpus Christi via Galveston and Indianola.

Please don't think, now that I've finished telling the few stories of my trip over the Old Kansas Trail, that the journey was one of trials and hardships. These incidents served to break the monotony of sameness of such a trip.

One day Mr. Von said as we were resting along the way, **In the heat of the day, when I am riding behind my cattle, I think of you and am sorry for you," and added, as I hope you will, '^but when I see your smile of happiness and contentment I know all my sympathy is wasted."

What Mr. Von said is true. For what woman, youthful and full of spirit and the love of living, needs sympathy because of availing herself of the opportunity of being with her husband while at his chosen work in the great out-of-door world f

The Experience Of An Old Trail Driver

I was raised on my father's ranch eight miles north of Lockhart, Caldwell County, Texas, and made my first trip up the trail in 1869. Colonel J. J. Myers, who had a ranch near my father's, had a large stock of cattle, and after the war he commenced to drive them north, and that year I gathered a hundred and ten steers and put them in one of the herds, Billie Campbell being boss. I traded a beef steer for a pair of goat-skin leggings, bought a slicker and a pair of blankets and started up the trail. I was then eighteen years old. We crossed the Colorado Eiver below Austin, went by Georgetown, Belton and Waco, where we had to swim the Brazos, crossed Red River and struck the Chisholm Trail. Right there is where I ran my first antelope, and thought it was crippled. I was riding a bay horse I called ^^Buck,'' so I took down my rope and Buck and I lit out after the antelope, but we did not go far until we quit the chase and went back to the herd.

We had a stampede in the Territory while Noah Ellis and myself were on herd together. In the run that followed my horse fell with me, and I thought the steers would run over me. But I soon learned that steers will not run over a man when he is down under foot. They will run all around a fellow, but I have yet to hear of a man being run over by them. Ellis and I held those cattle all night. After we got rounded up the next day we moved on to the Arkansas River, where we found three herds belonging to Billie Campbell, Dan Phillips and John Bunton, who were traveling together. The river was up and no ferry to help us across, so we had to swim the stream. We made a raft to carry our wagons and supplies over, which took some time. This was at a point fifty or a hundred miles below Wichita, then consisting of a supply store, postoffice and saloon, all in dug-outs.

M. A. Withers and J. W. Montgomery had a large number of cattle at home and I had a good bunch, so in 1870 we gathered a herd together. George Hill was also with us, and Bill Montgomery, George Hill and myself " started with them to Abilene, Kansas. In those days 1,000 head was considered a large herd, but we had 3,500 head in that herd, and it was called 'Hhe big herd" all the way. We crossed the Colorado below Austin, went by Georgetown and Belton and crossed Eed Eiver below Eed Eiver Station. The river was up and we had to swim it. A few days after we crossed this stream we had a big stampede, in which we lost some cattle and had to lay over a day while George Hill and myself went to look for the missing cattle. Eetnrning to camp that night, my horse gave out and I was compelled to roost in a thicket the remainder of the night while George went on to camp, a distance of about five miles.

We had two wagons and two cooks with us, Uncle Gov. Montgomery and Jerry Head. A few days after the stampede mentioned above, the wagons went ahead of the herds to get dinner, and when they made camp a bunch of Indians came up, and when I arrived at camp I found Uncle Gov. and Jerry were about to give them all the tobacco and coifee we had. I gave them only a portion of our coffee and tobacco and they left. All went well until we got to the North Canadian, which was also on a rise, and we had to swim our cattle across. There being three herds of us together, we all made a raft to carry our wagons over. Our herd was in the lead, and when the cattle reached the opposite bank and started out the embankment gave away and 116 head of the cattle were drowned before we could turn them back. We found another going-out place and all three herds made it across all right. When we commenced the getting of wagons over with the three outfits there was a general mixup. Somebody in the other outfit had a big lot of Confederate money, and Doom, a silly negro that was with us, found this money, $10,000 in large bills, and he hid it, and if we had not been on the north side of the river he would have left us and tried to make away with it. He showed the money to me and I told him it was worthless. I do not know what he did with it, but we would have lost Doom if the river had not been up.

We moved on and crossed the Arkansas Eiver at Wichita, then on to Abilene, onr destination. There Montgomery sold his cattle, to be delivered in Idaho, beyond the Snake Eiver. George Hill, W. F. Montgomery, Bill Henderson and George Mohle left for Texas, while Bill Montgomery and myself started with the herd to Idaho. We went from Abilene to the Big Blue Eiver, from there to the South Platte, below South Platte City, going up that stream to Julesburg, and crossed the river, from there to the South Platte, below South Platte City, ing oxen we had to have them shod at Cheyenne, as the gravel had worn their hoofs to the quick. After leaving Cheyenne we struck the North Platte Eiver below Fort Fetterman. A few days before we got to Fetterman we made a long drive to water, and when we reached the water, there being no other herds there, we turned our herd loose that night. During the night a herd of five hundred big, fat steers came in, which were being driven to Fetterman, and the drivers, not knowing we were there, turned their herd loose also and mixed with our herd. The next morning we told them that as we were going to Fetterman, they could cut them out when we reached that place. When we arrived at Fetterman we rounded up our herd for them and they went to cutting out, but as they were tenderfeet, they did not succeed very well, and now and then one would come back on them. You old Texas cowboys know what it means for a wild Texas steer to come back on you. When they were through cutting there were sixteen of those big fat steers in our herd which they could not cut out, and we told them our horses were *^all in,'' and we could not cut them, so I made a trade with them, giving sixteen head of lean cattle for their fat ones, and they sure came in mighty handy, as will be shown later on.

We went up the North Platte and struck across to Sweetwater, following the old California immigrant trail, going by the Enchanted Eock and DeviPs Gate. There the cook broke one of the ox yokes and we could not get one, so we had to camp and cut down a small cottonwood tree to make a yoke with a dull axe and the king bolt of the wagon to burn the holes with. Bill assigned that job to me. It took me all evening and all night to burn the six holes in the yoke. We pulled out the next day, and all went well until we reached the Rocky Mountains. It was forty miles across these mountains and two hundred miles around, so we decided to go across them. This was in October and the weather had been good, but we were getting short of grub. The first night in the mountains it came a snowstorm and twenty-five of our horses died and our cattle scattered considerably. All we could do was to push them in the old trail from each side and let them drift along. At this time our sixteen fat steers came in might handy, for when our supply of provisions gave out we began killing them. The meat would freeze in just a little while, so we lived on nothing but beef for over a month. We had no flour, salt or coffee, and nowhere to purchase these things. Only a few trappers and miners were in the country, and they did not have enough to supply us. Our horses all gave out and we had to walk and drive our diminishing herd. We had plenty of money, but could not buy any horses because there were none to buy. However, one day a miner came along with eight big U. S. mules, and Bill purchased them. We thought those big mules would relieve our troubles, but when I saddled one of them and went after the cattle he did not last an hour, for he could not climb the mountains. We managed to secure a few more horses from miners, and after pushing on for another ten days we reached Salt Valley, where we laid over for several days while three of the men went back into the mountains to gather up cattle we had left, numbering about three hundred head. Bill Montgomery pulled on with the herd and I took a man and a pack mule and also went back into the mountains to try to gather more of the missing cattle. I found about fifty of tliem and hired a trapper to take them to Ogden, while I and my man returned to overtake the main herd, which was about ten days ahead of us. We camped one night near a big lake on the trail and next morning we found the tracks of a big grizzly bear in the snow within ten yards of where we slept. We had our heads covered up, and I suppose he could not smell us as he passed our camp.

We did not overtake the herd until they reached Snake Eiver. There Noah Ellis, who had taken one herd on to the man we had sold to, returned to us. From there on we had no trouble, but soon reached our destination and delivered the cattle to Mr. Shelly. Bill Montgomery then bought one hundred and fifty mules from Shelly, paying $75 to $100 each for them, and started them to Branyon to ship them to Missouri, where he expected to sell them for good prices. I took stage for Ogden to get the cattle I had sent there by the trapper, and when I arrived there I sold the cattle and went on to Branyon to meet Bill. I had to wait several days for him to arrive, and when he got there, Noah Ellis and I pulled out for Texas, arriving at Lockhart on Christmas Eve.

In the spring of 1871 my brother, M. A. Withers, and I gathered a herd and started it to Kansas, but when we reached Belton we sold the herd and I returned home.

In 1873 M. A. Withers, Bill Montgomery and myself drove two herds to market. I was boss of one herd, and a man named Page bossed the other. That was the wettest year I ever saw on the trail. It rained all the time and we had to swim every stream from Red River on. At Fort Worth the cook broke a wagon wheel and after we got it fixed and went on some distance further he broke another wheel. Red River was on a big rise, and the stream was lined with herds, for no herd had been able to cross for a week or more. I asked some of the bosses of the herds there if they were going to tackle the river, and they said they were not, so I told them to give me room and I would tackle it, for I would rather undertake the crossing than to take chances on a mixup of the herds. They all gave room and helped me to start the cattle into the water. I strung my herd out, had them take the water several hundred yards above where I wanted them to come out. I never saw cattle swim nicer than those steers; they kept their heads and tails out of the water. I ferried my horses across. We proceeded on our way and when we reached the Washita and Canadian Eivers they were high also, but as they were small streams we had no difficulty in crossing them. Before we reached the Arkansas River I killed a buffalo cow and roped her calf. Intending to take the calf with me, I necked it to a yearling, but it was so wild and stubborn it fought until it died.

After crossing the Arkansas at Great Bend I pulled on to Ellsworth, where I found brother Mark with the front herd, and we delivered our cattle, sent our horses back to Texas and returned home by rail.

My next drive was in 1879, when I bossed a herd for Jim Ellison, which was delivered to Millett Brothers at their ranch on the Brazos Eiver, north of Fort Griffin. The herd was the first to cross the Colorado at Webberville. For about ten miles after crossing the river the country was brushy, but other herds followed us and soon made a good trail through there. We went by way of Georgetown, up the Gabriel and on toward Brownwood. Near Brownwood we turned north, struck the Western Trail near Albany, and on to Fort Griffin to the Millett ranch and delivered the herd. When we started back with the horses I received a telegram from Mr. Ellison instructing me to take stage for Fort Worth and hasten home, as he had another herd for me to take to Ogallala, Nebraska. When I arrived at the ranch Mr. Ellison had two herds which he liad purchased from Bob

Stafford at Columbus. Bill Jackman was to take one of those herds to the Millett ranch on the Brazos, so we traveled together, and when we reached Millett 's ranch he would not take the cattle, so we threw the two herds together and drove them to Ogallala. We had 5,500 head in this herd, and it was the largest herd ever seen on the trail. It was getting late in the season and water was scarce. We had nine men besides myself, the cook and the horse rustler. All went well until we reached Red River at Doan's Store. There one of my men was taken sick and two of the hands quit, leaving me with only six men to handle the herd. But we made it all right until we reached the Washita River, which was the last water until we got to the Canadian River, a distance of about thirty miles. I made a long drive after leaving the Washita, made a dry camp, expecting to reach the Canadian the next day. But we made slow progress as the weather was hot and we were short three men. About three o'clock the next day after leaving the Washita we were within five miles of the Canadian and the big herd was strung out about four miles. They were as dry as fishes. You old-timers know what that means. We were going up a long divide, the wind was from the west, and about a half mile west of us were some alkali springs. The herd smelled the water from these springs, and back about the middle of the herd they began to break away and go for that water. Right then I thought Mr. Ellison's open Y's would be scattered clear to the Red River. The old-timers know that you had just as well try to handle a bunch of mixed turkeys as to try to keep a thirsty herd away from water. We found good grass at these springs and stopped there for the night and the Indians ran off thirty head of them for us. Next morning I took the trail and went back about five miles to look for the cattle, and when I came up with them I found that the red rascals had killed one old stag. I took the others back to the herd. We reached the Canadian about noon. When I arrived at Dodge City, Kansas, I hired three men to help us take the herd on to Ogallala, about eighteen days' drive. Mr. Ellison met me at Ogallala and sold the cattle, to be delivered at Sidney Bridge on the North Platte.

After replenishing our grub supply, we pulled on and struck the North Platte, which we followed up to the Narrows. The ** Narrows" is a name given to a ledge of hills which run from the divide to the North Platte Eiver. A herd cannot be driven over these hills, but is forced to travel up the bed of the river for about a mile. The North Platte is a treacherous stream, and full of quicksand. We had to send our chuck wagon around over the hills, and it required all day for the wagon to make the trip. Just above the Narrows, in the valley, we found about one hundred graves, which I was told mark the resting place of men killed in a fight with Indians. From here we traveled up a beautiful valley all the way to Sidney Bridge, where we delivered the cattle, returned to Ogallala, paid off the men, and all hit the train for Texas.

During the fall and winter of 1880 I bought cattle in Bastrop and Lee Counties for Mr. Ellison. In the spring of that year I drove another herd of the Y cattle for him, making the start in April. This was a very dry year on the trail. While crossing the Washita we broke a wagon wheel and had to use a pole drag for one hundred and fifty miles to Wolf Creek. As there was no grass in Kansas and it began raining, I laid over on Wolf Creek and sent the wheel fifty miles down the creek to have it fixed. We rested here two weeks. After leaving the Canadian I went ahead of the herd about five miles looking for grass and water and was overtaken by about five hundred Indians. I felt a bit scared as they came up, and they wanted tobacco, and I willingly gave them all I had and moved back to my herd. As we proceeded on our journey Mr. Ellison came to meet us in a buggy. He remained all night with ns, and we slept on a pallet together. Mr. Ellison undressed, but I did not, as I always slept with my entire outfit on, pants, boots and spurs, so as to be prepared for any emergency. During the night the cattle made a run, and when I started to get up one of my spurs caught in Mr. Ellison's drawers and he was rather painfully spurred. The next morning we cut out the weakest cattle in our herd and Mr. Ellison sent them back to his Panhandle ranch.

I have been around cattle during many bad nights, but the night Otis Ivey was killed by lightning was the worst one I ever experienced. Ivey and his horse and about twenty head of cattle were killed during the storm. Mr. Lytle sent out from Dodge after his body and had it sent to his mother in West Fork, Caldwell County, Texas. We often used lanterns around the herds at night, but on that night a lantern was not needed, for the lightning flashed so continuously and so bright we could see everything plainly and smell burning brimstone all the time. When we reached Dodge we had our last grass, for there was not enough on the range to feed a goose. From Fort Dodge to Stinking Water was usually fifteen days' drive, but I made it that year in twelve days. I would leave the bed ground in the morning, drive until noon, round up in the trail for two or three hours, drive on until night and round up again. For twelve days the cattle had no grazing, but had plenty of water. Cattle, if given plenty of water, can go a long while with but little to eat. But unless you give them water at least every twenty-four hours you will have trouble. After reaching Stinking Water we had plenty of grass and we grazed them on to Ogallala.

I had to wait at Ogallala for Sam Moore, for Mr. Ellison had told us to take some steers to a man near the Eed Cloud Agency. Bill Jackman came up and Mr. ' Ellison told us the contract called for 1,000 cows, 1,000 yearling steers and not less than 700 two-year-old steers.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 315

H6 found us cutting some long yearlings for twos, and said, ''Dick, a Texan is going to receive those cattle, and he knows ones from twos." Anyway, we cut and got our supply, then pulled out over to the North Platte up to Sidney Bridge, then followed the Deadwood road. When near the Red Cloud Agency I saw my first Indian buried on a scaffold. I was ahead of the herd at the time, and saw something I took for a well and, being pretty dry, I decided to go to it and get a drink. But instead of being a well it was a dead Indian on a scaffold. It was the custom of the Indians to bury in that fashion, and everything the dead Indian had owned in life was left there. After that we saw a great many Indian graves like that.

Reaching the ranch where we were to deliver these cattle I found the Texan that Mr. Ellison said knew oneyear-old steers from twos, and we went to work classing the cattle. We never disagreed on a single steer, and when we were through I found that out of 1,000 yearlings and 700 twos, I had delivered 800 ones and 900 twos. When we got back to Ogallala I gave Mr. Ellison the receipt, and after looking at it he said, *'Dick, bring all the boys to the hotel for dinner,'' and he paid my fare home.

Early in January, 1881, I commenced buying cattle for Mr. Ellison. That year, when starting up the trail, I went through the mountains by way of Llano and Brady City. I had bought 500 head on the Colorado near Buffalo Gap and had to take that route to receive them. They had been gathered when I reached there, so I roadbranded them and pulled out for Fort Griffin, Doan's Store on Red River, Dodge City, and Ogallala. When we reached Ogallala Mr. Ellison told me he had 6,500 cattle he wanted me to take to Belle Fourche, Wyoming, deliver them and bring the horses back to Ogallala, sell them, pay the men off, and return home. So I got my supplies, pointed the herd over to the North Platte, followed that stream up to Sidney Bridge, where we took the Deadwood road to Running Water, then turned west to Crazy Woman, thence to the Cheyenne, up that river to Lodge Pole, leaving the Black Hills and DeviPs Tower to our right. Then there was nothing there but a ranch, but now there is a railroad and the town of North Craft.

I am living at Boyes, Montana, now about one hundred miles from where I delivered those cattle on the Belle Fourche Eiver below the old ranch. I went from Lodge Pole down the canyon to the Belle Fourche River, and within a week had the cattle branded and delivered. That was in September, and as some of the boys wanted to wash up before starting back to Ogallala, several of our outfit went buffalo hunting and we killed all the buffalo we wanted. Those were the last buffalo I have seen.

In 1882 Mr. Ellison sent me to East Texas and Louisiana to buy cattle, as they were getting scarce in our country. I bought two trainloads and shipped them from Longview, Texas, to Kyle. In March we began rounding up for the spring drive. Mr. Ellison said he wanted me to drive a herd of beef cattle, and told me to pick out my remuda. Out of five hundred horses I selected ninety head of the best that ever wore the Y brand. I started on this trip with 3,520 fours and over, and delivered 3,505. Mr. Ellison asked me just before we started when I would get to Dodge City. I figured a while, and then told him June 10th. He said he didn't think I could make it by that date, *^But," he added, *4f you do, you can make it to Deadwood, South Dakota.'' He informed me that it was an Indian contract and had to be made on time. **You make it on time and I will pay your way home and give you a good suit of clothes," said Mr. Ellison. I got my clothes and my fare paid back home.

That was the most enjoyable trip I ever made. I could drive as far in a day as I wanted to. Those steers walked like horses, and we made good time all the way. Mr. Ellison went broke that year.

Cornbread And Clabber Made A Good Meal

I was born in Grosslelitch, Germany, then Poland, March 19, 1844, and came to America with my mother and grandmother in 1856. We landed at Galveston in December of that year, from whence we journeyed to Indianola and then to San Antonio in an ox wagon, arriving in San Antonio in 1857. From San Antonio we went to Gallinas, Atascosa County, where my aunt and sisters lived. They came to America only the year before we came. I secured work with a Frenchman at four dollars per month, remaining with him a year and a half, saved my wages and bought a horse for forty dollars. I rode that horse just half a day and he died. Thus I gained my first real experience. I was next employed by Joe Walker, the first county clerk of Atascosa County, for six dollars per month. I remained with him until 1862, when I went to work for Ben Slaughter, who lived at La Parita, and he paid me seven dollars per month Confederate money. Later Ben and John Slaughter, Lee Harris, the two Forrest boys and an Englishman named Moody, and myself, started to Mexico, and while on the way we stopped one day and took dinner with John Burleson. The dinner was fine, the menu consisting of cornbread and clabber, and we enjoyed it immensely, for we were all very hungry and could have eaten the skillet the bread was cooked in.

Joseph Cotulla

After bidding John good-bye we resumed our journey down the river, crossing the Presidio to our destination. After a short stay in Matamoras, John and Ben Slaughter returned to Texas, Moody went to England, and I went to New Orleans, where I enlisted in the Federal Army in 1863, remaining with the troops nearly two years. After receiving my discharge in San Antonio I went back to Gallinas and began to work for myself, branding mavericks. In March, 1868, I went to Nueces and drove a herd from the Altito to Abilene, Kansas, for L. B. Harris. We crossed these cattle below San Juan Mission, going by way of Austin, Waco and Dallas, crossing the Red River about eight miles abov^ Fort Arkansas, passing through the Indian Territory and crossing Little Arkansas River, then on to Abilene. When we reached Abilene we found only a log cabin and three houses on Smoky River. We remained there until fall, then returned with our horses and wagon.

In November, 1868, Dick Hildebrandt, Ed Lyons, Gilbert Turner, L. P. Williams and myself came out to Nueces and located. We gathered fed beeves that year and sold them to Fred Malone, Joe Collins, Thomas and Shanghai Pierce (the man who introduced the walking stick in Kansas). In the spring of 1869 I went back to Atascosa County, where I remained until fall, then came back and we started a ranch, all working together until 1873, when we started up the trail with two herds of cattle. I drove the first herd to my place in Atascosa County, from where I put them on the trail, going by way of San Juan Mission and Austin. We never saw a house until we crossed the trail where the town of Sherman is now located. On this trip we saw a number of Indians, but they did not molest us. When we reached Wichita, Kansas, I sold my cattle to a man named Polk, who beat me out of five thousand dollars. I lost seven thousand dollars on that trip. When I came back in the fall I bought Dick Hildebrandt ^s interest in cattle and in

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 319 One Of The Best Known Trail Drivers

The history of the old-time trail drivers would not be complete without a sketch of the above named gentleman, who is too modest to write of his experiences on the trail, and it therefore falls to the lot of the editor to perform this task.

John R. Blocker was born in South Carolina, in the Edgefield district of the Palmetto State, about sixtyseven years ago, and came to Texas with his parents in 1852, locating at Austin when that city was just a ^ ^ wide place in the road.'' He grew to manhood there, being educated in the schools of that place, and in 1871 he engaged in the cattle business in Blanco County with his brother, W. R. Blocker. At that early date Blanco County was but sparsely settled, the ranches being many miles apart, for it was truly on the frontier and a wild, uncivilized country.

When trail dj*iving started with the opening of the Northern markets after the Civil War, the Blocker brothers were among those to realize the opportunity afforded the cattlemen, and, starting with 500 head of stock, they soon became extensively engaged in the cattle industry. John R. Blocker, being a hardy, self-reliant young man, and a good horseman, was especially fitted for trail life. He was a good judge of live-stock and realized the possibilities that awaited the man who started out with a determination to succeed in the stock business. His first drive up the trail was to Ellsworth,

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 321

Kansas, in 1873, and lie sold his herd at such a good figure that he sent herds every year from that time on until the trail closed, driving herds to Kansas, Colorado, Nebraska, the Dakotas, Wyoming and Montana. One year, 1886, he was interested in 82,000 head of cattle on the trail at one time, and on his last drive in 1893 he delivered 9,000 head of steers to a buyer at Deadwood, South Dakota.

On one of his trips, 1885, when he had 25,000 steers on the drive, he was held up at Fort Camp Supply by Cherokee and Kansas ranchmen, who refused to allow him to proceed to his destination. After repeated appeals to the War Department, he succeeded in getting a troop of cavalry sent to pilot him through to the place where he was to deliver the cattle. George West, another prominent cattleman of Southwest Texas, was with Mr. Blocker in this fight and won out with him in reaching the market. That year the trail through Kansas was closed, and stockmen were forced to go further west through Colorado to get to the Northern markets and ranges.

In 1881 Mr. Blocker was married to Miss Annie Lane, the daughter of Dr. and Mrs. E. N. Lane of Austin, Texas. To them were born four children, William Bartlett Blocker, Laura Blocker, Susie Blocker and E. Lane Blocker.

Shortly after the organization of the Texas Cattle Eaisers' Association Mr. Blocker became a member of that organization, and has given his assistance in every way possible to the improvement of the cattle industry in this state.

When George W. Saunders began to agitate the question of organizing the old-time trail drivers into an association, Mr. Blocker was among the first to lend encouragement to the plan, and when organization of the Old Time Trail Drivers was finally perfected he was unanimously chosen as its first president.

Captain John T. Lytle

Captain Jolin T. Lytle was born at McSherry's Town, Pennsylvania, October 8, 1844, and came to Texas with his father's family in 1860. The family located in San Antonio, and the subject of this sketch, then only sixteen years old, went to work on the ranch of his uncle, William Lytle, fifteen miles southeast of San Antonio. In 1863 he enlisted in Company H, 32nd Texas Cavalry, Wood's Eegiment, and served in DeBray's Brigade in the Trans- Mississippi Department until the close of the war. After the surrender Captain Lytle returned home and spent two years on his uncle's ranch, at the end of which time he decided to go into business on his own account, engaging in the ranch business in Frio County, until 1873. For more than fifteen years he directed the movement of thousands of head of cattle on the trail, handling more than 450,000 longhorns and delivering them in Kansas, Colorado, Montana and other states and territories. During this time he directed investments in livestock aggregating $9,000,000, a record never before equalled. In 1875 he disposed of his ranch holdings in Frio County and leased pastures in Frio and Maverick Counties, where he raised stock for market despite the fact that most of his time was taken up with his immense trail operations. In this business Captain Lytle had three partners, John W. Light, T. M. McDaniel and Captain Charles Schreiner. The S - L and L - M brands used by these firms were known throughout the Southwest.

In 1879 Captain Lytle moved to a ranch in Medina County, twenty-five miles south of San Antonio, where he resided until 1904, when he moved to Fort Worth, and there resided until his death, which occurred in 1907.

The thriving town of Lytle, in Atascosa County, was named in honor of this remarkable character, who was universally loved and admired by his co-workers in the livestock industry and by all who knew him.

Joseph Daniel Jackson is another member of the Old Trail Drivers' Association who has become prominent in the cattle industry of the state, making his start during the old trail days. He was born in Bell County, Texas, in 1861. He has been identified with some of the big projects of the state and is usually found working for any movement that is for the betterment of the cattle industry.

Mr. Jackson's home is at Alpine, where he has extensive ranch holdings. He formerly ranched in Tom Green and Taylor Counties. At one time he owned the Monahan ranch of 60,000 acres in West Texas, but later disposed of it to Albert Sidney Webb. A few years ago he controlled three hundred sections of land in Brewster County and his cowboys could graze his cattle a straight thirty-five miles without encroaching on the land of a neighbor.

In December, 1889, Mr. Jackson was married to Miss Dorcas Ford, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Isaac Ford of Holland, Bell County, Texas. They have two children. Miss Una Jackson and Ford Jackson.

J. D. Jackson

Thomas Atlee Coleman was born in Goliad County, Texas, in 1861. He spent his young manhood in trailing cattle to Montana and the Northwestern ranges. Owing to quarantine restrictions preventing the driving of cattle from South Texas to those ranges, Mr. Coleman secured ranch holdings on the line near the present location of Childress, where he wintered his cattle and then moved them north the following year. It is estimated that fully ten thousand cattle were trailed north annually on these drives.

state, controlling ranches in Dimmit and LaSalle Counties and other parts of the country. Some years ago he purchased the famous Milmo Ranch in the Republic of Mexico, containing more than a million acres, for which he paid $3,500,000. He is also prominent in the business and commercial circles of San Antonio, being identified with a number of enterprises in this city.

Twice Across The Plains In Fourteen Months

Early in the spring of 1870 thirteen of the noblest men that ever crossed the plains rounded up fifteen hundred cattle at Flag Springs, near where the present town of Taylor is located, and headed them for California. Everything went along well until we reached Mustang Pens, near the head of the Concho Eiver, where two of our boys had a shooting scrape, and Ewing was killed. We continued our journey and when near Grand Falls, on the Pecos Eiver, the Indians furnished us some excitement. They tried to stampede our horses every few nights, but we had a strong guard and they failed to get our stock. We passed on up into New Mexico, going by way of Las Cruces, and went into camp for the winter on the Mimbres Eiver. While we were there we had a good time and lots of sport going to the fandangoes and bull fights and matching pony races.

In the spring of 1871 five of us, with our Spanish mules hitched to a covered wagon and two men on horseback started on the back trail for home. On our trip we saw many bands of Indians and every day we could see their signal smokes and their signal fires at night. They did not attempt to attack us in the daytime, so we would camp early in the evening and allow the mules to rest, then as soon as darkness enveloped us we could

Joe S. Clark

One morning we drove up within five hundred yards of a big band of Indians. We got our guns and made ready for a ^ght, seeing which the savages went away, leaving us unmolested. When we reached the Concho and Colorado Elvers I saw my first buffalo. There seemed to be thousands of these animals in that region at that season.

We reached Austin when the first railroad was being built to that point, and I went to working on the railroad. After a few years of that kind of work I turned my attention to farming and ranching, and thus found more good sleep and more to eat, so I stuck to the farm. I have four boys who went with the Stars and Stripes across the sea and were in some of the hottest engagements of the 36th and 90th Divisions, but they all got back home 0. K.

John Z. Means

Away out in Jeff Davis County, Texas, there resides an old trail driver and cowman, who has achieved success in his chosen field of operations. That man is John Z. Means, known all over West Texas as *^the mildest mannered gentleman that ever drove a cow.''

John Means was born at old Fort McKavett, in Menard County, Texas, in 1854, when that town was occupied by soldiers to check the raids of Indians. He grew to manhood in that part of the state, and did his full share in the work of ridding the West of the outlaw and the cattle rustler. For many years lie lived in Lampasas County, but with the encroachment of the fence builder and the farmer he moved further west, where he acquired extensive holdings in Jeff Davis and other counties, and today is rated as one of the wealthy men of that section. In November, 1877, he was married to Miss Exie Gay of San Saba, the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Sam A. Gay, and to them were born seven children, who have taken prominent places in the social and business life of the state.

George W. Evans

George Wesley Evans, now a prominent ranchman of Jeff Davis County, was born at LaGrange, Texas, October 12, 1849, and has spent his life on the frontier of this state. He resided in Fayette County until the early eighties, and when that section began to settle up he moved to the Davis Mountains in Western Texas, where he has resided ever since, following the stock business successfully and be^ coming one of the prominent cattlemen of that region. As long as the range was open he raised the old Texas longhorns for market, but with the coming of wire fences he began to import Durham and Hereford bulls, and his herds of whitefaces are now among the best in the Southwest.

In 1878 Mr. Evans was married to Miss Kate Isabel Means, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Frank Means of Lampasas County. Their children are William F., Joe M.,

Cowboy Life In West Texas

A few years ago John J. Lomax, the author of several books bearing on the life of the cowboys and cattlemen of Texas, made an address before a folklore society meeting at San Marcos.

While it is true that there are many changes in the cattle country - as witness the introduction and general use of the automobile where a few years ago the big camp meetings or neighborhood gatherings saw the *'- ambulances,'^ or ** buggies" or ^^buckboards" - sufficient of the picturesque old life remains in Southwest and West Texas to give a vivid idea of how it was in the days of the trail. He drew this picture of the Texas cowboy, his speech and mode of living :

Prior to taking a herd of cattle up the trail from Texas to Montana or the Dakotas, occurred the spring roundup, which might include a range of country 100 miles in diameter. Of course, in such a stretch of land there would be a number of cattle owners. These would all join forces, and after days of hard riding would bring together in a single herd all the cattle running on this range. On this roundup ground the cattle are * * worked ' ' ; that is, the calves following their mothers are branded and marked with the decorations employed by their owners, or they are cut into groups either for purposes of sale or for further identification. Those cut out are called the **cut''; the specially trained horses used for this work, so intelligent that you can remove the bridle after the animal to be cut is indicated, and the horse will separate the cow from the bunch with unerring instinct, are called ** cutting horses, '' ** carving horses'' or **chop- ping horses." When fences became more common the calves were cut out through a cutting chute or ** dodged out" so they could be counted. Some cattlemen now employ a branding chute, where an arrangement for holding the cattle while they are being branded is called a *^ squeezer" or ^^snappin' turtle." In branding cattle, a cowboy, after the rope has dragged the animal near the fire, throws him by * * tailing " or ^ ' flanking. " * * Flanking" consists in seizing the animal by the skin of the flank opposite the cowboy, with his arm thrown over the animaPs back. When the animal jumps with all four feet off the ground, the cowboy, by a jerk, throws it on its side; or he ^* bulldogs" them by twisting the neck, or ^' tails" him by giving a sudden jerk on the tail when some of the animaPs feet are off the ground. I once saw a cowboy *^ flank" a calf in such a fashion that he threw him completely on his back with all four feet in the air. **See him sun his moccasins," said another cowboy who stood near. When the flanker and assistants have the animals stretched on the ground they call out **hot iron" or ** sharp knife," the brander responding, *' Right here with the goods." Ordinarily the brand is put on by stamping with an iron stamp carrying one, two or three letters, and the different brands and marks employed, like *^ Flying U" and the **Lazy S," are so various as to require a separate paper to give them adequate description. A ** running iron" is a branding iron made of a straight piece of iron with a curve at one end. This end is heated red hot and the branding artist is thus enabled to **run" any letter he wishes to put on the side of the animal. Some of the terms used in marking are *^crop," *^ under bit," ^*over bit," *^half crop," ^* split," *'over slope," *^ under slope," etc. A *^ jingle bob" is to split the ear to the head and let the pieces flap. A jug handled ** dewlap" is a cut in the fleshy part of the throat, - also used sometimes as a mark of distinction. Eoping a cow is sometimes referred to as ^^ putting your string on her." If a cowboy ropes a cow without hitching the rope to the saddle, '*he takes a dolly welter," evidently a corruption of Spanish. To ^^fair ground" is to rope an animal by the head, throw the rope over the back while still running and then throw the animal violently to the ground, where it will usually lay until ^^hog tied"; tying three feet together, ^^side lined," tying two feet together on the same side, or *^ hoppled," both hind legs tied together. To tell the age of an animal, the cowboy *' tooths" him, meaning to make an examination of the teeth, as is commonly done in the case of horses, which gives fairly accurate indication of their ages.

In a cattle outfit the owner is called the *^big boss," the leader of any particular bunch of men is called the ^^boss," his first lieutenant is called the *' straw boss," or right-hand man, sometimes called the *^top screw" or ^ ^ top waddy. ' ' The chief of any group of line riders is a *4ine boss," while the boss of a herd on the trail is the *Hrail boss." Ordinarily, a cowboy is a ** waddy" or ** screw" or **buckaroo." A green cow hand is called a **lent," and his greenness is expressed by the word ^4enty." He is also sometimes called ^^Arbuckle," on the assumption that the boss sent off Arbuckle premium stamps to pay for the extraordinary services of the greenhorn. The ^^ stray man" is the cowboy's name for one who goes to the neighboring ranches after stray cattle. The **fence rider," also called the ^^line rider," is employed to ride fences and repair them. Before the day of fences, line riding was following an imaginary line between two ranches and turning the cattle back. The ^Uine rider" has charge of a *4ine camp." In addition to the ''chuck wagon," a second wagon for carrying the extra beds and bringing wood and water into camps sometimes goes along. This equipage is called the hoodlum wagon and the man who drives it is ''the hood." The cabin where the bachelor cowboys sometimes sleep in very bad weather is called a "hooden." A "bog rider" is the cowboy wlio ^^ tails'^ up the poor cows which get stuck in the mud. The *^ chuck wagon" is the cowboy's home! the chuck box is his store; the chuck box lid his table. After a meal, if a luckless cowboy happens to put his tin plate and cup on the chuck box lid instead of the ^* round pan" (a tin tub for dishes), this constitutes a **leggins case"; that is, he is laid over a barrel and treated to a dose of leggins in the hands of the most athletic cowboy. The chief man about the camp is the cook, his play usually equaling that of any of the men, and his expertness in preparing food remarkable when one considers his cook-stove, a hole in the ground, and his cooking utensils, skillets and pots. Naturally, the cook, his play usually equaling that of any of the men, **sheffi," ** dough roller," **dinero," *^coocy" and ** biscuit shooter." His invariable cry when calling the men to a meal is ^ ^ Come and git it ! "

I think I may claim that these few samples of cowboy lingo are characterized by simplicity, strength and directness, and, it may be added, accuracy. I knew a saloon once in the West known as *^The Wolf"; another that was aptly named with a big flaring sign on the outside, *^The Road to Ruin." Out in Arizona there is a town called Tombstone, and the leading paper of that town has named itself the Tombstone Epitaph. Let me add a few of his miscellaneous expressions. Of a tall man he does not like, the cowboy says **He's just as long as a snake and he drags the ground when he walks. " Of a fool he says, **He has no more sense than a little nigger with a big navel," or **He don't know dung from wild honey." Although a cow is one of the most stupid of animals, when a cowboy says that a man has good **cow sense" he means to pay him a high compliment. When he means a thing is easy, he says **It's just as easy as gutting a slut"; of washing his face, ** bathing out your countenance" or ** washing the profile"; of bathing, ** washing out your canyon"; of vomiting, ** airing the paunch''; an * * eye-baller " is a person who pokes himself into other people's business ; going courting is *^goin' gallinV' ** sitting the bag," *^sittin' her"; ** cutting a rusty" means doing your best; moving fast is **faggin'," *4effin' here" or *^ sailing away," ** dragging his navel in the sand"; ^^goin' like the heel flies are after him." A very small town is a wide place in the road. A ** twogun man" is a man who uses a gun in each hand, often at the same time. A man quick to retort is said to have a *^good come-back." *^ Telling a windy" means telling a boastful story; a *^goosy" man is a man physically nervous. When a man plays the deuce spot in a card game, he is said to be * laying down his character." To **fork a horse" is to ride him; when a man is without information on a subject, he tells you, **I ain't got any medicine"; **anti-godlin" means going diagonally or in a roundabout way. The ^^roust-about" is a man of all work about a camp. ^* Sweating a game," means doing nothing but sitting around looking at a card game. *' Tie your hats to the saddle and let's ride" means to go on a long hurry-up roundup. The boss' house is referred to as the ** White House." When a fellow makes a night of it, he is said to have ^ ^ stayed out with the dry cattle. ' ' When a delicate situation arises there is said to be **hair in the butter." The water on the plains is sometimes so muddy that the cowboy says **he has to chew it before he can swallow it." When he has gained a little more experience on a proposition, he says he **has taken a little more hair off the dog." When there is room for doubt about his knowledge he is said to .know as much about it as '* a hog does about a side saddle." A man who is good at roping is said to *^ sling the catgut well." Damp, freezing weather is characterized as cold as **a well digger in Montana." Riding on a freight train in place of paying regular fare on a passenger train is said to be * * saving money for the bartender. ' ' Ordinary stealing is **yamping." ** Plumb locoed" is quite crazy. A

Living in isolated groups, visiting but little except among these groups, rarely going to town, shy and timid as a result of long days of solitude, the cowboy develops his own form of speech. Cowboy words, phrases and customs therefore easily become community property - his language a dialect of his own. In closing this paper I cannot refrain from giving you one or two cowboy graces repeated indiscriminately either before or during a meal, and I shall end finally with some of his most characteristic dance calls. On some future occasion, if I am invited, and if I am provided with just the right kind of an audience, I engage myself to read a paper on cowboy profanity. There is a certain wholesome strength, cleanliness and variety in his profanity, and even his vulgarity, that I do not believe is equaled by any other race of men. The rhyme dance calls are supplementary to his spoken directions to the dancers, and add almost as much interest and loveliness of the dance as does the music. Here are two cowboy graces :

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 335 Days Gone By

It was in the year of 1850 that my father and mother, John and Caroline Craig, decided to make their home in that great state of the future - Texas. Suiting tlie words with action, they hitched up their two bay (baldfaced) mares to the wagon, taking such belongings as were absolutely necessary, and started on the long and perilous journey from Tennessee to Texas. Their destination was Washington County, and they landed in the western part, in the neighborhood called Sandtown - so named by my uncle.

My parents must have suffered many hardships in those days of privations, raising as they did, a large family of seven boys and two girls. My father was a teamster. He hauled freight with an ox team from Houston to Austin, hauled cotton from Washington County to Brownsville, on the Rio Grande, and hauled salt, loose in the wagon bed, on his way back from the King ranch, home. He made several trips to Brownsville; also, one to Eagle Pass, Texas.

I remember one trip I made with him from our home to Alleyton, Colorado County. This was our nearest railroad station, and at that time the terminus of the Southern Pacific Railway. We were hauling cotton. In those days wagons had wooden axles with an iron skean, and lynchpins to hold the wheels on the axle.

On these trips father would take one horse along to round up the oxen. At night, or when camping, he would have a bell for each yoke of oxen, would neck them and put a hobble on one of the oxen of each yoke. I made a number of short trips with my father, as I could be of some help in rounding up the oxen and hold them while he put the yoke on them. Often he would also be breaking in a yoke or two of wild oxen. On this particular trip when we got as far as Frelsburg, where we broke an axle, and as there were few people living in the country at that time, we were in a bad way. No houses, no tools to work with, not a blacksmith within twenty miles. Here my father accomplished something that nine men out of ten of these days and times would fail in. The only tool at hand was an axe. With this axe father cut down a hickory tree, cut it the proper length, and with the axe hewed out an axle. He got on his horse and rode to the next neighbor, where he got an anger. At that time snch a thing as a *^ brace and bit" were nnheard of. With the anger he bored the holes for the honnd and skean and pnt the wagon together. He unloaded and loaded the cotton by himself, as I was too small to do any lifting. We wound up our trip by delivering the cotton to the railway company and returned home to Washington County.

I used to plow, many, many a day with a single ox and a plow, made entirely of wood, with the exception of the point, which was of iron. Even the moldboard (the part that turns the dirt) was of timber. Father would cut a short piece of some twisted oak tree, split it open - which would almost have the shape, then hew it down to fit the point of iron and attach the handles with wooden pins - and the plow would work fine.

A word about my dear mother: During the Civil War such things as clothing, shoes, flour, salt, sugar and coffee were scarce and high - ^very often not to be had at any price. Flour was selling at twenty dollars per barrel. Mother, my oldest sister and my second oldest brother, carded the roll and mother spun the thread that made our clothes during the war. The work allotted to me was to hand the threads through the sleigh - at which I became quite an expert. If these threads, in any way became crossed, they would not weave. Often mother would send me to the neighbor ladies to help them with this line of work. I also peeled the blackjack bark and gathered the wild indigo to dye the cloth that made our clothes. My second oldest brother was a cripple and could not work in the field, so mother kept him in to help her with the weaving. In my mind I can still see my mother at the old spinning wheel.

The young people of today do not realize what ''hard times" are. Imagine that most of the flour you were to see would be a feast of biscuits on a Sunday morning for breakfast, and then some more the next Sunday morning.

Imagine for your coffee a substitute of corn, roasted potato peeling and cornmeal bran. These were some of our luxuries. Of meats we were more bountifully blessed. Cattle were more plentiful and cheap ; pork was more abundant. Hogs were running loose in the woods, and the mast was so good that hogs were generally fat in winter.

Father died at Bellville, Texas, at the age of fiftyfour, and mother died in Washington County at the age of forty-four. This left the family in the hands of my oldest brother, who faithfully and conscientiously administered to our wants until we were able to take care of ourselves.

I was born at Sandtown in 1855 and lived here with my parents to the end of the Civil War, when we moved to Bellville, Austin County, Texas. Father was the proud possessor of a small bunch of cattle, and created a desire in me to be a cowboy - to have a good horse, saddle, leggings, spurs and to handle cattle. At fourteen years of age I ran away from home and went to work for Foster Dyer of Richmond, known as one of the biggest ranch owners of that time. I was proud of my job, which, however, was of short duration. My brother learned of my whereabouts and came and took me home. I remained at home with my parents for three years, when the call to the **wild" again overcame me.

This time it was T. J. Carter, who was studying to be a doctor, and I, that went on a wild goose chase in 1872. We landed at Sweet Home and hired out to George West, to help gather a herd of steers for the trail for Kansas. We gathered between 1,500 and 2,000 head of steers. There were no pens or corrals to hold such a large herd. We held and herded these steers on the prairie by day and by night. The boys would herd them in shifts, or reliefs; one shift of men would herd them from four to six hours (according to the number of shifts), when the next shift would relieve them, so that the cattle would be continually guarded. This work is hard and trying, and at our age seemed severe ; however, we stayed with the herd until they were actually started on the trail, and then went home to Washington County. Carter went back to his profession, and is today a practicing physician in Fayette County, having made good.

In the fall of 1873 J. D. McClellan and I went to Oakville, Live Oak County, and worked for Andrew Nations and his son. Bob Nations, helping them gather 1,500 stocker cattle to be moved to the Wichitas. Our headquarters were at Sulphur Creek, about ten miles north of Oakville. We gathered up and down the Nueces Eiver, as far down as Lagarto. We were short of cow hands - who were hard to get. Bob Nations decided to make a trip to San Antonio and get the necessary complement of men. The best he could do was to get a bunch of *'brakemen,'^ as he called them. These men were no good at riding or at handling cattle, being unaccustomed to the work. We were holding the herd on a prairie near the Nueces Eiver bottom. The cattle were wild and some of them would make a break every now and then and, as sure as an animal would make a run, the trained cow pony, with his ^^brakeman," would take after it - and we would be minus a ^^brakeman.''

Tom Johnson was our trail boss. He Avas one of the best men I ever knew, when it came to handling stock cattle on the trail. He taught me every detail in *^ grazing" a herd. Johnson was very fractious and hard to get along with, and Bob Nations said he doubted very much in our going through on the trip with Johnson.

The herd was started early in the spring with Johnson as foreman, everything progressing nicely. We were obliged to swim all the rivers on account of heavy spring rains, but suffered no loss of cattle. We reached Lockhart and then Onion Creek, near Austin. Here at Onion Creek we had a little stampede, for which I was blamed.

Bob took McClellan and me on to Austin, and asked us to accompany him and his family west, and assured us work as long as we cared to stay. As he started out of Austin we told him we would overtake him on the way later. But, alas, there was a drawing card back home, in Washington County, that was stronger than even a promise. McClellan had a girl there and so did 1, so we went home.

That summer J. W. Nunn bought out a meat market in Brenham and McClellan went to work for him, while I did the buying and supplying of live stock for the market. McClellan lived only three months after that, leaving me without a pal. I continued working for Nunn.

In June, 1876, we gathered about 1,400 head of Nunn's cattle and started for the Plains. We left Dime Box, Lee County, June 10, 1876. We herded the cattle on the first night at Lexington, Lee County, in a wide lane. The second night we camped near Beaukiss in the woods. There were two of the Nunn boys, both much older than I, but neither they nor any of the other hands had ever ** bedded '' a herd. It was up to me to take charge of my first large herd. We rounded the cattle into a circle in the woods, dragging logs around the bed grounds and built fires. There were clouds rising and about 11 o'clock that night it began thundering, lightning and raining. The cattle got restless and stampeded, running all night. The third day we crossed the Brushy Creek, camping near the Olive pens on the Taylor prairie. From here on we had plenty of open country and could handle the herd more easily. We had many ups and downs, being short of horses. Our horses got very poor and were worn out from overwork; also the cattle got thin in flesh by the time we got to Buffalo Gap in July, and we were also out of provisions, no beef, no coffee, no money. Nunn borrowed a small sum from one Ben

The Trail Drivers Op Texas 341

Anderson, one of our hands, and started me off with one yoke of oxen for Coleman City, sixty miles distant, to lay in. a supply of **grub.''

I bought mostly breadstuffs and coffee, returning to camp a week later. This left us still shy of meat, our cattle being too poor for slaughter. We were told that fifty or sixty miles west there were lots of buffalo, so Nunn got us to rig up a wagon and to go on to the Sweetwater Creek to kill some fat buffalo. We engaged a man by the name of Jim Green at Buffalo Gap, who was a buffalo hunter, and he was to pilot us to the Sweetwater country, and incidentally give us a few pointers on buffalo hunting. Dr. John Obar, J. T. McClellan (a brother of my former pal), Jim Green and I formed the outfit. We went to Sweetwater, camping near Dan Trent's ranch, and hunted here for two days and saw only two buffalo bulls in this time. The first bull I chased until my horse gave out, shot away all my ammunition, and only drew a little blood.

It will not be amiss to state what our artillery consisted of at that time. We used a long and trusty cap and ball rifle, familiarly known as *^Long Tom.'' Then the old cap and ball sixshooter, sometimes called ** outlaws." At times they would behave and fire one shot, and again they would fire two, three or possibly all six chambers at one time. But to revert to our buffalo hunt :

On the second day we found another old, poor buffalo bull. I handed my long rifle to one of the boys and took his sixshooter, and told them I was going to get meat, in which I eventually succeeded. I was riding my own horse, one that I had bought from one of my German friends in Washington County. I had named him ** Dutch," had taken good care of this horse, using him only for night herding on the trail, and so he was in good time. He was a keen runner. I took after the buffalo bull, ran him about three miles, emptying my pistol as I chased him. He was a monster and looked like an ele- pliant to me. Some of the buffalo hunters claimed that our *^ outlaw'' pistols would not kill a big buffalo bull, but I demonstrated that they were wrong, for I put one ball in the right place and stopped the bull, ^fter abit the boys came up and finished the animal with their **Long Tom'' rifle. It took two horses by the horn of the saddle to turn the carcass of the bull on his back so we could skin him. This will give you an idea that he was some bull. We built a fire and kiln-dried the meat. It was not fat, nor what we wanted.

We broke camp and drifted ten miles further north, where we came on to a herd, which we estimated at about 1,000 head. This herd of buffalo was on the move, and going pretty rapidly. When I first got sight of them they were traveling west ; they would go down hill on the run, while up the incline of the next hill they would be grazing. I rode around the foot of the hill to head them off and when I reached the ridge of the hill they were coming towards me, and about the same time I heard some shooting, which later proved to be our pilot, Jim Green, who had already got into the herd and put them on a full run. I had some trouble holding down old ^* Dutch," my horse, when the herd of buffalo came towards us on the run. There was one big red one leading the herd. I killed him first. He proved to be a big red steer, instead of a buffalo, and belonged to John Chissum. I then killed one fat buffalo. As I came over the hill I came on to our pilot, who had shot down five, of which one got up on his feet and was making for Jim Green who, by the way, was afoot. I tried to get Green to get on the horse behind me. He declined, saying he *^ would get him in the sticking place directly," deliberately shooting at the buffalo as he came on. He was holding his sixshooter with both hands to steady his aim and downed him. This gave as six buffalo and one fat steer, with which we struck out for Buffalo Gap.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 343

at Buffalo Gap. Don Drewry and I were riding out among the cattle, where we came on to a two-year-old buffalo bull. Don boasted that he could and would rope him. I pleaded with him not to risk such a thing, but he declared ^^old Browny," his horse, could handle him, and had the loop on him in no time. He threw the bull several times, but finally wore out his horse and called to me to shoot the bull. I did so to save his horse. Don admitted that he had taken in **too much territor}^'* that time, and said he would never rope another buffalo larger than a calf.

Old man Drewry, Don's father, and his son-in-law, Tobe Odem, had come to Buffalo Gap from Oakville with cattle and horses. Don was then quite a boy, about 17 or 18 years of age.

Along in September we gathered up the cattle and moved on out to Sandrock Springs, where Nunn located his ranch on Eough Creek, and is now living and accumulating cattle. That winter I went back home and engaged in buying and selling cattle, at which trade I worked for several years, buying quite a lot of work steers to be shipped to Havana, Cuba.

On December 15, 1881, I was married to Johanna Await at Burton, Texas, and lived there about one year. I went west again, locating at Snyder, Scurry County. My brother, J. M. Craig, and I carried a nice bunch of about 300 head of stock cattle with us, but one hard winter put us out of the cattle business and took us back to Washington County, where I now reside. While working our cattle at Snyder, I took a trip west to the head of the Colorado Eiver and here witnessed the largest ^'roundup'' that I ever saw or heard speak of. It was the C. C. Slaughter *^ roundup," was estimated at 10,000 head of cattle in one herd, covering a prairie one-half mile each way.

days, I shall endeavor to describe this ** roundup/' the wonderful system and efficient way in which such an immense number of cattle were handled, cut and assorted, and how each rancher got his cattle. You will understand that these cattle in this roundup were not owned by one individual, but belonged to ranches from a radius of many, many miles, comprising possibly a number of counties. With the exception of perhaps a small corral for the horses at the ranch houses in those early days, fences or pastures were unknown. The country was an open range, and the cattle were grazing in the open prairies, drifting to the four winds. Cattle were known to drift as far as 150 miles north. Each stockman, or ranch, had a line rider, who rode the line or limits of his particular ranch in order to get his cattle ^^ located," or used to their grazing grounds. However vigilant, this would not hold all of his stock. The line rider had to sleep at night, or sometimes, or had so much territory to cover and to guard, that cattle would drift away from their stamping grounds at night, or when the rider may have been engaged at other points of the line. This made it necessary to have the ** roundup, '^ and to get the different brands of cattle to their respective owners and ranches. The custom was to have a roundup in the spring of the year, and one in the fall. Word was sent to stockmen for many miles around when the roundup was to take place at a certain ranch. Then eight or ten neighboring stockmen would rig up a '* chuck wagon" and place a cook in charge. One of the men would furnish the wagon one time, and the next time someone else - turn about. These stockmen going with the *^ chuck wagon" would meet at the appointed time with their saddle horses. Each man having his bedding lashed to a horse when they met the chuck wagon, would put all their bedding in the wagon. This ** chuck wagon" was drawn by two and sometimes four horses. Next they would turn all their saddle horses in a bunch, detail one of their number as ''horse wrangler'' and start off for the roundup. At the roundup there would be a number of these chuck wagons or outfits - possibly six or eight or ten such wagons, according to the notices sent out, or the size of the roundup. In the Slaughter roundup there were ten ''chuck wagons,'' and each wagon would receive a number from the roundup boss, making ten numbers - in this case representing some ninety men, or stock owners.

On the evening before the roundup Billy Stanefor, the roundup boss, went to all the wagons and called for two or three men from each wagon to go out from ten to fifteen miles and make what is called a "dry camp." Each man was to stake his horse so that when daylight came every man was ready to follow out instructions to bring all the cattle towards the grounds. The men so sent out, all going in different directions, formed a veritable spider's web, with the roundup grounds in the center. As soon as the boys would "whoop 'em up," the cattle were on the run, and would make for the grounds. There was little danger or chance for any cattle escaping, as when they would leave the path of one man they' would drift into the path of the next man, and the nearer they came to the grounds, the more men would come in sight - ^finally forming one big herd, and then the fun would start. We found on bringing in these cattle in this manner that five buffalo and twenty or more antelope had drifted in with the cattle. Several of the boys, I, for one, were sure we were going to rope an antelope. We got our loops ready and started for them. Our horses were too short, and also a little too slow. We did not rope any antelope. Some of the other boys fired into the buffalo, but did not bring in any meat either. The herd was now ready for cutting. The roundup being on Slaughter's ranch, the foreman, Gus 0. Keith, and his men, including old man Slaughter, cut their beef cattle, cows and calves first, and drove them back on the range

Now Billy Stanefor calls out, ^^JSTo. 1 cut and No. 2 hold,'' meaning that the men from wagon No. 1 were to go into the herd and cut all of their cattle, while the men of wagon No. 2 would hold the herd. No. 1 finished, the roundup boss would call, ^*No. 2 cut and No. 3 hold" - when No. 2 would go into the herd and cut, while the men from wagon No. 3 were holding the herd, and so on in this manner until the cutting was finished. Then, to the branding of the cattle. This was also all done on the open prairie. We made our fires to heat the branding irons, would rope the calves or cattle, as the case may be, on horseback, drag them to the fire and put the brand on them. It was also the duty of the roundup boss to see that no large calf was cut out of the roundup herd unless it was accompanied by its mother. The roundup boss had to act somewhat in the capacity of a judge. He had to see that all disputes were satisfactorily settled. If trouble arose regarding ownership of an animal the roundup boss would find out what brand each one of the disputing parties were claiming the animal under, and if they could come to no agreement, the animal was roped, the brand moistened with water to make it plainer, or he would shear the hair off where the brand was located, and in that way determine the ownership. All this was done immediately, and then the work would proceed. In those early days the ear-mark would not always be proof of ownership and an animal without brand was called a *' sleeper." A sleeper was nominally everybody's property, and was so called because someone had overlooked branding this animal in a previous roundup - ^had slept on his rights. Naturally, all hands had a leaning towards these sleepers; and I have seen a sleeper cut out of the roundup by one man and during the day changed several times to other bunches. The man that was lucky to get away with a sleeper would put his brand on him. However, if such an animal had an ear-mark and any of the parties claimed the mark he would then hold the best title.

The roundup boss would let no one ride through the herd and '^ chouse/' or unnecessarily disturb them; these fellows found guilty of such misconduct were called ^'loco'ed.'' Ofttimes it was known for the roundup boss to put him out of the herd and cut his cattle for him. The whole roundup was conducted in a strictly business way, and such a thing as '^red tape'' was unknown.

This work being finished, each wagon Avith its little herd would start for the next roundup. Possibly night would overtake them and pens, being unknown, it would be up to the boys to herd them and ^'sing" to them, as it was usually called. Each man would rope his night horse and they would herd in shifts.

This night herding is nice and novel in fair weather, and on a nice moonlit night ; but when it comes to one of those dark nights of thunder, lightning and the rain pouring down on you, your life is in the hands of God and your faithful night horse. There is to my mind no nobler animal in God's creation than a faithful horse. We would always pick out the clearest-footed, bestsighted horses for this work. All horses can see in the night, and better than a man, but there are some horses that can see better than others.

Boys, in this connection, I wish to relate a little incident of what a horse can do and did at the Slaughter roundup. We were told that the Slaughter ranch possessed two horses that would cut without a bridle, and we asked Gus Keith, the foreman, to let us see the horses perform this feat. He called for two horses, *^01d Pompy," a black pacing horse, and **S. B.," a slim bay horse. They rode into the herd and worked an animal towards the edge of the bunch and slipped the bridle. Each horse brought out the right cow and without a miss. This was great work for a dumb animal.

It was in the year 1880 that I sold Hugh Lewis and Jim Holt, of Brenham, seven hundred steers on a contract to Mr. Runge. The steers were to be delivered at the Runge ranch near Yorktown, De Witt County. They were short of both horses and men and hired my brother and me to go through with the herd to Yorktown. On our way we came to the Colorado River at LaGrange and found the stream on a rampage. We were told of a man that had been drowned at this crossing three days before in trying to cross a herd of cattle. The man had all his clothes on besides a six-shooter. In swimming across he had taken the left point (or lead) to point the cattle across. The cattle began milling in the stream and tried to turn back. He had made the point on his horse, but got into the bunch of milling cattle and both he and his horse went under. He was found two days later some four hundred yards below the crossing. This brought up the question to us : Who would venture to point our herd across; and, what would it cost to have them pointed? Crowds of people had come from LaGrange to witness the spectacle of a large herd of cattle swimming across the river; there were men, women and children, all eager to see. I was about the poorest swimmer in the outfit, but had lots of experience in my time, no doubt more than the rest all together. Holt sauntered up to me and asked if I was afraid to point the herd, and what would I charge extra to pull off the stunt. I confessed to him that I was not a good swimmer and was afraid of water, but that I was a hired hand and would not shirk my duty. I had a first-class pony for the work, and told him that I would point the herd if allowed to strip my clothes. He told me the work had to be done, women or no women. When everything was arranged I stripped, mounted my pony bareback and took the left (or lower) point. I struck the water with the cattle and stayed near the lead until they saw the opposite bank, then I led out for the bank and crossed the cattle without a mishap. From there on we moved along smoothly until we got to the Guadalupe Eiver. Here, at night, my brother, I, and two other boys were herding on first relief. Some old-timers had told us that it ^' never rained at night in June," but we had all doubts dispelled here. As we were short of horses, we herded in only two reliefs. After midnight, as I rode into camp to wake up the second relief, I noticed an ap- .proaching storm cloud in. the northwest, and before the boys could saddle their horses and get around the herd it was thunder, lightning and a downpour of rain, all in one. The herd started drifting south and there was no way to hold them. They did not stampede, but kept moving, and as it was very dark, we could only see them by the flashes of lightning and drift with them. We must have traveled some three or four miles when I called to my brother to ask what had become of the other two boys. He said they had found a tree and had climbed up in it. We had not heard a sound from them since leaving camp. I knew the man near me was my brother by his voice, as he was always in the habit of singing and talking to the cattle to quiet them. In a stampede there are no **road laws," everything in its path must clear out or get run over. After a few minutes' silence my brother called out : ^ ^ Everybody look out, trouble ahead ; my horse won't go any further!" A flash of lightning revealed the banks of the Guadalupe River, the cause of his horse refusing to go further. We worked our way back through the cattle, as the river would hold the cattle at this end, and waited for daylight. We found that we had drifted seven miles during the latter part of the night, and just the two of us in charge of the whole herd. Our horses were **all in," for we had ridden them since noon the day before. We figured that we would be oflF at midnight, when our relief was up, and had not changed for the night relief. This was our last obstacle to speak of from there to the Runge ranch. Steers those days were bought and sold "by age." When the classing and turning them over to Eunge's foreman began, some trouble arose between Jim Holt and the foreman of Bunge's ranch as to the age of the steers. Eunge's foreman asked Holt if he did not have a man in his outfit that he would entrust with classing for him. Jim Holt had never handled many cattle, and asked me to his classing with Eunge's man. We got along fine and more than pleased Holt, for when we were through Holt found himself to the "good" several hundred dollars above contract price he paid, and the amount of my classing. On our way home Holt stopped at a hotel in Yorktown. In this hotel I saw a sign that I shall never forget. It read:

And Don'T You Forget It

Holt had no baggage and had to dig up the cash. He was considered a good-hearted man, but when drinking would not stand for any foolishness. He was known as a good fighter and soldier from his Civil War record. I recall one time at Burton, Texas, when Holt and Dr. Watt met, disagreed, and both pulled their "smokewagons" and got busy. When the smoke cleared away both men were found wounded. Dr. Watt going to KnittePs store and Holt into Hons & Bauer's establishment. Holt was wounded in the hip, the bullet lodging in the backbone. Dr. Hons, his brother-in-law, who now lives in San Marcos, probed for the bullet while I was holding Holt's leg. I could feel the forceps slipping off the Ic-aden missile as the doctor was trying to extract it. Dr. Hons failed to remove the ball and advised Holt that it would take an operation and which would be a dangerous one. Holt sent to San Antonio for Dr. Cupples, who had been a surgeon in the army with Holt. Dr. Cupples and Dr. Hons performed the operation and Holt got well. He lived about two years when he and Joe Hoffman, also of Burton, were waylaid and shot in a saloon in Brenham.

Dr. Hons treated me during my illness with meningitis about 33 years ago. At the same time he was also attending Charles Hohmeyer's three children, who were suffering from the same malady. We all got well - ^but I, minus one eye. There were at the time 56 cases of meningitis in Burton and Brenham, of which 44 did not recover.

I considered myself very fortunate in securing the services of my friend. Dr. Hons, and know he is one of the finest physicians in the State of Texas.

In 1884 Sam Hale and I put up for Curtis & Cochran of California 800 head of cattle. We bought these up in Washington, Lee, Burleson and Austin Counties. Curtis &: Cochran bought some 600 head more from their kinspeople and others near Bellville, and gathered them at Buckhorn, Austin County. My oldest brother, J. M. Craig, was employed by Curtis & Cochran to boss the herd through to New Mexico. He moved their 600 head from Buckhorn to Burton, where Hale and I joined him with the 800 head, making a herd of 1,400 cattle. This was entirely too large a herd to handle in the woods and among the farms.

The first day we only moved the herd some seven miles and camped at Charlie Tarno's, in Sandtown, within 300 yards of where I was born. Old man Tarno had a field of about ten acres fenced with post oak rails. Into this field we turned our herd. Cochran had made the arrangement and knew nothing about cattle. He said: **Put them in there and give the boys a good night's rest.'' We had some sixty miles of the worst kind of brush ahead of us before we would get to the