Early, Texas - Trail Drivers of Texas : Interesting Sketches of Early Cowboys and The (part 8 of 20)

Taylor Prairie. I warned my brother and Cochran that the herd would break the fence and scatter in all the directions of the globe; and I, for one, would sleep with my bridle in hand. Hale and my brother followed my suggestion. Curtis & Cochran had hired every man that came to the herd, having some 14 hands, besides a cook. The firm had all their money in this herd and were down here in Texas where they did not have confidence in Texas people. They were so *^ darned'' crooked themselves that they thought everybody was trying to beat them, so they hired all these men to be sure of their cattle, and to hold the herd. Hale, my brother and I had our horses saddled and ready. We took up our stations around the herd, one in a place. About ten o'clock that night the expected happened - the cattle stampeded. My brother was ahead of me, but could not make the lead; so he called to me : ^ ' Go to the lead of the herd and hold them up." I made the lead and on my way I passed Arthur Jones, who was in the middle of the herd, whipping for dear life to get out of the way, and caused the cattle in front to run so much faster. I did not see Jones any more that night. Later I located Sam Hale by his voice. The herd split up on us; my brother being with one part, and Sam Hale and I held the other part. At daybreak we drove our cattle towards the balance of the herd. We had the cattle counted before a single man from camp showed up - three of us holding 1,400 head of cattle in a herd through a dark night.

The cook told us that Curtis & Cochran had talked and wailed all night about their fortune being scattered in those woods, and that they would never get them back. Old man Cochran came to us in the morning, accosting my brother: **Well, John, how many of the *band' (meaning the herd) are gone?" My brother said: **Here is the count." He handed him the envelope on which we had jotted down the numbers as we cut the cattle by in small bunches and had counted them. The figures proved we were none short. Cochran was a happy *'old Yank," and declared: **You boys must have eyes like an owl, to run through these woods at night and not get killed.''

With the delivery of these cattle to Curtis & Cochran my contract expired. The next day at noon I left for home. My brother carried the herd on through to New Mexico, somewhere near Las Vegas, and told me later that he had undergone many hardships. In crossing the Plains he had been without water for the cattle, at one time, for two days and nights. After all the hard and faithful work, these two old Yanks tried to beat my brother out of half of his wages. They hired him at $100.00 per month and paid him $50.00. Curtis & Cochran had lost a few cattle at Bellville while herding them and authorized me to gather and dispose of them and send them the money. I gathered these cattle, sold them, paid my brother his balance, and have never heard from them since.

One night while we were putting up cattle for the Curtis & Cochran herd we had some 150 head in my pen at Burton. After turning in for the night my brother took his money and some money that Joe, my wife, had given him for safekeeping, together with his six-shooter, stuck them under his pillow and turned in. He was sleeping on the front gallery. All of a sudden I heard a noise and found something had frightened the cattle, and they had broken fence and stampeded. They ran south, through the town of Burton. We were after them in no time and overtook them on Whitener's Prairie, rounded them together and finally succeeded in quieting them. Now, it happened that my brother began to get restless and confided to me that he came away and had left all his and my wife's money under his pillow on the front gallery. He figured that possibly my wife might have thought of it after our departure and had taken care of it, but ^^ seeing is believing," and he was ill at ease. He rode back to assure himself while I held the herd. Luckily he found the money and six-shooter in possession of my wife, and, to say the least, he felt much j-elieved. There were but few banks in the country, and we were in the habit of carrying the cash with us. The German people, as a rule, would not take anybody's check, and quite often demanded payment in silver, as they did not like paper money.

Whenever I had too much money I would turn it over to my wife. This was not a ^^force of habit," but quite convenient. My wife would put it in what she termed the ** First National Bank" - her stocking. You know that is a woman's money purse.

In 1893 Dr. Hons of San Marcos and I were buying up 1,000 head of one and two-year-old steers on contract. We sold them to H. C. Beal for Louis Eunge of Menardville. We had leased the McCoy pasture, near Wetmore, on the Cibolo Creek, to hold these steers until we had the required number. We were to deliver these cattle to them at the Las Moras ranch, on Elm Creek, near Menard.

This was really the hardest trip that I ever made with cattle. The cattle ran the first four nights that we were out and gave us no end of trouble.

The first night we herded in a wide lane or pocket, some three miles this side of the Guadalupe Eiver on the Blanco city road. The cattle stampeded. Sam Craig, Billy and Ed Eckert were holding the north end of the pocket, towards the river, while Stock Wesson, I and the other hands held to the south end. The cattle headed for the river and went onto the boys with such force that they were unable to hold them. Sam Craig was riding a little black pony named ** Nigger Babe," a sure-footed and fast animal. Sam went into the lane with the cattle, taking all kinds of chances. He worked his way towards the lead, but before they got to the river he crowded them into the fence, which broke and got into a pasture. Sam was with them. He turned their lead and brought them all back to the herd. I considered Sam the best hand I ever had, day or night work, with cattle. Next morning's count showed that we had not lost any of the herd. On this trip I also had my boy, Walter A. Craig, then 8 years old, with me. He had his own horse, leggings and spurs, and made a splendid little hand in daytime. I caught him asleep but once. He was on his horse

The second night we held the cattle in another pocket or wide lane, near Krueger's store. The fences were good on either side, just two lanes to hold, but that night we had a rainstorm. I took Walter, my boy, on my horse behind me and brought him to Krueger's store. Sam

Craig and Stock Wesson held the south end of the lane. They had orders to force the cattle through the fence in case of a stampede, rather than let them go back the way they had come. The other boys, Billy and Ed Eckert, held the north end of the lane. The storm came from the north and the cattle ran south, throwing them on Craig and Wesson. They fought them with their slickers for dear life until they succeeded in turning their lead. Into the six or eight-wire fence they went. They broke through, cutting up a number of them badly, and we were obliged to kill several of them. They made another run, going north; broke through the line, and scattered all over the mountains near Blanco City. We worked for three days gathering these cattle, and Cavaness Brothers and others rendered us great assistance.

The third night we moved in above Blanco and had pretty *^bed grounds.'' The cattle made one little run, but we did not lose any in the stampede. However, some of the boys were careless and let quite a number drift out of the herd during the night and we gathered all next day to get them back.

The fourth day we moved into an ideal **bed ground," an open prairie with mountains all around. The boys had good grounds to run on. I gave Sam Craig and Stock Wesson each two horses and told them to run the cattle down if they could do no better ; also, to take their slickers and run the herd in a circle all night or hold them. I put Walter, my boy, and my little nigger boy, Bill, on the chuck box in back of the wagon, and told them to stay there till the cattle quieted down. These boys said that the cattle ran twenty-two times that night. The next morning we tried to stampede the herd with our slickers, but they refused to be stampeded. They never made another run on us. We had no more trouble of this nature, but we were quite a few short on account of so many stampedes. H. C. Beal having passed on these cattle, stayed by his classing and did not cut us any cattle on account of wire cuts. This was an exceptional trip and I was very foolish in taking my child along at his age. The trip kept him away from his mother for two months. We returned in the chuck wagon and on the way gathered what cattle we had lost and could find.

In 1914 one day I was en route from Brenham to Ledbetter with my two favorite ponies, Johnny and Charlie. I was riding Johnny and leading Charlie. Some two and a half miles north of Carmine, on the Houston and Texas Central Eailroad, I met Crawford Gillespie. He was section foreman. Section 7, and was trying to push one of those motor cars down the track to where his men were at work. In some unaccountable way the motor started and the car got away from Gillespie. It went through his bunch of men, who tried to board it, but failed. He called to me to ditch it by throwing a tie across the track. The track was fenced, and I had no chance. In fact, I did not hardly have any time to ** hesitate.'' It was all my horse could do to outrun the car, and I saw my only chance was to beat the car to Carmine and rope it. There was no way of getting close to the track on account of it being fenced. I got to Carmine in time enough to jump off my horse and throw a nearlying plank across the track, and ditched it directly in front of the depot. It was a test of horse flesh against gasoline, in which the horse won out. This little pony is now playing polo in New York.

In the early days there were in Washington County as well as in many other counties of Texas, some pretty tough people. Horse and cattle thieves were quite plentiful. The officers, knowing that my oldest brother and I were handy on horseback and ready at day or in the night to uphold law and order, would call on us to assist in running down this element. We kept this duty up more or less all of our lives, and neither of us ever held an office higher than a deputy sheriff or constable. The fact is, the court house ring were playing * ' safety first, ' ' and knew that some of their crooked bunch would get locked up if occasion warranted.

In those days we could not prohibit horse stealing, but nowadays you seldom hear of it in this country. The horse thieves were very bad and bold, and something had to be done. You might, for instance, go to bed at night leaving your work team in the barn or lot and awake next morning to find your team had disappeared. Every possible means were resorted to to stamp out this evil, but of no avail. Finally they experimented with * ^ hemp ' ' for several years. A strong dose of hemp would always tend to kind of ^* deaden'' the desire to steal and today there is very little of it going on.

With reference to the old-time cowmen with whom I have spent all of my life, I candidly believe them to be the best people on earth today. They do not all profess to be Christians, but they are a noble and big-hearted set of men that you can rely upon when you, or your country, gets into trouble. They will divide their last dollar with you, and fight their weight in wildcats for you, their friends and their country. They are always ready to help the poor and needy. Only the other day at one of the local commission offices, a boy who had come from Arkansas with cattle told us of lending his last ten dollars to a gambler and losing it. He had a '*pass'' back home, but nothing to pay for meals or lodging. The boys chipped in and made up enough money for him on his way home. As he was walking out of the office, John Draper asked me to call him back, and handed him a tendollar bill. This is the kind of material the stockmen in general are made of, and may the good Lord favor every one of them.

Now, in conclusion, will say that my family consists of my wife and two children. The oldest child, a girl, named Willie Belle, is living in Houston, Texas, and is the wife of Judge Ewing Boyd, judge of the 35th District,

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Harris County. The youngest child, a boy, Walter A., after finishing his education in Waco, worked for different banks in Fort Worth and later for Swift and Company, where he figured the value of cattle from the ^'scales to the vaf He also wanted more elbow room and the open air, so he engaged in the live-stock business. He dealt exclusively in Mexican cattle and had ranching interests in Mexico, but on account of the revolution, he transferred his activities to this side of the river, and is located at Laredo, Texas. He is actively engaged in the live-stock trade and considered a fine judge of stock.

Captain Charles Schreiner

One of the most prominent figures in the development of the cattle industry in West and Southwest Texas is Captain Charles Schreiner, who is still living at Kerrville, where for so many years he was actively engaged in business, but is now spending his declining years amid the pleasant surroundings that his wonderful zeal and enterprising spirit has made possible.

Captain Schreiner was born in Alsace-Lorraine, France, February 22, 1838, and came to San Antonio, Texas, in September, 1852. At that time San Antonio was little more than a village, and the surrounding country a wilderness infested with wild beasts and wild men. Captain Schreiner foresaw wonderful opportunities for the man with grit and determination and, although he was but a lad in his teens, he started out with a determination to carve out a career for himself that would place him in the ranks of the prominent financiers and business men of the state. In 1859 he entered the stock business on Turtle Creek, Kerr County, in a small way, gradually building his herds, acquiring land holdings, and thus expanding his interests as the years passed. Ten years later, in 1869, he engaged in the banking and general mercantile business at Kerrville, which business has continued to this good time, and is one of the solid institutions of West Texas.

In the establishment of a bank and store at Kerrville at that early date, Captain Schreiner placed himself in a position to assist the pioneers of that section, and thus help in the development of that favored region. He was heartily in accord with any project that was for the good of the community he had chosen for his field of operations, and with the keenest of business ability he permitted no opportunity to slip that would aid in its development. The result was that in the course of time he became identified with several industrial projects, chiefly cattle and sheep raising, was also engaged in the mercantile and banking business at Junction City and Rock Springs and was connected with banks and mercantile concerns in San Antonio, as well as possessing stock in several railroad companies, gradually building a fortune that made him several times a millionaire. Despite the burden of years. Captain Schreiner gave active attention to his banking, mercantile and live-stock interests until 1918, when he transferred the bulk of his projDerty to his children.

At the age of sixteen years Captain Schreiner entered the Ranger Service, serving in Captain Henry's, Captain Sansom's and Captain McFadden's companies during 1854 to 1859. When the Civil War broke out he enlisted in the Confederate Army and served for four years.

T. Lytle were in partnership in the cattle business and the firm drove more than one hundred and fifty thousand cattle up the trail to Northern markets.

Today the name of Charles Schreiner is linked with the making of West Texas, for he has been the moving, building spirit that has made many things possible for that region. The town of Kerrville stands as a monument to his genius, and the substantial business and public buildings and pretty homes in that thriving metropolis lend evidence to the fact that ^^he builded better than he knew."

The Early Cattle Days In Texas

My mind wanders back to the good old days of yore ; back to the halcyon days of the early cattle roundups and drives up the ^'Chisholm Trail, ' ^ when cow ponies were sure-footed sure enough. Cow ponies and '^cowboys" were sure - to - goodness cowboys. The later term applied to them, **cow punchers," was not yet coined nor applicable, for usually the exer- ^^^^^^' ^^^ cise was more of a race horse . JHJI^^^H^^ performance to round 'em up ^fllH|R^^^H| and hold them up before they J -^I^^^H struck the breaks.

dates back to the early sixties in Blanco, Kendall and Gillespie Counties, the then frontier of Texas. During the Civil War, when the men and boys were nearly all in the army, cattle on the range plentiful and very wild, it was mine to ride the range alone, everybody 's ' ^ roustabout,'' to gather their scattered cattle, brand their calves and hunt their lost horses. In those days of open range and free grass, it was a custom practiced by the people to round up such cows as were easily penned, regardless of ownership in most cases, and milk them during the spring, summer and fall, branding the calves in the cow's brand. Concerning this bit of exercise, I became very proficient and much needed, for when early grass began to rise and young calves began to bawl in the spring I was called into service from *^Dan to Beersheba'' by war widows and other folks where there was no one on the ranch that wore a pair of pants to ride the range and run in old ^'Sooky" and any other cows with calves that could be penned.

Beginning in the spring of 1870, when large herds were being driven from Texas up the Chisholm Trail to Kansas and beyond, I got my best experience, joining the ^'roundup" for Sam and Thomas Johnson, the then largest individual trail drivers operating in Blanco, Gillespie, Llano, Burnett, Hays, Comal and Kendall Counties, with headquarter pens and branding stall at the mouth of Williamson's Creek in Blanco County and headquarters at Johnson's ranch on the Perdenales River, Johnson City, the county site of Blanco County. The roundup or range hands and range boss usually gathered, road branded and delivered a herd of from 2,500 to 3,000 head of cattle, which a trail boss and his outfit received at headquarters ranch, but sometimes we delivered them at the Seven Live Oaks on the prairie west of Austin. After a good night's 'rest the ranch hands, bidding their relief ^*So long, we'll meet you later in Kansas," with pack and ponies, hit the back trails for another herd for the next outfit.

the case in the summer of 1871, when we started from the branding pens on Williamson Creek, tired and worn, the boss bolstered up with a pillow in his saddle, having come in contact with the business end of a black steer at the branding pen, was almost out of commission. We had a herd of 3,000 head, made up mostly of beeves of the old mossback, stampeding, bushwhacking type. The outfit consisted of the cook, the only man in the outfit that everybody could cuss, chuck wagon drawn by two yoke of oxen, horse wrangler and sixty-four rode-down mounts and sixteen typical cowboys, Dick Johnson, boss ; Col. Nat Lewis, second boss ; Tom Moore (Banker Tom) of Llano; Tom Logan, Bill Hitchbreath, Bob Collins, Guss Butterfield, James Smith, Pete Lindweber, Henry Lindweber Sr., Thomas Colbath, Hilliary Colbath, Fritz Hitchfelt, Kansas Miller, Arnold Capt and Josh Nicholson, the cook. And today, as I pen this sketch, I feel alone and lonely, for most of these comrades and many other cowboy associates of that day have passed over the river except H. C. Aten, a friend beloved and true. No better cowboy ever graced or disgraced the hurricane deck of a Spanish pony, and if he did usually hang his long carcass on the left side of his mount with his hind leg in his flank and roped with his left paw, he was always ** Charley at the wheel,'' never found wanting, but on the spot ready to deliver the goods.

On the trail that year water was scarce, herds plentiful and dust more so. The first few days nothing occurred to break the monotony or hush the humdrum of the cowboys' ragtime music, until we were crossing the Colorado River below Austin. Had a stampede there early in the morning and after a hard day's work we put the last bovine over just before sunset. The chuck wagon, having been sent across the bridge into Austin for supplies with instructions to camp on the trail north of the city, eating was all out until 3 p.m. next day. It's a good appetizer; try it. I am recording another stam- pede that is written indelibly on memory's page - a stampede of men. It occurred one dreadful hot July day when the sun was at full tide and the wind refused to blow. It is said men are like monkeys - imitative creatures. One of the boys dropped back to the wagon and disrobed down to undershirt and drawers. He looked so cool that all tried the experiment, some leaving everything in the wagon but undershirt and government drawers. It was on the prairie near the head of Elm and happened to be Sunday, as we were reminded when we were met by a whole camp meeting crowd of young ladies and their beaux on horseback. The boss and the wagon had gone on ahead and the boys wished they could also vanish. The boss, who would rather have fun and go to hell in a go-cart than miss it and go to Heaven in a chariot, had instructed the young folks to pass by the herd on both sides, and they did so, hence the stampede. Some of the boys went off at a tangent east to see how the range looked, others went west in search of water to fill their canteens, a few thoughtfuls dropped to the rear to push up the drags, while others held their ground trying to hide their embarrassment by trying to put the words **I would not live alway, I ask not to stay," to music.

After crossing Eed River at Eed River Station and entering the Indian Nation, now Oklahoma, the things of interest or disinterest that accompanied the drive were many stampedes, sleepless nights, gyp water and poor chuck, constituted our bill of fare. Occasionally some of the boys would ride into camp weary, with a bad liver, venting their spleen on the patient cook, but as he was no hog and knew when he had enough, old Betsy (his 44 Colts), which he kept in the chuck wagon as a liver regulator, was sometimes resorted to, usually bringing order out of chaos. Buffalo, antelope and Indians were much in evidence, and an occasional buffalo was shot. Chasing them afforded great sport, but as for chasing

Indians, that was out of the question, for at that time they were nnder the watchful care of government agents and, as Uncle Sam was trying to tame his Indians, we quietly passed them by.

On August 1st Bluff Creek was crossed and the herd thrown off the trail to graze on the plains of Kansas. After a few more days of hard driving we stopped on Turkey Creek, a few miles south of Abilene. Some of the hands bought wagons and returned to Texas via Arkansas, where they loaded apples. Others remained with the herd, removing it later up the Platte Eiver to winter quarters. T. J. Moore and I cut out our small interest in the Johnson herd and moved on, he going up the Solomon River and I establishing winter quarters on the Smoky Hill Eiver above Abilene, where I wintered and suffered. Thawing out in the spring, I hit the grit for Sunny Texas, a poorer but wiser man. In closing this sketch I wish to bear joyous testimony to the fact that in all my associations with men of various vocations, I have found no friends more noble, true and generous to the limit than the cowmen of yesterday and today. Some are especially blessed with this world's goods, dear companions and many true friends, yet without the companionship of Jesus, the truest friend; the desolate winds of sorrow and loneliness will sweep over your soul and for this reason, now and then, despite all the happy experiences that may come to you through the companionship of earthly friends, there will sometimes be indescribable longing in your soul that earthly friends cannot satisfy. You need the companionship of Christ.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 367 The Cost Of Moving A Herd To Northern

Trail driving of cattle from Texas to Northwestern States in the old trail days was reduced to almost a science, and large numbers of cattle were moved at the minimum cost.

To illustrate, I drove fifteen herds in 1884 from South Texas to the Northwestern States. It required a minimum of 165 men and about 1,000 saddle horses to move this entire drive. In other words, these cattle were driven in droves of 3,000 to each herd, with eleven men, including the boss, and each man was furnished with six horses.

The salaries of these eleven men, including the boss, were $30.00 each for the ten men, including the cook, and $100.00 a month for the boss. This gave an outlay of $400.00 a month, and estimating $100.00 for provisions, there was an expense of $500.00 a month to move a herd of 3,000 cattle 450 to 500 miles. Briefly speaking, in those days it was possible to drive 3,000 cattle 3,000 miles for $3,000.00, or, in other words, from South Texas to Montana a herd could be driven of 3,000 head for not to exceed $3,000.00. My average expense on the fifteen herds in 1884 was about $500.00 per month. The average distance traveled by these herds was from 450 to 500 miles per month, and when I had sold and delivered ail of these cattle to Montana, Dakota and Wyoming ranchmen I had lost 1,500 head, or 3 per cent.

The old trail drivers had a margin of from $3.00 to $4.00 a head between Texas and the Northwest. In 1884 I paid $12.00 for my yearlings, $16.00 for my two-yearolds and $20.00 for my three-year-olds, and I had them contracted to the ranchmen of the Northwest at $4.00 a head margin; 1884 was the last heavy drive made, and in the fall of that year cattle started down and continually went down each year for nine years. In other words, stock cattle in Texas was selling at $25.00 a head in 1884 and went as low as $6.00 a head in 1893. Good Panhandle cattle were selling in 1893 for $10.00 per head and South Texas cattle were selling at about $6.00 per head. As proof of this fact, I bought the Cross S cattle, about 10,000 head, at $6.30 per head, no calves counted, a guarantee of 2,500 three and four-year-old steers out of a possible number of 10,000 head. These cattle were loaded on board the cars for me at Uvalde and Spofford at this price.

I remember one trip I made with a herd when not a man had a watch or a compass. At night when we would stop the tongue of the wagon was pointed toward the north star and the next morning when we made our start we would take the direction indicated by the wagon tongue. We maintained four guards of three hours each during each night, and although we had no timepiece, it is a fact that each man stood guard fifteen or twenty minutes over his time, and the last guard for the night had the short watch. This shows the generous disposition of those old trail boys, in that they would not throw off on their comrades.

Lost Twenty-One Thousand Dollars On One Drive

By John S. Kritzer, Taylor, Texas I am not a member of the Old Trail Drivers' Association, having never put in my application for memberssip.

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but being in a reminiscent mood, I thought I would write a short sketch of what I saw and know of trail life, and to do so I will have to go back with Father Time to my earlier days.

I was born in Independence, Mo., in 1842, and raised on a farm a little while, and in Joe Shelby's Missouri Cavalry Brigade the balance of the time from 1861 to 1865. When General Robert E. Lee surrendered, General Shelby and about three hundred of us boys concluded to take a ride across the Rio Grande and help Emperor Maximilian clean up Cortina, Juarez, Diaz, and a few other brigands. We started from Corsicana, Texas, all young daredevils as ever fired a shot at the Yankees in defense of our beloved Southland, and as good marksmen with pistol or rifle as ever rode in any cavalry brigade of any country on earth. We knew the savas could not do anything toward licking us. We rode down to San Antonio, turned west and went through Uvalde and crossed the Rio Grande at Eagle Pass. At Piedras Negras we had a fight with the Mexicans, in which only fourteen of our boys were involved, but we killed fourteen Mexicans who wanted to take our horses. At Uvalde we had traded some of our American horses, which had given out, for some horses that had Spanish brands, and these Greasers thought they would dismount us. Not a man in our crowd could speak Spanish, but how we could handle our gun ! They had our horses by the bridle reins and were pointing to the brands on them, while we were laughing at them, for we knew they were flirting with the graveyard. General Shelby saw that something was going wrong and came to us and asked what was the matter. We told him that from the signs they were making those devils wanted our horses. He said, *^Hold your horses, and kill Mexicans." When he said that, every man pulled his gun and shot them loose from our bridles.

soldiers in Piedras Negras, and they began to shoot from the tops of the adobe houses, so we got in line, and as their guns would not shoot more than one hundred yards, while we were shooting Sharps rifles, which would kill a man a thousand yards away. The Mexican colonel, under protection of a white flag as large as a wagon sheet, and accompanied by his staff, came out to where we had our battle line, and told General Shelby that he was the ** bravest American and had the bravest men" that ever crossed the Rio Grande, and that if his people bothered our men or our horses he would have them shot. General Shelby replied through the interpreter that he had issued the same orders to us and he could find proof of that fact down the river where he had killed a few of his d: - d horse thieves. After thanking the colonel very kindly for the compliment paid him and to his men. General Shelby marched us from Piedras Negras to Monterey, and we fought bandits and revolutionists all the way, killing more than twice the number of our force. Of course we lost some men, too, but whenever we ran on to the enemy they belonged to us. From Monterey, where we met the Maximilian French soldiers, and our friends who had gone there previously, we secured passports to Mexico City, where, when we arrived, Emperor Maximilian gave us land near Cordoba to start a colony. But Maximilian had to leave Mexico City and escape to Queretaro, where he was betrayed, captured and executed with two of his generals. So we abandoned the colony and returned to Missouri. After returning home I went to Wyoming and Montana and freighted for Uncle Sam.

Leaving Salt Lake City for Kansas City in the spring of 1869, I decided to come to Texas, so I came down through the Indian Territory to Llano, where I bought 1,000 steers, fours and* up. Three-year-olds were not counted beeves in those days. I drove these steers to Fort Sill and sold them to an Lidian contractor for the

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In 1871 I drove 400 yoke of work oxen to Fort Harker, in the Smoky Hills, near Ellsworth, Kansas, and was captured by the Osage Indians after I crossed the Cimarron River with my horses. They held me prisoner for about an hour, and I suppose I would have been scalped, but the Indians saw the dust of a big herd being driven by Jim Scobey and turned me loose. Each warrior had one side of his face painted red and the other side painted black. I saw the dust kicked up by that herd and called the Indians' attention to it, and they immediately left me.

The next year or two I drove to Abilene, Kansas, on the Smoky River. Bill Hickok was city marshal there, and was a desperate character. I then drove to Dodge City, taking one herd of the old Jingle Bob steers, which I had bought from Coggin Brothers and J. M. Dawson, from the Plains to Gainesville. These were the old John Chissum steers from Seven Rivers, near Roswell. New Mexico, and the most of them died with tick fever. Before I reached Chicago I lost $21,000 on them and was busted.

Major L. G. Cairness staked me in 1882, when he contracted 10,000 steers from Dan Wagoner. I received only 6,000 and drove them to Honeywell, Kansas, in four herds, which took all summer, as it was such a short drive. We made $72,000 on this drive, lost only three steers and saw lightning kill them. This was my last trail work.

I would be delighted to meet some of the old drovers again. God bless them. But lots of them have laid down their saddles, spurs and hobbles, coiled the riata and crossed the River Styx, and are resting in the shade of the trees.

to the cow punchers of the old Chisholm Trail is of any consequence in the way of reminiscence, or will cast any lustre on the fame of those brave and daring men of the saddle and trail, put it in your book. If not, cast it aside, but still in friendship remember the giver, an old plainsman who has helped to skin 'em, fought Yankees, Mexicans, wild Indians and cow thieves. Farewell until we rattle our hocks on the other side.

Mose Wesley Hays

Mose W. Hays was a foremost cattleman and business man of the Northeastern Panhandle country, and was one of the oldest residents in that part of the state. During the quarter of a century in which he has known the Panhandle all the agricultural development and industrial changes have taken place there, for through all the ages during which Northwest Texas had been a portion of the new world continent its resources and its landscape features had never experienced such development and mutation as they have during the short time of white men's occupation and exploitation of this region. Mr. Hays has accordingly witnessed all the important history of that section of the state, and is one of the few men whose lot has been permanently cast with the Panhandle since 1877.

Mose W. Hays The Trail Drivers Of Texas 373

Born in Warren County, Kentucky, Mr. Hays at the age of two years was taken by his parents, N. M. and Sarah (rhilhps) Hays, both native Kentnckians, to Jackson County, Missouri, about twenty-five miles east of Kansas City, and later the family became pioneer settlers of Colorado, in which state the parents spent the remainder of their lives. Mr. Hays became identified with the cattle industry in boyhood and it has formed his principal and most profitable pursuit throughout his active career. In 1871 he left the family home in Colorado and went West, spending five years in Nevada and California, during most of which time he was a cowboy.

From the Pacific slope he came east to Texas. With his brotherin-law, Joe Morgan, he drove a bunch of Mexican cattle from Corpus Christi, Texas, to the open range in the Panhandle country. This was in 1877, and he has lived in that part of the state ever since until the past five years, when he took up his residence in San Antonio, having retired from active business. It makes him one of the old-timers, as there are only a few now living there who were in the Panhandle as early as that. Up to 1902 his ranching operations were carried on mostly in Hemphill County, where for a number of years he had the noted old Springer ranch. His last ranch was located in the southeastern part of Lipscomb County, where he owned about thirty-five hundred acres of land, his residence and ranch headquarters being three miles south of Higgins. His ranch Avas known for its typical western hospitality as well as for progressive and enterprising methods of operating, which were everywhere in evidence. Mr. Hays has been uniformly successful in the cattle business and has attained a most satisfactory degree of prosperity. He was one of the three owners com- X^rising the Higgins Hardware Company, which conducted the leading hardware store in Lipscomb County.

Mr. Hays was married early in Life to Miss Lou Turner of Mills County, Iowa, and has one child, Mrs. L. C. Kelley of Wichita, Kansas, who, as Bonnie Hays, attended the Mulholland School in San Antonio. In April, 1912, Mr. Hays married Miss Bessie Long of San Antonio (formerly of Owensboro, Kentucky) and for the past four years they have lived in their home in Agarita Avenue, Beacon Hill, building one of the first modern bungalows on that street.

The Platte Was Like A Ribbon In The Sunshine

My father and mother, Jacob and Jane Jackson, moved to Texas and settled on Donahoe Creek, in Bell County, in September, 1851, when I was nine years old. I have two brothers younger than myself who were cowmen, G. W. Jackson of Cleo, Oklahoma, and J. D. Jackson of Alpine, Texas.

When I was a lad I chased rabbits and lizards, trapped birds, fought the old ganders, rode the calves in the milk pen, and went to the country school when I could not find an excuse to stay at home. When the Civil War came on and took all of the able-bodied men, they left their cattle and horses almost at the mercy of the world, so the old men and boys tried to take care of the stock that was left.

J. W. Jackson The Trail Drivers Of Texas 375

My first long drive np the trail was in 1872, when we trailed 2,290 head of cattle from Tom Lane's old ranch in Milam County, to Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory. The old trail drivers who were out that year can tell what heavy and constant rains we had all through the spring and summer. We had to swim all the rivers and creeks, but I think we had the best herd to cross water that was ever driven up the trail. In our herd we had some three hundred old longhorn steers, from ten to fifteen years old, which had been raised in Little Eiver and Brushy bottoms during the Civil War, and when we gathered them they were almost as wild as deer. There was a big bunch of these old steers that worked in the lead of the herd, and when we came to a river or creek that was swollen these old steers would walk right into the muddy water and pull for the other side, the balance of the herd following.

We crossed Smoky Hill Eiver just a short distance above the little town of Ellsworth, Kansas. The village w^as on the north side of the river then, and when we arrived there the river had been swollen by the heavy rains and looked to be a mile wide and was very swift. We had to wait until it ran down within its banks before we could cross. We secured a small boat to take us across and had to make two trips to get our stuff over.

We went from Ellsworth to Fort Kearney, Nebraska, and struck the Platte Eiver, traveling up this stream on the south side for nearly four hundred miles, grazing the herd as we went. The Platte Eiver stretched across the country like a ribbon in the sunshine. In some places it was a mile and a quarter wide, and a fertile green valley reached back to the hills on either side, no shrubbery being visible anywhere except a few big cottonwood

We delivered the cattle near Cheyenne, Wyoming, and I took the saddle horses and chuck wagon and started back home over the same trail, reaching Bell County just before Christmas, 1872. This ended my first long drive.

Put Up Five Hundred Steers To Secure Three Hundred Dollars

I was born September 14th, 1868, and have spent most of my life in the cattle business. My father was wounded in the Civil War and became an invalid, so when I was twelve years old I went to work on the range to help support our family. I helped to clean the first pasture that was fenced in our part of the country. This pasture belonged to Bob Bennett and was rented by J. D. Houston, now deceased.

In 1883 I went to Goliad County with a thousand head of cattle belonging to old man George Lord. There had been a prolonged drouth in the upper country, and we heard that there was a stretch of country comprising over fifty thousand acres in Goliad County where the range was open on Turkey Creek, so we drove these cattle there. We were the first to reach there and found grass good and water plentiful, but in a short time other cattle were moved in and by the first of November there were fully 20,000 cattle brought there to winter. It proved a hard winter, for the range was eaten off and water got so scarce the cattle died by hundreds. There is where I first met Green Davidson, who was there look- mg after cattle. You may not believe it now, but I skinned cattle by his side all winter, and will say he could take the hide off a cow just as quick as any man you ever saw. I also met G. A. Ray there. He and his father put 700 two-year-old heifers on that range and got back 240. In the spring of 1884 I hired to Mr. Eay for $12 per month and went home with him, where I broke horses, dug post holes and worked cattle until the spring of 1885, when I went out to Alpine and on to tjie Rio Grande. Here we were provided with mounts, eight horses for day work and one gentle horse for night riding. These day mounts were half-broke ponies and had been out on the range about a year. We were given thirty-six shoes to put on the nine horses and told to shoe them. I had never shod a horse in my life, but went at it and made a good job of it, for we used those horses right along and no one ever made complaint about our work. Our boss was Gid Guthrie, who died a few years ago at Alpine. We gathered our herd on the Rio Grande and drove it across the plains to Honeywell, Kansas.

In 1886 we drove a herd over the same trail for Lee Kokernot of Gonzales, with Gid Guthrie as boss. That same year we drove a herd belonging to George Miller of the 101 Ranch, then on the Arkansas River in the Indian Territory. When I got back home I had my Avages in my pocket and I had two good horses, so began to buy a few cattle for myself. At that time the country was open from Cuero to Colorado, and by 1893 I had accumulated a herd of 500 or 600 head of cattle and moved them to Bee County, near Mineral City, where I rented the old Charlie Fox pasture, which I later disposed of with my cattle to Kenedy, Clair & Wood for $14 per head.

My first attempt to borrow money was at a bank in Cuero which had been in existence about a year. I wanted to borrow $300, which I needed to pay the lease on the pasture I had rented, and the president of the bank made me put up 500 two-year-old steers as security.

I went broke in 1903 at Elgin, Kansas, and have been broke so many times since that I have no record of the nnmber. Passed through the drouth of 1917 and rented a Johnson grass patch near San Antonio and let my cattle graze the suburbs of that city.

Some Interesting Things Seen On The Cattle Trail

I was on the trail in 1885 with the - X outfit for Lytle & Stevens, who had six herds of 3,000 head each and one herd of 2,000 head, the last mentioned herd being bossed by Al Jones, a negro. My boss was a white man named J. G. Jones of Gonzales. Other bosses from Gonzales were Arthur Johnson, W. W. Peavey, Milton Fly and the well-known Mac Stewart was our pilot through the Panhandle. I could go into details and give some interesting accounts of the drives I was in, but will confine my sketch to some of the things of interest to me that I witnessed that year.

The first bad thunderstorm I was in occurred on the Salt Fork of Eed River, when I was on night herd with the saddle horses. The lightning was continuous, so was the thunder, which was most terrific. While the storm was in progress the horses bunched together around me, stuck their heads between their knees and moaned and groaned till I became frightened and decided that the end of time had come. I was only nineteen years old, and thought I was as brave as any man, but the action of the horses was too much for me, so I got doAvn off my horse and lay flat down on the ground and tried to die, but could not. The storm passed on and I found myself unhurt, so after that fearful experience I did not mind other storms.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 379

Another thing that interested me was the catching of mustang horses in No Man's Land. One day I ran across a party of men in camp who were making the capturing of these mustangs a business. They had several head tethered nearby which they had just captured, and showed me a large bunch standing about a mile away which they informed me they had been running for several days. These men worked in relays, or reliefs, and kept the mustangs on the go, without permitting them to rest or get to watering places. In the seven days three colts died from exhaustion. The men told me they kept just in sight of them to keep them on the run all day, and finally ran them down. The captured horses I saw there were all beauties.

About sixty miles south of the Palo Duro River I saw the first dirt fence, which had been constructed to catch drifting cattle during blizzards. This fence ran east and west across the plains and served its purpose well, but occasioned heavy losses in some instances. As I journeyed on and when within about twenty miles of the Palo Duro, I began to see dead cattle every few hundred yards, and the nearer I approached to the river the carcasses seemed to increase until I reached the river, where there were literally hundreds of dead cattle scattered around over the prairie. I was told by the roundup men these cattle had drifted down to the dirt fence, where they almost perished for water, and when they came back to the river they drank so much water it killed them.

We had 3,000 head of the - X cattle in our herd and bad to make a three days' drive without water to get to the river. There were also two more herds of 2,000 each of the JA brand, bossed by Fly and Doak, following us, making 7,000 head in all, and when we reached the Palo Duro River, where the old stage line from Dodge City to New Mexico crossed the stream, we found about twenty outfits of roundup ranch hands there with a lot of gath- ered cattle. I thought sure we were going to have a general mixup that night, for I never saw so many cattle in my life before, but we kept separated by lots of hard work and constant riding. We did not drink the water ourselves, but dug shallow pits away from the river, let the water seep in and used that.

Sometimes the cowboys, when off herd, would have great sport chasing antelope, but could not catch them. There was a certain species of wolf in that region called a *^ swift," of a dark brown color, which we often tried to catch, but they were too swift for us. We often captured wild turkey gobblers which had strayed out from the rivers to the level prairie. When we jumped them they would fly a mile or two, then we would run them down.

On August 9, 1869, I arrived at Goliad, from Louisiana. At Richmond I overtook Bryant Reynolds and Leander Butler, who were on their way to Goliad, and accepted their invitation to travel with them. I had come to Texas to be a cowboy. During the Civil War I had served as a scout in the Confederate Army, and had encountered some thrilling experiences while acting in that capacity, but I always wanted to be a cowboy, for it was a life that particularly appealed to me.

We traveled through the piney woods for two days, after which we came to the prairie, and here I encountered a young Englishman named Johnson, under a live oak tree unsaddling his horse. He had recently arrived from England and was on his way to Rockport, but decided to accompany us. Johnson was a pretty green tenderfoot, like myself, and when he found a jackrabbit lie tried to catch him with a rope, thinking the rabbit was crippled because he ran off on three legs and had a bump on one side of his tail. The last time I saw that Englishman he was still running that rabbit. We arrived at Ranee Taylor's ranch, and next day I was engaged by Mr. Taylor to build a corncrib. While at this work B. F. (Dock) Burris, a prominent stockman of Bee County, came there and wanted to know if there was a chap on the ranch who wanted work. Mr. Taylor told him he could probably employ me, so we made a trade. He was to start me at $12.50 per month and raise my wages as I made good. So I started my cowboy life August 18, 1869, on Goat Creek, Goliad County, Texas, and began rounding up on Pettus Prairie. When we threw the cattle together I thought we had all the cattle in Texas there, and would have nothing to do the following day. Dock Burris said to me, ^^ Louisiana, you go over to those mesquite trees and hold them as we cut them out. If you need help I will send another hand to you.*' I did as I was told, and presently I heard Bryant Reynolds saying, '*Here she is. Dock," and the reply, ^^All right, Bryant. Wait until I can get there, for all hell can't cut her out alone. ' ' They were talking about an old brindle cow, a typical Texas longhorn, with the bush of her tail cut off, including three inches of the bone. She was coming in my direction and Mr. Burris called to me, ^^Hold her uj), Louisiana ; hold her up. ' ' I did my best to stop her, but she had her head set and turned down within a foot of the ground, determined to go right on. One of the boys called out, ^'Tail her, Louisiana; tail her,'' and when I caught her tail with both hands my horse went one way and Old Brindle and I went another. The boys yelled with glee and shouted to me to ''stay with liei-." Indeed I stayed, until Dock got to me and said ''turn her loose," at the same time getting in between me and that maddened old brindle cow. On our way to the branding pen Mr. Burris and I were working the tail end of the cows and calves. He had a pretty little brown pony in the herd which he told me belonged to his son, Shannon, and said he did not permit the cowboys to ride it for fear they would hurt his back, but as I was not much larger than Shannon, he would let me use the pony. He staked the pony out that night so he would not be too full of grass to run after the cattle the next day. When we had everything arranged the next morning to make our start Mr. Burris caught the pony by the right ear and told Bryant to lay my saddle on him right easy. The little horse squatted right near the ground as the saddle girth was being slowly drawn tight, and when I mounted him, Mr. Burris let go of his ear and threw his hat under the pony's belly. Things became interesting about this time, and I turned the reins loose, for I had to use both hands to hold to the horn of the saddle. The boys yelled, *^Stay with him, Louisiana," and I stayed until the reins became entangled in his front feet and from sheer exhaustion the little brown pony ceased pitching.

We branded about two hundred calves below the old mission at Goliad. It was my first experience in this line of work, but when I saw the boys grab the yearlings by the tail, jerk them down, run their tails between their hind legs and yell, '*Come on with the branding iron,'' I thought it was time for me to do likewise, so I caught one of the yearlings by the tail and set back, when lo, she sent both hind feet into my stomach and I landed on my back, and then it was *' twinkle, twinkle, little star - what in hell is the matter now ? ' ' This little motley-faced heifer must have been Old Brindle's calf.

I was sent to W. G. Butler's ranch in Karnes County and drove big-jawed and crippled beeves from there to Eockport, where they were killed for their hides and tallow and the meat fed to hogs.

In March, 1870, we started a herd of beeves to Abilene, Kansas. At Fort Worth, then a little cross-roads town, we met two shorthorn cowboys who were yelling and shooting, and we came near having trouble with them, because they turned our cattle back. Mr. Butler and I told them in a very emphatic manner to strike a high ball to town, and they struck it, and the last we saw of them was a streak of Fort Worth dust. We had a fine time that year, as everything was in good condition and going smooth. In those days I thought I was a ** sticker '' with a bunch of cattle in sunshine, rain or storm, but Pleas Butler could work all of the Karnes County starch out of any other man in Texas. No man ever drove a bunch of cattle up the trail any better than Pleas Butler.

Made Several Trips Up The Trail

I was born in Noonan, Georgia, June 6, 1846, and came to Texas when but a boy. Made my first trip up the trail in 1871 with my brother, Charlie, who had 500 big steers, which we placed in a herd of 500 more belonging to Emmet Rutledge and John Scott, which made a herd of 1,000, and we started from Gonzales, drove them to Abilene, Kansas, and sold the steers belonging to Rutledge and Scott, while brother Charlie drove our steers on to Omaha, Neb.

My next trip was with 1,200 head of horses belonging to D. E. Fant and myself. This was the first large bunch of horses driven up the trail. As we disposed of these horses at a good figure, I took another herd of horses the next season, 900 head.

N. L. Word

After that, the next year, I drove 2,000 one and twoyear-old steers to Ogallala, Nebraska, and when we reached there I put in 2,000 more with the herd and drove to Sydney Bridge, Nebraska, where I delivered half of them to D. R. Fant, who owned them. The remaining 2,000 were driven to the 999 Eanch in Wyoming, where I delivered them to parties who had contracted with Mr. Fant for them.

My next trip was with 2,500 two-year-olds, which were taken to the R - S ranch on Wolf Creek, Indian Territory, and delivered to D. R. Fant, who had purchased the lease on this ranch and had also purchased 4,000 cattle with the lease. Mr. Fant also bought the 17 - Ranch lease and cattle, about 1,500 head.

I made a trip from Santa Rosa Ranch with 2,500 twoyear-old steers. I drove these for half the profit. The price Mr. Fant put on them was $12 per head. I took them to Runnels County and sold them to John Blocker after the trail was closed.

I have bought cattle all over the country, from the Santa Rosa Ranch to San Fernandez, Mexico, but during the past few years my activities have been limited in this respect, for I have bought and shipped only a few. I bossed the Santa Rosa Ranch for D. R. Fant for eight years and helped put up many herds for him.

Probably The Oldest Feeder In Texas

My father, Robert Sellers, came to Texas in 1835 from Tennessee, and was one of the first men to build a log house in LaGrange. He secured a head-right of a league of land in the lower part of Gonzales County, but did not tliiiik enough of it to even go to see it. He was one of the number who went from LaGrange at Sam Houston's call to hokl GonzaU^s from the invading Mexican army, but there were not enough Texans to accomplish this task, so General Houston detailed him and a few others to keep the women and children ahead of the Mexican army.

I was born in Fayette County in 1849. Father bought a fine tract of land on the prairie on the east side of the Colorado Eiver, fourteen miles above Columbus, and moved there in 1852, and when I was twenty-one years old he turned his stock and farm over to me.

In 1871 I made a trip up the trail to Newton, Kansas, with Barnes & Seymour. We had several hundred old wild steers in the herd that were from four to fifteen years old, which had been raised in the brush on the Sandies, and they stampeded frequently, giving us a world of trouble. So right there I gained a lot of experience in handling stampeded cattle that has been worth a great deal to me in working with cattle in the years that followed. We started this herd about the 10th of May and reached Newton the 12th of August. After we passed Fayette County there were but few settlements, and when we got up near Eed River we found it to be a wild country. Almost every man we met carried two six-shooters and a Winchester for protection. When we passed through the Indian Territory we had no trouble with the Indians, but they attempted to stampede our herd several times. Two or three miles off the trail there were thousands of buffalo, all the way to Kansas, but they were too wild for ns to get near them, and the only way to approach near enough to kill the buffalo was to take advantage of the wind and get on the wind side of them. Many men in those days made it a business to kill and skin buffaloes for their hides, which they hauled into the forts and sold. On this trip I saw seven head together that had been killed and skinned.

There were a great many wild horses to be seen, but they were also too wild for us to get very close to them. One day a man nooned at our camp who told us that he had made a great deal of money for several years capturing these mustangs. He had erected pens at convenient distances into which to run them. These pens were made of poles which had been hauled from the river bottoms twenty-five to fifty miles distant. In capturing these horses he told us that his system was to keep right after them in a walk, keeping up the same gait day and night, never allowing them to approach a water hole or take time to graze, and in due time he could drive them into his pens. He sold them to the farmers in Kansas, as that country was just settling up.

I commenced feeding cattle in 1876. In 1882 we sold our farm and I went into the cattle business, paying as high as $22.50 per head for my cattle. In 1884 the price had declined to $5 a head, and I drove them to Colorado and sold them.

In 1885 I put up a herd for Graham & Sisson of Colorado, with the understanding that I was to buy and put in with them if I wanted to do so. I gathered these cattle in Lampasas and adjoining counties, and it was a very dry spring, the worst that had been experienced in many years. There was but little water on the trail from Lampasas to the Indian Nation. We drove the herd to Baird City and shipped them by way of Fort Worth up to Pease Eiver. After we crossed Eed Eiver we found but little water that our cattle would drink, and we traveled at one time three days and nights without water for them, but the morning of the fourth day a heavy rainstorm came upon us and filled all of the shallow holes in the ground with water and supplied our herd. I never in my Hfe saw cattle drink as much as that herd drank. From there on we did not have difficulty in getting water and grass, and made it to the Graham & Sisson ranch in Colorado with our cattle in fine shape.

I suppose I am the oldest feeder in the state, as I commenced in 1876 and have missed only four or five winters since that time. I have bought steers in every county from Brown and Comanche to the coast, and have sold from $2.75 to $14.75.

Up The Trail To Northern New Mexico

I was born in Guadalupe County, Texas, on the San Geronimo Creek, February 21, 1847. Moved to Atascosa County in 1853. My father, Ben F. Franks, being a cattleman from his boyhood days, I was raised a cowboy from the cradle up and spent my boyhood days in Atascosa County. My father, having passed away in 1862, myself and brother were left to take care of our mother and sisters. I worked cattle and fought Indians for several years, and in 1867 I settled on a ranch of my own in La Salle County. Was married in 1870 to Miss Caroline Chapman of Bell County. After several years raising cattle I started up the trail with my first herd in 1872 for G. W. Chapman and myself. I left La Salle County in March for the Wichita (Kansas) market, and went by way of San Antonio, Austin and Fort Worth and straight on up the trail. We left with 1,000 head of steers and, with plenty of water and grass, we had a good trip and lost only a small number of steers on the way, arriving at the Wichita market in June. Returning to my ranch, I remained there until 1886 and started up the trail again for Presnall, Withers & Co., this time for Northern New Mexico. I left Presidio County in April and this trip was full of hardships all the way out to Eoswell, New Mexico. We went by way of Alpine and Toyah and struck the Pecos Eiver at Hash Knife Ranch, and the night we got there our herd stampeded early in the night and we did not get them checked until early morning. Again at Toyah we had a stampede that lasted all night and until sunrise the next morning, and this time we lost 22 head of steers. We went up the Pecos to Seven Elvers and on up. Striking the Pecos again, we followed it as far as Eoswell, New Mexico. We had a tough time getting there, with no grass and no rain. We suffered heavy losses all the way up the Pecos, pulling and digging cattle out of bogs every day and losing some each day. We were a dilapidated looking bunch, cattle, horses and men, and when we arrived within five miles of Eoswell we had a glorious rain and storm that made our trip the balance of the way very good. We left the Pecos at Eoswell and went up by old Fort Sumner, crossed over to the Canadian Eiver and by the old Bell ranch, then went on up the Goodnight Trail through the mountains and reached the market in July with 1,600 head of steers out of the 2,200 that we left Presidio County with in April. This was my last trip up the trail and I came back to Atascosa County and am still here.

The Son Of A Well-Known Trail Driver

My parents are Eobert J. and Dorcas Ann Jennings. I was born September 30, 1881, in Guadalupe County, Texas, and when I was three years of age my parents moved to Frio County, where they resided near Pearsall until I was fifteen years old. The following three years

1 attended school in San Antonio, after which I went to Childress County and spent six months on the Shoe Nail Ranch, which belonged to Swift & Co., meat packers, where I worked as a cowboy. My father at the time was manager of this ranch. In July, 1899, 1 returned to South Texas and began to collect a bunch of cattle of my own, and ranched in Dimmitt, La Salle and Zapata Counties for the following ^YQ or six years, during which time a drouth prevailed over the country and I lost all of my accumulation of cattle. I went to Mexico in 1907 as manager of the Piedra Blanca Ranch and remained there until April, 1909, then returned to Texas and began handling cattle with my uncle, W. H. Jennings. From here I went to Osage County, Oklahoma, and spent two seasons, again returning to Texas to engage in buying and bringing cattle out of Mexico. At the time of President Madero's assassination I was on General Trevion's La Bahia Ranch to buy cattle, but we could not agree on the price. General Trevino sold several thousand head of his cattle to other parties and lost the remainder entirely through being at enmity with Carranza, who confiscated the Trevino cattle and had them driven to Piedras Negras in great herds and killed for his soldiers. Out of 40,000 head General Trevino lost outright probably 25,000.

I ranched in Texas until 1916, when some associates and myself bought the majority interest in the Piedra Blanca Cattle Company of Mexico cattle, and I went to that ranch as manager. I stayed there one year, but on account of having no protection from the bandits that infested that region, we sold these cattle and brought them to this side of the Eio Grande in Texas. I returned to Atascosa County, where I was interested in cattle, and have spent the remainder of the intervening time in South Texas.

I was married to Miss Ella Alberta Lowrey in December, 1917, and am now residing in San Antonio. I have cattle interests in La Salle and Dimmitt Counties in connection with W. H. and J. D. Jennings.

In September, 1919, I was elected secretary of the Old Time Trail Drivers^ Association, which position I still hold. Being the son of an old trail driver, I complied with the request of Mr. George W. Saunders, the president, to give this brief sketch of my life.

I was born in Guadalupe County, near Seguin, April 7th, 1859, and spent practically all of my life on ranches. I first went up the trail with a herd of horses, in 1879, from Corpus Christi to Cherryvale, Kansas. This was one of the hardest trips I ever made. Our chuck wagon consisted of a Mexican mule about fourteen hands high. The next trip I made was in 1879, this time with a herd of two-yearold steers owned by G. W. Littlefield, driven from the O'Connor ranch near Victoria to Yellow House Canyon.

Geo. Saunders The Trail Drivers Of Texas 391

The next year I went with a herd of 1,800 cattle bossed by Nat Jackson, going from Kyle, Texas, to Ogallala, Nebraska, where we delivered them to Col. Seth Maberry, after which we drove from there to the Eed Cloud Agency to supply a government contract.

The fourth trip was made in 1881, when I went from Taylor, Texas, to Caldwell, Kansas, with a horse herd owned by Kuykendall, Sauls & Burns, with John Burns as boss.

During 1882 and 1883 I worked in the Panhandle of Texas, but in 1884 I went on the trail again with a horse herd owned by H. G. Williams and bossed by Bill Williams. On this trip, somewhere in the vicinity of Abilene, Texas, we came up with George W. Saunders' outfit as they were going up to Kansas. Here we had a stampede, our horses mixed together, so we just let them stay together and drove them from there to Dodge City.

On this trip several things took place that should be mentioned for the benefit of the readers of this book, for they give a clear idea of some of the dangers that beset the men who traveled the trail in those old days. When we reached the Comanche reservation, the Indians demanded horses and provisions from us. As George Saunders could talk Spanish fluently, and was good at making a bluff stick, our outfit and Carroll Mayfield's outfit, which had overtaken us, decided to appoint George to settle with the Indians as best he could. Accordingly he accompanied the chiefs and some of the bucks to a tepee and held a council with them. The old chief could speak Spanish, and when he learned that George was familiar with his old raiding range, he became quite friendly and told him that he knew every trail on the Rio Grande from Laredo to El Paso, knew all of the streams by name, the Nueces, Llano River, DeviPs River, Guadalupe River, Pecos River, the Concho and Colorado

Elvers, besides many creeks. He became very talkative and, going to a rude willow basket he had in his wigwam, he brought forth several burrs which he said he had taken from cypress trees of the head of the Guadalupe River. He told Mr. Saunders that he had killed **heap w^hite man'* on his raids, but that he was now *^heap good Indian, no kill no man."

Saunders offered to make settlement by giving them one horse and some provisions, and the Indians seemed well pleased with this offer. When we started our herd about twenty young bucks riding on beautiful horses, came and helped us swim the cattle across the Canadian River. A number of our horses bogged in the quicksand and had to be dug out, which sport the Indians enjoyed immensely. They fell right in with our boys and helped in every way they could to pull the horses out, and when this work was finished they gave us an exhibition of their riding. Some of the bucks would run by our crowd and invite us to lasso them.

Saunders finally decided to rope one of them, a tall young fellow who was mounted on a well-trained horse, so getting his lariat ready, he waited the coming of the Indian, and as he passed, laying flat on his horse, George threw the rope and it encircled both horse and rider. The Indian's horse shied around a tree and the Indian and his horse and George and his horse were all thrown heavily to the ground when the rope tightened. The Indian was painfully injured, but when we ran to their assistance we found no serious damage had resulted, although it was a narrow escape for both of the performers. The rope had been drawn so tight around the Indian that it required some time for him to get his lungs in proper action. We thought the Indians would be offended by the accident, but they laughed and guffawed over it in great fashion, and we left them in fine spirits.

were in an ugly mood, and the next day the old chief, Bacon Rind, and about 200 Kiowa bucks and squaws came to us and they, too, demanded horses and provisions. We sent them to Saunders, of course, for he had so successfully managed the Comanches the day before we trusted him to handle these Indians the same way. We told them Saunders was **heap big boss,'' and to talk to him. Saunders parleyed with them for some time, finally telling them to come back the next day. They left grudgingly and came back that evening, renewing their demands, so Saunders had all of the wagons drawn up together, and offered the Indians a small amount of flour, some sugar, coffee, bacon, prunes, beans and some canned goods out of each wagon. All of this stuff was placed where they could see just what he was offering to give them to depart in peace, and he also told them two horses would be given in addition to the provisions. Some of the Indians seemed satisfied and were willing to accept the offer, but others wanted more. In the band of Indians was a pockmarked half-breed who had been the most insistent that more be given them, and he finally got all of the bunch demanding more. Saunders finally lost patience with them and told the cooks to put all of the stuff back in the wagons, and the men to straddle their horses and start the herds. As George mounted his horse and started off the pockmarked half-breed and a dozen bucks made a dash at him, and before he realized what was happening they had grabbed him by the arms and caught his horse by the bridle. He had drawn his pistol, but was unable to use it because of the vise-like grip that held him. At the same time forty or fifty buffalo guns in the hands of the Indians were leveled at his head, and for an instant things looked bad. The half-breed, who spoke English fluently, was cursing and abusing Saunders, and telling him they were going to kill him right there. The squaws had all vanished, nobody knew where. Harry Hotchkiss and several of the other boys, including three of Saunders' Mexican hands, ran to his assistance, and their bravery no doubt saved his life. They leveled their pistols on the Indians, the Mexicans in a rage screaming, **Dammy you, you killee Meester George, me killee you. ' ' This was a critical moment for George Saunders, but he kept his nerve, for he realized that if there was one shot fired he would be a ^* goner." He talked to the Indians in every language except Chinese, telling them they were making a serious mistake, and that he would send to Fort Sill and get the soldiers to come and protect him. This talk had the desired effect, and they lowered their guns and departed without provisions, although Saunders gave them a stray horse in our herd which I think belonged to the Comanches. The Indians were in an ugly mood when they left, the pockmarked Indian swearing vengeance and saying, as he rode away, *^We will come back and take all we want from you when the sun comes up.''

While parleying with the Indians, Saunders offered to give them orders for provisions on men behind, who, he told them, were rich men and would gladly give them cattle, horses and money, naming Bell, Butler, Jim Blocker, Jim Dobie, Forest, Clark, King, Kennedy, Coleman, O'Connor and many other prominent trail men of that time. But the Indians said, *^A11 no good. Pryor man give order last year; no good." Saunders was

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That night Saunders put on only two reliefs, some of them to hold the herd and the others to reconnoiter and give the alarm at the first sign of Indians. He told all of the boys to get their shooting irons in good shape, for there was likely to be trouble.

The Indians did not molest us during the night, and early next morning Mr. Saunders told us they would probably show up in a little while, and he gave us instructions as to what to do. He told us to congregate behind this herd when the Indians appeared, keep in line and not mix with the Indians, for in case of a fight we should not run the risk of shooting some of our own men. We were to keep cool while he was parleying with the Indians, and if he saw that a fight could not be avoided he would give a keen cowboy yell as a signal, and every man was to act.

Just after sunrise we saw the Indians coming across the plain in single file and in full war garb, headed by two chiefs. Bacon Eind and Sundown, and the pockmarked half-breed. The Indians came right up to us, and as they were approaching Saunders said, ''Remember, boys, we must win the fight. If I give the signal each of you must kill an Indian, so don't make a miss.'' They looked hideous in the war garb, and as they rushed up one of the chiefs said, ''How, big chief bad man, no give poor Indian horse or grub. Indian take um." Saunders told them they would get nothing. They began to point out horses in the herd which they said they were going to take, and George informed them that he would shoot the first Indian that rode into the herd. The pockmarked Indian held a short whispered conversation with the two chiefs and started towards Saunders, seeing which the boys, who were already on their mettle and tired of waiting for the signal, began pulling their guns, and the Indians weakened. They instantly saw that we were determined to give them a fight, and withdrew. Saunders had to do some lively talking then to hold our crowd back. There were about thirty-five men in our bunch, including the cooks and wranglers, and the Indians numbered about two hundred warriors. As they left the pockmarked half-breed showed the white feather, and Saunders called him all the coward names in the Indian, Spanish and English language that he knew, but the rascal knew he had lost and his bluff was called. In resentment the Indians went to Neal ManewelPs herd, which was nearby, and shot down ten beeves. Saunders and several of our boys went over to the herd and offered assistance to the boss, Mr. Cato, but he said they were too late to save the beeves, and it was best to let the Indians alone, as we could all drive out of their reservation that day. We pointed our herd up the trail and had no further trouble with them.

The pockmarked Indian was known to most of the old trail drivers. He was an outlaw and thief, and was regarded as a desperate character all around. I learned that he was killed by a cowboy in 1886. George Saunders had lots of experience in dealing with Indians during those days, and he often told me that when he made a bold bluff, if it did not stick he was always ready to back it up with firearms or fast talking.

In 1885 and 1886 I carried herds for H. G. Williams from Kyle, Texas, to Arkansas City, and made my last drive in 1886, when I delivered a herd to Miles Williams at Abilene, Texas. I have been in the cow business ever since, the greater part of the time associated with H. G. Williams.

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my trailhood. When fond recollections present them to view - The water barrel, the old chuck wagon, And the cook who called me to chew.

Put Up Many Herds For D. R. Fant

My father moved to Goliad County in 1838, and located fifteen miles from Goliad, where I was born August 30, 1849. I grew to manhood here and worked on the range until 1879, when I went up the trail with a herd belonging to Barton Peck. On this trip we endured hardships of all descriptions, stampedes, hailstorms, thunder and lightning, trouble with Indians, and other things not to be mentioned. However, we reached Dodge City, Kansas, in good shape, sold the herd, and came back overland, bringing our horses and wagons.

I am a brother-in-law to the late D. E. Fant, and for many years helped to put up and start many herds up the trail for him, but I made only one trip, and that was the one mentioned above.

My father moved several hundred cattle from Old Caney to Goliad in 1838 and soon had the largest herd in that section. He had a great deal of trouble with the Indians, for they came down into our settlement almost every moon for many years. They did not bother our cattle, only killing beef occasionally to eat, but they stole lots of horses and killed quite a number of settlers.

I met George W. Saunders, the president of our organization, in 1859, when his father settled near us in Goliad County. We went to school together, worked cattle together, and the tics of friendship that bind us have endured all these years. The work that he is doing to perpetuate the record of the men who helped to make Texas the great state that she is today is characteristic of the **get up and do things'' manner of my good old friend.

I am now living at Junction, Kimble County, Texas, where I am engaged in the hotel business. I have been a citizen of this county for many years ; came here when the population of the county was much less than it is now, and have witnessed wonderful development since I have been here. I have raised a large family, most of my children having grown to manhood and womanhood right here, and becoming useful citizens.

The Milk Of Human Kindness Is Drying Up

I was born in Alabama in September, 1844. My first experience as trail driver was in the fall of 1856, at the age of twelve years. I was put in charge of a small herd of breeding cattle in Caldwell County, Texas, by my father and we started west. We drove through San Antonio, down Main Street and out South Flores Street. When the Civil War broke out in 1861, we had quite a nice little herd of gentle breeding cattle, as well as a good bunch of horse stock that I had caught from the mustangs or wild horses that were plentiful on the range on the Frio and Nueces Eivers at that time; but when the war closed, or broke up, and I got out of the army in the spring of 1865, our stock of cattle and horses were all stolen or scattered to the four winds, so we were all ** broke" again. In the meantime I had met the finest little girl in the world, and felt that the game of life would not be worth the candle without her, and when I mentioned the subject to her, to my surprise she told

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 399

]ne that there would be no trouble about it, as I Avas in good standing with her papa, but when I told her I was ^' broke,'' she merely laughed and said ^^ everybody was broke,'' and that she would help me, so we married and she is still helping me to this good hour - over a period of fifty-five years. After we were married in the spring of 1865, the Indians killed my father at his home on the Frio, in McMuUen County, in August, 1865, so my mother, four sisters and one little brother were left for us to care for. During the reconstruction times we had all kinds of trouble on the border with the Indians, Mexicans, thieves and outlaw^s, too bad to write about, and would not be believed anyway (ask my friend, Ed English, if it was a Sunday School picnic), so better be it forgotten. By hard work and close economy I had got together fifteen hundred head of good mixed cattle by the spring of 1872, and started up the trail in March for my first trip.

I was herd boss, had a yoke of oxen, mess cart, one negro and eight Mexicans with me on that trip, but of the crowd only myself and the negro. Jack Hopkins, are now living to tell the tale. As a boy I had always wanted a good mount, was ambitious to ride good horses and have the best rifle, and as a married man I was anxious to have $10,000 in money in the clear. When I returned home in the fall I had $15,000 in cash and $10,000 life insurance in favor of my wife and babies, and felt that I was **some" financier, as that was the first real money I had ever had, and it was all our own. I started my herd from the San Miguel in Atascosa county, and as I traveled the well-defined trail, nothing of interest happened until I got to Eed River Station on the Eed River. There I found the river big swinuning, and as another herd was close behind me, I could not turn back, so I asked my men if they would follow the herd across, and they said they would, so I spurred **01d Dun" into the river and swam across with my lead cattle following close behind, and all landed in safety, but I did not want any more of it, as the river was wide, muddy and swift. I had carried three herds across the Rio Grande before that successfully, but this was the worst ever. We moved along slowly through the territory trying to fatten our stock on the fine range, but we had so many thunderstorms, hard rains and stampedes we did not make much progress. Ask Bob Ragsdale about it. When we got within eighty or one hundred miles of Caldwell, on the Kansas line, we butted into the Osage tribe, who demanded a good beef out of each and every herd passing their camp. About fifty of their ugliest bucks came to my camp where we were making dinner and took time to eat up everything the cook had and then made their wants known, and I said certainly I had one for them and asked the chief spokesman to please pick it out, as I was in a hurry, and at the same time told my men to *^hook up" and move out, and they were ready to go. So the chief picked out a high-grade steer, very fat, about a fifteen hundred pounder, and was about to shoot him, when I tried to explain that he was a favorite of mine, but it was no use, as they thought that that would make no difference. I think a dozen of them shot him at once and killed him before I could say *^scat." In less than ten minutes they had him skinned, cut up and packed on ponies and were gone to their camp. My friend, Mr. John Redus, with whom I had been traveling and who was camped close by, seeing what they were doing to me, had thrown his herd on the trail and was pushing them along pretty lively, when my men got my herd straightened out on the trail four or ^ve hundred yards behind Eedus^ herd. By that time the Indians were coming like blackbirds. I think they were one hundred strong, all well mounted and well armed with guns, pistols, bows and a^^rows. They were exceptionally friendly with me, and uncomfortably sociable, showing a great deal of the bulldog familiarity which I could not enjoy. They did not ask me for anything more, only invited me to their camp and told me all about their many squaws and babies, but I took their word for that. When they called on my friend, Eedus, for a beef they disagreed with him when he offered them a crippled steer, but a good one in fair flesh, so they all bunched up between our herd for a council of war and in a few minutes I saw them load their guns, string their bows and a hundred of them ran full drive into his herd, shooting and yelling the regular war-whoop, scattering his herd of about one thousand good beeves to the winds, killing a hundred or more right there on the prairie in sight. When the smoke and dust cleared away all he had left was his men and horses and about two hundred and fifty head of beeves that ran into my herd, where the Indians did not follow them. Mr. Eedus brought suit against the government for the beeves ; lost it, and I was a witness for him for some twenty years. We hurried up from there until we got into Kansas and on to Wichita, on the Arkansas River. I think Redus' claim was finally paid, but not in full.

I handled cattle up the trail several years after that and delivered twenty-five hundred head to Messrs. Hackney and Dowling up at Chugwater, above Cheyenne, Wyoming. Always made a little money, but never bossed another herd through from start to finish after 1872. I know the game, and I know if a man made good at it he had two or three months of strenuous life.

The Texas pioneers and old trail drivers are fast passing away and will soon be only a memory, but that memory is dear to my heart, and when they are gone the world will never know another bunch like them, for the milk of human kindness is drying up, and the latchstring is being pulled inside.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 403 Took Time To Visit His Sweetheart

I was born on a stock ranch in Refugio County in 1856, and spent most of my life working with cattle. In those early days people lived on cornbread, beef, milk, butter and coffee, about the only store-bought articles being coffee and sugar, and not much of that. I helped to gather and drive cattle to Eockport for W. S. Hall in 1869, and for several years thereafter. In 1872 I drove a herd to that place for George W. Saunders, who is now the president of our Trail Drivers' Association. George was a good boss and a hard worker. He was also a lover of fine clothes and pretty girls, and one day while we were near William Eeeves' ranch, four miles above Refugio, George had us stop the herd and make camp so he could call on his sweetheart, Miss Rachel Reeves. We had plenty of time to reach a good stock pen six miles further on, but he was so anxious to see his girl that he held us there. George later married Miss Reeves, in 1884. I have known Mr. Saunders all of my life and know he will *^ stand hitched'' any place on earth. He never forgets a friend.

I worked stock in all the coast counties and knew all of the old-timers in that region. In 1880 I went to Kansas and drove a drag herd with pack horses from Caldwell County, Texas.

In 1871 I built seven miles of barbed wire fence for W. E. and Tom McCampbell of Rockport, it being the first barbed-wire fence in San Patricio County.

I am now living in Bexar County on a farm and ranch and can ride all day and do any kind of farm or ranch work. My father was a well-known stockman in the early days and was known as *^ Uncle Boiling" Williams.