Early, Texas - Trail Drivers of Texas : Interesting Sketches of Early Cowboys and The (part 9 of 20)

Reminiscences Of The Trail

I was born near Belton, Bell County, Texas, August 17, 1854. My parents moved to Belton in 1849 from Neosho County, Missouri, coming in by ox wagon, then moved to Gonzales, where, after remaining a short time, they returned to Belton and maintained the stage stand until 1854, when all earthly possessions were wiped out by a flood. My parents both died when I was young, and I was raised by Uncle Alex Hodge until I came to Atascosa County in 1873. During my early boyhood in Bell County I rode the range and helped with herding and branding cattle, enjoying the experiences of the then early conditions existing in Texas, one of which caused so much amusement that I am going to recite it here.

One day a Mr. Isabell came traveling through the country trading eight-day clocks for cattle, giving one clock for four cows and calves, and as no one had a clock, it did not take Isabell long to gather a herd. One of the settlers with whom he traded, took his clock home and, after winding it, set it on the mantle, and when the family gathered round after supper, the clock struck eight. It scared the family so that they scattered, thinking it was something supernatural, and it took the old man until nearly midnight to get them together and in the house. I helped Isabell drive his cattle as far as Comanche

Bob Laudeedale The Trail Drivers Of Texas 405

Springs on his way to Fort Worth and returned to the range, remaining until 1872, when, with Isaiah Mock, Hoffman and Moore, we drove a herd of cattle to Alexandria, La., with W. C. Wright, who loaded them on boats for New Orleans; then we returned home. During the fall we branded ' * Mavericks ' ' and put up trail herds and in the spring of 1873 Olley Treadwell came through with a herd for Kansas belonging to Sim Holstein of Gonzales. Bob Allen and I hired to Treadwell and went to Wichita, Kansas, this being my first trip over the Chisholm Trail, with nothing unusual or exciting except we saw some buffalo.

At Wichita during the summer. Bud Chapman, Bud Hilderbrandt, Bill Bennett and I helped ^^ Shanghai" Pierce cut and load a train of steers for the market at St. Louis. This was the first bunch of cattle I ever saw loaded on cars.

In the fall of 1873 I went to work on the range for Bill Fountain and we gathered and drove 200 head to W. B. G. Grimes' slaughter house on the coast, near Powder Horn, where they were slaughtered for their hides and tallow. On our return we gathered a herd of 250 cattle and drove them to Harrisburg, then ^ye miles from Houston, and on this trip I led the pack horse and cooked for the outfit. I then went Avith Bud Chapman to Fort Ewell, where we gathered cattle and brought them back to his ranch, and in the spring of 1874 started 3,000 head up the trail, going as far as the Salado with them. LTpon returning I worked for '* Billy'' Childress, John Slaughter and Mrs. O'Brien. In the spring of 1875 three Mexicans and I were herding 400 head of cattle near Carrizo Springs, Texas, when Lem English and Len Hay, two boys, who were playing close by, discovered a bunch of Indians. The children ran to the house and gave the alarm and Ed English came out and helped us put the cattle in his pen, and we stood guard all night, although the Indians did not attack us, as they, had previously had

In the spring of 1876 Dick Horn, Jack McCurley and I, with some Mexican hands, gathered and delivered by Billy Childress and John Slaughter, to Bill Dougherty two herds of about 5,000 head at Indian Bend Eanch. In the fall of 1876 I went to Runnels County and took charge of a herd for J. W. Murphy and George Hindes and wintered on Elm Creek, above where the city of Ballinger now stands, and the following spring drove them to Dodge City, Kansas.

On the trip I saw old Sitting Bull and about 1,200 of his bucks and squaws in charge of Government troops; these were the Cheyenne and Sioux Indians, who had massacred General Custer and his men and were being taken to Fort Reno. There were about 2,000 horses with the Indians. The troops had 100 pack mules so welltrained that you could not make them break line. They moved in single file and were taught this to enable them to travel through the mountains. The Indians were traveling in their usual way, poles tied to the necks of ponies like shafts in a buggy, but much longer, and in willow baskets lashed to these poles the old bucks and squaws rode who were too old to ride horseback - their tepees and supplies were also carried in this manner. Squaws with their papooses strapped to their backs rode bareback, and in passing through their camp I saw one old buck dressed in moccasins, breechclout, a frocktail coat and an old-fashioned preacher's hat.

Upon my return from Kansas, in 1877, I went to a point near Oakville and received a herd of cattle for Lewis & Blunzer and drove them to Saddle Creek, near the mouth of the Concho, where it empties into the Colorado, at a point near where Paint Rock now stands. Shortly after I left the horse wrangler, Lebora Chappa, who had remained with Joe Reame, was killed near Salt Gap by the Indians.

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In November, 1877, George Hindes, Volley Oden and I took an outfit to Laredo and bought and received a herd of cattle on the Gonzales and Ambrosia Eodriguez ranches and returned to the La Parita ranch, in Atascosa County, on Christmas day, 1877, then road-branded, and in the spring of 1878 started up the trail. On the trail with me was Joe Collins with his herd and a herd of Bill Dewees in charge of Joe Eggle, and when crossing the North Fork of Eed Eiver, at the foot of the Wichita Mountains, Joe Collins' cook was killed by a Mexican, w^ho we were unable to capture. We rolled the cook in his blanket and dug his grave with an axe and a brokenhandled spade, the only implements at hand. On the Mobeetie road crossing at the North Fork of the Eed Eiver, near Fort Sill, the Lidians - Cheyennes and Sioux - ^were holding a medicine dance and afterward went on the warpath. They killed Tuttle & Chapman's cook, took 35 head of horses on Crooked Creek, near where I had camped, shot Foreman Eainey's horse and headed for the Bad Lands of the Dakotas.

We reached the H. & D. ranch on September 7th, 1878, and remained there until the cattle were ranch-branded, and returned to Cheyenne and then to Denver by train.

In the spring of 1879 I started for Dodge City with a herd for John Camp, and a little above San Antonio our oxen gave out, requiring us to use Mexican *^ stags'' with Mexican yokes to Dodge City. In the fall and winter of 1879, C. F. Carroll and I made several trips down the Eio Grande below Laredo and bought cattle from the Tortilla ranch in Mexico and from Pedro Flores, Juan Benavides, Jesus Pena and others for Camp, Eosser & Carroll.

In the spring of 1880 Carroll and I started to Kansas and at Bandera we threw our herds together because several of Carroll's hands quit him, and I drove the combined herds to Ogallala and delivered them to Charles and Joe Shiner, w^ho then sold 1,000 head of two-year- olds, steers and heifers, to Billy Campbell, and I drove this lot to Pine Bluff, Wyoming, turning them over to Campbell's men. In the spring of 1881 I took a herd of three and four-year-olds for Mitchell & Pressnall to Ogallala and turned the big steers over to Seth Maberry and then shaped up another herd of 2,500 one and two-yearold steers and 1,000 one and two-year-old heifers out of the Mitchell, Pressnall and Ellison herds and went to Crazy Woman Fork of Powder River at the foot of Big Horn Mountains, and delivered them to Stoddard, Latman & Howard.

Returning in 1881, 1 worked my own cattle until 1884, and that year shipped to Dryden, on the Southern Pacific. In 1885 I traded with John Camp and the Pecos Land & Cattle Company, and ^*hit" the trail again.

John Doak, Dan Franks and I gathered a herd and sold out to Zook & Odem and I went to Independence ranch, in Pecos County, and turned them over to Billy Alley. Returning home in 1886 with Jess Pressnall, I went to Fort Stockton and gathered a herd, drove up the Pecos to Fort Sumner and remained six weeks cutting out steers ; then drove to Las Vegas and loaded them for Cheyenne, Wyo., and upon my return to Fort Sumner I took the balance of the herd, 1,000 one and two-yearold heifers, to Grant, New Mexico, and delivered to a Kansas City outfit. On this trip with me were Clem Crump, Sharp, Bob Gould, Henry Ritterman, Theo Leonard, Rainey, Jack Brown and Jim Matthews. Leaving Fort Sumner with the herd for Grant, we traveled up Yoss Creek (Isinglass), Seven Lakes, Pena Wells, Pinta de Agua, struck the Rio Grande at La Jolla, crossed the river, and came out by the Rancho Rita Coloral, struck the Indian reservation at Querrian and up the St. Jose River, and delivered the cattle, returning to Albuquerque. Pressnall, Matthews and I went to El Paso and San Antonio.

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pany, returned to Pleasanton, and in the spring of 1888 went back and finished receiving between 14,000 and 15,000 head for this company, and 7,000 calves were branded during this period that were included without cost.

In 1889 I drove a herd from the McDaniel pasture at Lytle for Jess Presnall and John Lytle to Trail City, Colorado, and delivered them to John Blocker, who drove them North. This was my last trip over the old ** cattle trail."

On the trail from San Antonio our watering places w^ere at Leon Springs, Cibolo, at Boerne, the Guadalupe at Comfort, Goat Creek, DeviPs Eiver, James Eiver, Llano, San Saba, Calf Creek, Brady, Cow Creek, Elm, Colorado, Bull Creek, Holmes Creek, Eed Bank, Hord's Creek at Coleman City, Jim Ned, Pecan Bayou, Burnt Creek, Deep Creek at Callahan City, Mexia, South Hubbard, North Hubbard at Albany, Clear Fork at Brazos at Fort Griffin, Elm Creek near Throckmorton, Millett Creek and Brazos at Millett Ranch, Pony Creek, Wichita, Beaver, Paradise, Pease River and crossed Red River at Doan's Store, which, in 1877, consisted of three buffalo hides and a wagon sheet, then up the North Fork of Red River, crossed Croton Creek, crossed the North Fork at Wichita Mountains, up the North Fork of Red River to Old Indian Camp, Elk Creek, Cash Creek at its head, AVashita, Canadian, Sand Creek, Wolf Creek, Otter, Beaver, Buffalo, Wild Horse and the Cimarron, where **Red'' Clark conducted a road house called the ^^ Long- Horn Round Up," and on the opposite side was old Julia's **Dead Fall"; thence up Bear Creek to near its head, and crossed Bluff Creek at Mailey's road house, Mulberry Creek, within sight of Dodge City. From Dodge City to Ogallala we watered at Duck Creek, Saw Log, Buckner's, Pony Creek, Pawnee, Smokey, Saline at Buffalo, Kansas, the South and North Solomon, South and North Sappy, Beaver, Driftwood, Republican,

Frenchman, Stinking Water, to Ogallala on the South Platte, up the South Platte to Chug Water by Big Springs, Julesburg up Pole Creek to Sydney, Pine Bluff, Horse Creek and to Chug Water.

Uncle Henry Stephens, Jake DePoyster, Cal Mayfield, Col. Eisinger, Jack Morris, Willie O'Brien, Bill and Campbell Fountain, Ike Hill, ^^Aus" Franks, Coleman (Uncle Coley) Lyons, Bob Eagsdale, C. H. Tardy, Nat Haynes, Bob Turner, ''Eb" Stewart, Wash Mitchell, Jim Townsend, Bob Miller, Clint Lewis, Perry Thompson, ''Uncle" Ed Lyons, Joe Cotulla, Sam Camp, W. S. (Bill) Hall, Lee Harris, Bill Irvin, Lee Trimble, Ben Borroum. In 1908 I drove the last big herd to San Antonio, 1,300 head for D. & A. Oppenheimer, and delivered them to Tom Coleman at his feed pens. Dan kicked about driving so many in one herd and only a few years before he would not think of starting on a drive with only 1,300 cattle.

From Texas To The Oregon Line

I was born in Benton County, Mo., in 1845, and moved to Burnet County, Texas, with my parents in 1858, where we resided until 1861, when we moved to Gillespie County, with a small bunch of cattle which my father had bought in Milam County.

In 1862 I went with a party and bought a herd of cattle from the Toutout Beauregard ranch, forty miles below San Antonio, which we drove to Gillespie County, camping at Powder House Hill on our way up.

by way of Fort McKavett, passing near the head of the South Concho River, by way of Horsehead Crossing, on the Pecos, to old Fort Stockton, on to Presidio del Norte, on the Rio Grande in Mexico.

In 1868 I went with W. C. Lewis with a herd of beeves for the government, to be delivered at old Fort Hudson, OR DeviPs River. We went by way of Kerrville, Bandera, Uvalde, Fort Clark and San Felipe Springs (Del Rio).

In 1869 George T. Dorris & Son of St. Louis, and Felix Dorris of Montana, contracted with W. C. Lewis of Fredericksburg, and Pleas Oatman of San Antonio, for 1,700 head of beeves and 150 stock cattle to be delivered to them at Salado Springs in Bell County, and I was employed to help make the delivery in four herds. Lewis took one herd from Crabapple Creek, in Gillespie ; I took one herd from near Loyal Valley; Old Man Hoerster took one from Mason, and John Oatman one from Llano. They were all old, wild longhorns, from five to fifteen years old, and we had to brand them on the horns and saw off the point of the left horn when we delivered them. The Dorris Company then hired me to go to Montana with the herd, and we went by Belton, Waco, Cleburne, Fort Worth, Gainesville, Fort Arbuckle, east of Wichita, to Abilene, Kansas. We had to swim all the rivers from the Brazos to the Republican. We had a boat on one of our wagons to carry our camp outfit and the boys who could not swim crossed the rivers in it. We had many rainstorms and stampedes before we reached Kansas, but I will not undertake to describe them. After we left Abilene we drove north, crossing the Republican River, the Big and Little Blue Stocking, the Platte at Fort Kearney, thence up the Platte by Fort McPherson to Julesburg, up Lodge Pole Creek to Cheyenne City; through Cheyenne Pass and over the mountains to Laramie City; on around the base of the mountains by Elk Mountain ; crossing the North Platte where it flowed out of the mountains; then through Bridger Pass on down Bitter Creek to Green Eiver. At Green Eiver Station we had a snowstorm, and the owners decided to winter at Brown's Hole, about seventy-five miles down Green Eiver. Two tribes of Ute Indians came in and camped near us the following spring. They moved out before we did and took some of our horses with them. That winter we had to cut ice for the cattle to get water. We moved out from there about the first of May, 1870, when the snow was melting, and had to swim streams again. We went back to Green Eiver Station and there the owners decided to drive the cattle to Nevada. We took the California and Oregon route west to the parting of the ways near old Fort Bridger, taking the northern route down Bear Eiver, through Bear Lake Valley, Soda Springs, on down to Snake Eiver to where the old routes divided, then followed the California route, crossing the Portneff, Goose Creek, Eaft Eiver, through the City of Eocks, Thousand Springs Valley to Humboldt Wells, down the Humboldt Eiver to Lassen's Meadows. They shipped all of the cattle that were fat to San Francisco, and I took 500 head up near the Oregon line and kept them until the spring of 1871, when we rounded them up and sold them on the range, and I started for Texas via the railroad route, passing through Winnemucca, Nevada, Ogden, Utah, and Cheyenne, Wyoming, coming on through Denver, Kansas City and St. Louis; by boat down the Mississippi to New Orleans and Galveston; to Columbus by rail, to San Antonio by stage, and then went to my home in Gillespie County on horseback.

An Old Frontiersman Tells His Experience

old. My father stopped in Parker County for a short time, then bought a tract of land in Jack County, nine miles north of Jacksboro, on HalPs Creek, and opened np a fine farm there. At that time we were on the extreme frontier, and the country was infested with hostile Indians, who made raids almost every full moon, and we had to keep our horses locked with trace chains to trees in the yard to keep the redskins from stealing them. In July, 1860, my father was waylaid and killed by the Indians, while he was out deer hunting in a little ravine near home. This tragedy happened just at sundown, and was so near home I heard his gun fire, and we all thought he was shooting a deer. But when he failed to return we became uneasy and gave the alarm, and next morning the neighbors found his body. He had been shot eighteen times with arrows, scalped, and his clothing taken. His gun had been broken off at the breech, evidently in the hand-to-hand struggle that took place when the Indians closed in upon him.

Some time previous to the killing of my father, the Indians had murdered a man named Cooley, our nearest neighbor, three miles away. Also in the same year one of the Browning boys over on the West Fork was killed and his brother shot through the breast with an arrow. Before that the Loss Valley murder took place, in which several women and children were killed, one of the women, Mrs. Cameron, being scalped and left for dead, but recovered. After father 's death we went back down in Parker County and remained there until the winter of 1861-2, then moved to Cooke County, and often had to leave there on account of the Indians, sometimes going as far east as Collin County.

In 1863, on Christmas day, the Indians made a raid on the head of Elm, where the large town of Saint Jo now stands, and all of the people went to the old Spanish fort on Red River for protection. They killed many people and stole lots of stock in this raid. I knew a little boy and girl named Anderson who escaped and came to old Fort Wallace the next day. Their parents and other members of the family were murdered, and the little boy's throat was cut and gashed with lances. Another family was killed and their home burned. The Indians also killed a little boy named Guinn, cut his arms off and stuck his body on a pole. Near the same place later on the Box family were captured, the father being killed before their eyes and the mother, two grown daughters and an infant being carried away into a captivity worse than death. Up near Fort Sill one of the daughters, a beautiful girl in her teens, was treated in a most shocking manner by the savages. These tragedies occurred when I was but a child, but I remember many of them vividly.

During the four years of the Civil War the people of the Eed Eiver country, Montague, Cooke, Wise and Denton Counties, had a severe struggle to get along. Everything was of primitive style, and we had to get along the best we could. Most of our houses were built of logs, some of them roughly hewn and with the bark on, and the cracks *^ chinked" with sticks and mud, with dirt floors and a big, wide chimney. Sometimes a family would get ^Hony" and hew logs on one side and make a puncheon floor for their home and thus get into the *^ upper class.'' In the summer we would move out and live in these log houses, but in the fall and winter the Indians kept us in the forts. We had plenty to eat, although we had to take our grain fifty miles to a mill to have it ground. We had no money, but did not need much, for we could not buy such things as coffee, sugar, soap, matches, pins or anything to wear, and we were compelled to spin and weave all of the cloth that made our clothing. Rye, corn, wheat, okra seed and roasted acrons were used as a substitute for coffee.

Fort Wallace while on a trip to the fort. Tims the savages had killed two of our family, in each instance our chief support and protector. That same year we moved to Atascosa County, where we had relatives, and as I was about fifteen years old, I was considered large enough to be of help in working with cattle, on the roundups and roping and branding on the range. In those days every waddy had two crooked irons attached to his saddle and a pocketful of matches, and the maverick that got away was sure enough a speeder. In the fall of 1870 I worked on the Eedus ranch on the Hondo, working cattle with George, John and Bill Eedus and Tally Burnett. Later I worked for V. A. Johnson, but mostly for Lytle & Mc- Daniel. I learned all I know about handling cattle from V. A. Johnson and Tom McDaniel. If a boy working under them did not make a good hand in the brush or on the trail there was simply nothing to him. There is Uncle Bob Eagsdale, Will Lytle and Captain John Lytle, with whom I worked, who were all good men and true. All have reached the end of the trail and gone over the great divide, except Uncle Bob Eagsdale.

I made my first trip up the trail in 1872 with a herd for Lytle & McDaniel with 1,800 head of cattle from yearlings up to grown beeves and cows. We routed them across Mustang Prairie to the Medina, then up the Louse and over to the Lucas to the old John Adams ranch, on to San Antonio, skirting the northwestern part of the town, and passed on to the Salado. After we passed San Antonio we had quite a rainstorm and our cattle split up in small bunches and scattered everywhere. We lost about thirty head in this stampede which we did not get back. Tom McDaniel was selected as boss of the outfit, vv^hich consisted of sixteen men. Four men had interest hi this herd, viz. : Tom McDaniel, Jim Speed, Uncle Ben Duncan and Newt Woofter. Gus Black, Tom Smith and myself were the only white hands with the outfit, the other hands being Mexicans, except old Jack Burckley, the cook. Jim and Dork Watts, who lived at the Man Crossing on the Medina, came to us further up the trail. Woofter went with us, but did not come back. Jim Speed was killed in Moore several years ago; Tom McDaniel died in 1887 ; Uncle Ben Duncan died in 1919, and the old cook also went the way we must all go sooner or later. Gus Black of Eagle Pass is the only one of my old comrades on this drive who is still living.

In 1874 I made a trip up the old Chisholm trail with 1,000 beeves which had been selected and put in the Shiner pasture below Pearsall. We went to work gathering them about the 20th of February and it took us until the 5th of March to get them out of the thickets, inspected and road-branded. These cattle were in good shape and as fine beeves as you ever saw, no she stuff, and mostly threes and up. There were a few twos, but they were all fours when we got through and ready for the market. On the morning of March 5th we pointed those old moss-headed beeves up the trail and made it to the Davis ranch that night. Uncle Bob said we could pen them there and perhaps get a little sleep, but a norther and a dry thunderstorm blew up and everybody had to get around that old pen and sing to them while they were milling around like a grindstone. We pulled out from there at sunrise the next morning and drove to the old John Adams ranch on the Castroville road, where we penned the beeves again and had another bad night. Nobody got any sleep, but we kept them in the pen. When the herd reached New Braunfels Uncle Bob, who was acting boss, turned the herd over to Bill Ferryman and turned back. Our regular boss was V. A. Johnson, who had been detained in San Antonio on account of sickness in his family.

We crossed the Guadalupe River in a rain, and just after nightfall we had a severe storm with lots of thunder, lightning and cold. It was so dark most of the hands left us and went to the chuck wagon except W. T. Hen- son, myself and old Chief, a negro. We had to let them drift, and it took us two or three days to get them back together. We were about thirty head short when we counted and pulled out from there. When we reached the vicinity where Kyle is now located we had another big storm and a general mixup with some other herds that were near us. We had quite a time cutting our cattle out and getting them all back, especially some strays that were in the herd.

We had storms and stampedes all the way up to Eed Eiver, which we reached about the 16th of April. We never did succeed in holding all of them at any time. We had a few old trouble-makers in the herd, which, if they had been shot when we first started, would have saved us a lot of worry. They ran so much they became regular old scalawags. But, strange to say, we never had a single stampede while passing through the Indian Territory. The Indians did not give us as much trouble on this trip as they did in 1872.

Ed Chambers was killed at Pond Creek, while in charge of a herd for Tucker & Duncan. We had some exciting times getting our herd across Red Eiver, which was on a big rise, and nearly a mile wide, with all kinds of large trees floating down on big foam-capped waves that looked larger than a wagon sheet, but we had to put our herd over to the other side. Henson and I were selected to go across and hold the cattle when they reached the opposite side. We were mounted on small paint ponies, and the one I was riding got into some quicksand just under the water and stuck there. I dismounted in water about knee deep, rolled him over and took off my saddle, bridle and leggins, then undressed myself and called some of the boys to come in and get my things, while I headed my horse for the north bank with just a rope around his neck. I figured that if my little pony could not make it across I would use one of those moss-headed steers for a ferry boat, but the little fellow took me safely over. He swam all of the way with his nose just out of the water. Three herds crossed the river that day and one man was drowned, besides several cattle. Hub Hunt of Gonzales got away from his pony in some way and we had to fish him out, and a fellow named Barkley was knocked off and pawed in the face by his horse, and we got him out too. We had one horse, which I had intended to ride, which would not attempt to swim at all, and we had to take him across on the ferry boat. We tried to get him to swim the river, but he would only turn up on his side, curl his tail, and float back to the bank. He was a fine looking red roan, was raised on the Noonan ranch near Castroville and branded circle dot on left shoulder. He fell on me one night during a stampede at Wichita, and seemed to be a Jonah all around.

It took about four weeks to move our herd across the Territory, during which time we had some fun killing and roping buffalo. Some of our outfit returned by way of the old Coffeyville trail, as the Indians were on the warpath on the Chisholm trail because some buffalo hunters had killed some of their bucks and they wanted revenge.

Parents Were Among Early Colonists

My father, Simon Fest, and mother, Mary Fest, were married in Alsace, France, in the fall of 1845, and immediately started for the United States, a journey which lasted three months and fifteen days, landing at Indianola, .Texas. From there they came with the Castro colony, locating at Castroville the 11th day of February, 1846, where they first stopped for about two months, and then came to San Antonio, where my father took up his trade as stonemason, which yielded the handsome return of fifty cents per day, Avhilc my mother followed the occu- pation of seamstress at the same price, fifty cents a day, doing such work for the Bracketts, Mavericks, Nat Lewis, Dignowity and other citizens here at the time who could afford such luxury.

With such accumulations as they could make above expenses of maintenance, my father acquired a yoke of steers and an old wagon, which he used in hauling hay, cut with a scythe blade, and selling to the government for the use of the soldiers then stationed here. Meantime he bought a lot on Main Avenue, then Acequa Street, for which he paid $50, and erected a log cabin with a tullie roof, and began to live at home. As time went on he began buying cows, and trading with the Indians for hides they brought in, which he sold to Mr. Gilbeau, * * the local hide dealer. ' ' After accumulating more cows than could be accommodated in the village, he acquired land at the head of the river, where Alamo Heights is now, and went back into the hay business for the government. In 1852 a colony of relations was made up with whom he went down to the Gallinas (Prairie Chicken's Paradise), where he followed the cattle business, remaining there after all the balance of the colony had dispersed except himself and his only neighbor, Simon Eieder ; and at which place, the Fest ranch, I was born on the 9th day of May, 1856. He stayed there until 1859, and then moved down on the Atascosa Creek, two miles east of Pleasanton, which is called until yet *^The Fest Eanch,'' where we lived all during the Confederate War, father having become a member of Captain Tom's company of Indian scouts, and remained with it until the war broke up, while we had to get along as best we could in his absence. The family consisted of mother, six children and two orphans father was raising. The children large enough to work, engaged in enlarging the little field father had begun to open up before entering the service, each one doing his bit. The family ran the ranch, cultivated the land, harvested the crops and cared for the livestock, in addition to doing a variety of things for use and comfort that only pioneers know how to do with skill and success. Among those other things were: Burned their own lime, dressed the hides, tanned them with live oak and mesquite bark ; while the mother made the shoes for the family and for the neighborhood, made hats of coon skins, and still found time to spin the wool clipped from our own flocks, which was woven into cloth on the neighborhood loom. The cloth was dyed with a weed called ** Indigo '^ that grew in the creek near by and my mother made into clothes for herself and children.

The important matter of food was well looked after, with plenty of meat and field produce there was no need to go hungry. But the things that go with it. Coffee? Yes, we had coffee - made out of corn, acorns and sweet potatoes, while honey was used as a substitute for sugar. With an abundance of milk, cream, butter and eggs, this home-made **Posfum'' went all right until we renewed acquaintance with real coffee afterwards.

While shelter, food and clothes were thus acquired, we were not lacking in matters of excitement and thrills. In addition to the usual exhilarating experiences of ranch life, there were Indians - lots of them - and they were real savages, who did not stop at stealing or murdering when it suited their purposes to do so. This constituted a real danger that had to be considered, and hence the old men past the age of going into the Civil War, were associated together as **Home Guards,'' and their duties were to notify all the families in the country of any reported approach of Indians, and the families were disposed of by going into a designated place, where they could be the better protected against the Indians by the guards surrounding their retreat, until all danger had passed.

With this kind of environment, boys naturally learned horseback riding, loved it, and practiced to become skillful ** bronco busters" and good shots.

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After the war my mother became tired of life on the ranch, with its incidents, and father sold much of his stock and moved his family to San Antonio on Sonth Flores Street, where he ran a dairy, at which I worked until I was fifteen years old. Then father made me quit bronco riding and put me in a blacksmith shop, but the repairs on Mexican carts and freight wagons which freighted between here and Mexico, was too hard a job for a boy of my nature, and my liking for the broncoriding caused me to run away from the shop and go on the trail to Kansas. My first trip was in 1871, leaving San Antonio on the 9th day of March and returning the 8th day of September. When I got back I ran a bunch of men, doing nothing but branding ^ ^mavericks'' on the Frio and Nueces for a man by the name of Goins. I continued at that until January, 1872, and in February following made a contract with a man by name of Votaw to take a herd to Kansas for him, as boss. Coming back in October of the same year, I went to work for my father again, running stock for him until 1876, in which year (the Centennial) I went North and returned the latter part of 1876. In 1877 I went into the butcher business for myself, afterwards sold out my market and engaged in the mercantile business, in which I continued until 1907, when I sold out and retired.

Phil L. Wright

Phil L. Wright, fire and police commissioner of the city of San Antonio, was born in Kentucky in 1868, the son of Mr. and Mrs. W. F. Wright, who were Tennesseeans. When only three years of age his parents brought him to Texas, where he attended the public schools until 1884, when he went to West Texas to work on the cow ranch of High Webb, near San Angelo. In the spring of 1885 he went up the trail the first time with a herd of 2,300 head of cattle belonging to Mr. Webb, William Sherman being boss of the outfit. The herd was gathered on the range covering Ennnels, Tom Green, Concho and adjoining counties, and started from a point on the Colorado River where the city of Ballinger now stands, and was driven to the Rocky Mountains in the state of Colorado, fifty miles behind Pike's Peak, where the major portion of the cattle were sold to a man by the name of Frost. The remainder of the herd was ranched in the mountains and a man from the outfit by the name of Billy Irwin was left in charge of them. The route taken by this herd was by way of Abilene, Texas, crossing the Brazos River at Seymour, Pease River at Vernon, Red River at Doan's Store, by way of Comanche Springs and out through the neutral strip known as No Man's Land, crossing the Arkansas River on the Kansas and Colorado line just above the town of Coolidge, Kansas, striking the Union Pacific Railway at Kit Carson, on to Hugo, Colorado, and from Hugo to Colorado Springs, Manitou, through Ute Pass around the foot of Pike's Peak, fifty miles up in the mountains to the Frost ranch.

The Webb ranch was in Runnels County on the Colorado River adjoining the Blocker ranch. The first year he went up the trail John Blocker was delivering herds at Hugo, Colorado, and they drove along the same trail with him and saw hundreds of dead Blocker steers along the route.

Phil Weight The Trail Drivers Op Texas 425

to Texas with other members of the outfit and resumed work on the Webb ranch, working the range for Mr. Webb until he resigned to accept a position on the TS and SOX ranch, which was run by M. L. McAuley, where he worked for about two years, then accepted employment with the Concho Cattle Company, where he worked until the spring of 1881, when he resigned to accept a position with D. E. Simms, who was gathering a herd for the trail.

This herd started on the trail at Paint Eock, Concho County, Bob Pearce being boss of the outfit. It was driven by way of Colorado City, taking the plains at the head of the Brazos Eiver, going by way of Plainview and Canyon, to Amarillo, where the herd was quarantined and shipped from there by rail to Colorado.

Mr. Wright then returned to San Antonio, Texas, where his people resided, and secured employment in the San Antonio fire department, his first position being that of pipeman. His promotions in the department were as follows: Assistant engineer, engineer, lieutenant, captain, first assistant chief. May 1st, 1899, and in the year 1905 was appointed chief of the department. Eemained chief until 1911, when he resigned of his own accord. In 1912 he was again made chief of the department and remained chief until June, 1917, when Commissioner Lowther, for political reasons, declined to reappoint him. Mr. Wright was selected commissioner of fire and police June 4th, 1918, holding that position at the present time.

Mr. Wright was married in 1906 to Miss Pearl Morris, who died in February, 1909, leaving a son, Phil L. Wright, Jr., now twelve years of age. He was married again in 1916 to Miss Jewell Mitchell, they having a girl, Alma lone, three years of age.

Reflections Of The Trail

I was born at Eancho, Gonzales County, Texas, February 12th, 1854. My father and mother settled in that county in 1850, coming with several other immigrants in ox wagons from Mississippi. In 1850 they moved to Goliad County and settled twelve miles west of Goliad, on Lost Creek, where father previously selected a place to start a cattle ranch. At that time I was only five years old, but I can remember riding a side saddle belonging to one of my sisters and helping keep up the tail end of the herd part of the time on this trip. At Helena I saw my first white house, and when we crossed the San Antonio Eiver at Wofford I remember how excited we all were when our herd was in the swift water. Part of them floated down below the ford, and it required a great deal of time to get them out at different points for half a mile down the river. Never having seen anything like this before, my mother thought all of the cattle were lost when she saw them going down the stream. In a few days we reached our new home and camped on the site which father had selected, and father and my two oldest brothers. Mat and Bill, assisted by some hired help, began cutting and hauling timber to build houses and stock pens, while myself and brother, Jack, a third brother older than I, range herded the cattle to locate them.

Pish and game were plentiful, deer were constantly in sight of our camp ; in fact, that country was in a perfectly wild state. Only a few cattle were on the range, which was as fine as could be found anywhere. In a few months we were comfortably quartered and happy in our new location. Father had taken a herd of cattle on shares from William Eupe, getting every third calf for attending to them, and we all kept busy looking after the stock. "We soon became acquainted with the settlers, with whom we worked the ranges, and neighbored with them in every sense of the term. The following families were among those who lived from ^ve to thirty-five miles from lis: Pettus, Hodges, Word, Peck, Eeynolds, Meyers, Lott, Bnrris, Eutledge, Best, Fant, Eupe, Choate, Borroum, Butler, McKinney, New, Eawlings, Henderson, Paschal and others. This being before the days of the chuck wagon, the men would set a date and place to meet for what we called a ^'cow hunt.'' Each man would bring bedding, coffee pot, tin cup, a wallet of biscuit, salt, sometimes sugar, four or ^ve horses each, and we would work the surrounding range until all cattle belonging to the outfit were gathered and held under herd, then we would select a pack horse for our equipment and move to some other part of the range, gathering cattle as we went. When grub got scarce we would send after more supplies to some nearby ranch. Usually it required from ten to fifteen days to make these trips, then each man would take his cattle home, put all the calves in a pen in order to locate the mother cows, and range herd the dry cattle for a few days and locate them. We were prosperous and happy until the Civil War started, and father and my oldest brother entered the service the first year, and another brother enlisted the second year, which left brother Jack and myself to take care of our stock with the assistance of a few old men and some negroes. We worked the range constantly during the war. The range was full of wild mustang horses, and they caused us a lot of trouble, for we had to keep our horse stock from getting with them, for once they got mixed with the mustangs they soon became as wild or wilder than these wild horses. In order to capture or kill these mustangs the stockmen built pens around water holes and prepared traps to ensnare them. To these pens wings would be constructed in the shape of a V, forming a chute through which the mustangs would be compelled to go to water. Once a bunch of mustangs passed through the chute to the water hole the gate would be shut by a watchman, who had lain in wait in concealment for the horses, and the animals were securely snared. They would then be forced into a small, well-built enclosure constructed of rails to a height of eight or ten feet, where they were roped and made gentle. These animals were of Spanish origin and were noted for their endurance on the range and trail. The settlers used various unique methods of capturing them, one way being to walk them down. Some men would take three or four days' supply of provisions, start a bunch of mustangs, follow them as closely as possible, and when they got out of sight of the pursuer would pick up their trail, keep right after them, never giving them time to eat or rest day or night. Usually on the second day of the chase he could get closer to them; the third or fourth day he could drive them in home with a bunch of gentle horses and easily pen them. They were caught in many different ways and oftentimes shot in order to rid the range of their presence. Before long they disappeared entirely. Our cattle increased to such proportions with new herds coming into our country from East Texas and Louisiana that by the time the war ended our range was overstocked. We sold a few cattle to the government and a few to Mexican freighters for work oxen.

I shall never forget the first stampede I experienced. George Bell, who was exempt from military service on account of one eye being blind, agreed to take a herd of beeves to Mexico and exchange for supplies for the war widows. The neighbors got together about two hundred of these beeves, my mother putting in twenty head. We delivered the herd to Mr. Bell at the Pettus ranch where Pettus Station now stands. This was in 1864, when I was ten years old. We put our cattle in the herd and brother Jack and I agreed to help hold them. That night shortly after dark something scared the beeves and they made a run. I had never heard anything like the rumbling noise they made, but I put spurs to my horse and followed the noise. We ran those cattle all night and at daybreak we found we had not lost a beef, but we had five or six bunches four or five miles apart, and two or three men or boys with each bunch. We soon had them all together and Mr. Bell started them on the trip. When he returned from Mexico he brought us one sack of coffee, two sets of knives and forks, two pairs of spurs, two bridle bits, and two fancy ^^hackamores,^' or bridle headstalls, for which he had traded our twenty beeves, and we were well pleased with our deal, for in those days such things were considered luxuries, and we were glad to get them, particularly the knives and forks, for we had been drinking bran coffee and were using wooden knives and forks we had made ourselves. Those were hard times in Goliad County during the Civil War, and when the internecine strife ended the soldiers came home broke and all anxious to make up the time that had been lost during the four years that had passed. Eeconstruction set in. Some outlaws and crooks drifted into our country ; considerable friction and hatred existed between the boys of the blue and the gray; negro soldiers were stationed at different points to keep order, but it soon resulted in serious clashes that called for more Texas Eangers and United States marshals. As is usually the case, right and justice finally prevailed. During this time our stockmen were hunting markets for the cattle on our over-stocked ranges. We sold a few steers to Foster & Allen, Shanghai Pierce and Joel Collins, which were shipped from Powder Horn. Slaughter houses at Eockport killed considerable beeves at the time, but we needed a greater outlet for the ever-increasing herds on the ranges.

My father drove a herd from Goliad to New Orleans in 1867, swam all the streams, and bayous, and through the exposure he contracted rheumatism from which he suffered until his death, which occurred at Saunders'

Station, near San Antonio, in 1904. Mother died at the same place in 1893. Father was born at Fayetteville, North Carolina, and mother was born at Birmingham, Alabama. Besides the brothers I have mentioned elsewhere in this sketch, I have three sisters living, Mrs. F. L. Henry, wife of a prominent McMullen County stockman, and Misses Nancy and Ann Saunders, all of whom live near Christine, Texas.

In 1868 or 1869 a few stockmen drove small herds to Baxter Springs, Kansas, or other northern points, and met with such success that everybody had caught the trail fever. My two brothers. Mat and Jack, took a herd to Baxter Springs in 1870, and their reports of thrilling encounters with the Indians, stampedes, buffalo chases, and the like, filled me with a wild desire to go on the trail, too. I was barely seventeen years old, and felt that I was able to take care of myself on a long trip as well as any man. My parents finally consented for me to go, and I hired to Monroe Choate, of the firm of Choate & Bennett, to go with a herd. The firm was receiving herds in different parts of the country to send up the trail. They sent fourteen herds that year. Mr. Choate told me the name of the boss of each herd and asked me which boss I would rather go with. I told him I wanted to go with the first herd that started, and he informed me that Jim Byler would boss the first herd and would start at once. That suited me fine, so I said, ''Put me with Byler.'' Mr. Byler was asked what he thought about taking a seventeen-year-old kid on the trip and remarked, ''His age is all right, if he has staying qualities, but most kids are short on sleep, and generally sleep on watch." I told him I would not sleep during stampedes or Indian fights, and he promised to give me a trial, and that made me exceedingly happy.

We left Helena with a full chuck wagon, the necessary number of horses and men, and went to the Mays pasture on the Cibolo near Stockdale, Wilson County, and re- ceived a thousand steers. Dunk Choate counted the cattle and Mr. Byler pointed the herd north and Dunk said, ^^Adios, boys, I will see you in Abilene, Kansas, I must go now and start other herds.''

We went by Gonzales, Lockhart, Austin and Georgetown, without any unusual happenings, but on the Gabriel we had a bad stampede during a thunderstorm, and the herd was split up into several bunches. They were all found the next day. Some of the bunches had men with them and some did not. They were all trailed and found except me and seventy-five steers. By ten o'clock the boss finally located the trail of my bunch and found it ten miles down the Gabriel. When he rode up he asked, ''Are you awake? Why didn't you bring these cattle back to the herd?" I said I could not find the trail the steers made, and I did not know what direction to go to find the herd. We got back to the main herd about four o'clock in the evening, and I was so tired and sleepy I told the boss I was just bound to eat and sleep a little. He said, ''Go eat and sleep all night; I will herd your relief. You deserve a rest." This sounded good to me, for up to this time I thought the boss was mad.

After a good night's rest I was on the job early the next morning, ready to do my share in keeping the herd on the move. The cattle were easily scared and for several days were very nervous and made many runs, but the boys kept strict watch on them, and they finally became reconciled. We went by Waco, Cleburne and Fort Worth. Between the last named places the country was somewhat level and untimbered, and was full of prairie chickens and deer. When we reached Fort Worth we crossed the Trinity River under the bluff, where the present street car line to the stock yards crosses the river. Fort Worth was then but a very small place, consisting of only a few stores, and there was only one house in that part of the town, where the stock yards are now located. We held our herd here two days, finally proceeding on our journey, aud crossed Red Eiver at Red River Station and took the Chisholm Trail through the Indian Territory. Here we saw lots of Indians, who came to our herd with the usual greeting, *^How, John,'' to beg tobacco and provisions. Byler got by these Indians without any trouble, but we found all the streams in that region up and had to swim them or lose time, for Byler wanted to keep the lead, and we therefore crossed many rivers at a time when other men would have hesitated.

At Pond Creek we encountered our first buffalo. The plains were literally covered with these animals, and when we came in sight of them all of the boys quit the herd and gave chase. It was a wonderful sight to see these cowboys dashing after those big husky monsters, shooting at them from all angles. We soon learned that it did no good to shoot them in the forehead, as we were accustomed to shooting beeves with our pistols, for the bullets would not penetrate their skull. We would dash by them and shoot them between the eyes without apparent effect, so we began shooting them behind the shoulder and that brought them down. I killed two or three of the grown buffaloes and roped a yearling which I was glad to turn loose and let him get away with a good rope. I soon became satisfied with the excitement incident to killing buffalo, swimming streams, being in stampedes, and passing through thunderstorms, but I still longed to he mixed up in an Indian fight, for I had not yet had that sort of experience.

We crossed Bluff Creek into Kansas and passed Newton during the latter part of May. A blacksmith shop, a store, and about a dozen dwellings made up this town at the time, but when we came back through the place on our return home thirty days later, it had grown to be quite a large town, due to the building of a railroad. It did not seem possible that a town could make such quick growth in such short time, but Newton, Kansas, sprang up almost over night.

The Trail Drivers Op Texas 433

We stopped our lierd on Holland Creek, twenty miles from Abilene, Kansas, where we were met by Pink Bennett and a buyer. Pink sold 300 fat beeves out of our herd to this man, and I went to Abilene with them to help load them on the cars. They were the first cattle I had ever seen loaded on a train, and I was anxious to see how it was done.

We held our herd there until several more herds belonging to Choate & Bennett arrived. They sold some out of each herd, and we soon had a surplus of men and horses. W. G. Butler had done likewise and he also had too many men and horses to continue on with the cattle, so it was arranged that some of us could start home, and accordingly about fifty men, with five chuck wagons, five cooks and about 150 horses, hit the back trail for Texas. We had a lively time en route home, for we had nothing to do but drive the horses, make camp, eat and sometimes sleep. When we reached the Washita Eiver we found it out of its banks. We cut timber and made a raft by tying the logs with ropes, but could not ferry the rude craft until a rope had been stretched across the river, which was some 300 yards wide and very swift and deep. Several of the boys attempted to make it across with the end of a rope, but each one failed. Some of them got half way across, turned the rope loose and swam back. One of them got near the opposite bank, but lost the end of the rope and landed without it. I was the fifth one to try this difficult feat, and determined to succeed, so taking one end of the rope in my mouth, passing it over my shoulder, I entered the water, the boys on the bank releasing the rope gradually as I swam out, and I made it across, but grasped an overhanging willow limb and pulled myself ashore with the rope still in my mouth. The man who had preceded me across came to my assistance and helped me up the slippery bank, then there was a cowboy yell of approval from the other side as the boys realized that I had succeeded in accomplish- ing a dangerous feat. I felt very proud of myself, and think I added several inches to my stature right there, for I was only seventeen years old, and had succeeded in an undertaking in which four stalwart men had failed, but I am willing to confess I could not have gone ten feet further in my exhausted condition.

We soon put our outfits across with the raft, but lost the hind wheels of one of Butler's wagons. We carried the wagon beds over on the raft, but pulled the wagons across with ropes, for we had to draw the wagons and effects up a steep, slippery embankment, and this required a great deal of time, patience and profanity. When we got everything across, we rigged up our outfit and resumed our journey. I know of only three men living today who were on this trip back to Texas, they being Ben Bourroum, now of Del Rio, Texas ; Louis Massengale and Jess Little, who live somewhere in South Texas.

We crossed Red River opposite Denison, rode into town and visited all of the stores and saloons. The people there were glad to see us come and glad to see us leave. Our next town was Denton, where the officers demanded our pistols. The law prohibiting the carrying of pistols had been enacted only a short time before and was then in effect, but we could not think of parting with our lifelong friends, so when a demand was made for us to surrender them we pulled our pistols and rode out of town shooting into the air. The officers did not follow us.

We stopped at Fort Worth and all the other towns on our route, as we leisurely traveled homeward, finally reaching our destination safely. I was mighty proud of this, my first trip, and reached home with a pair of shopmade boots and two good suits of clothes, one of which was a black changeable velvet affair that I had paid fifty dollars for in Kansas. I carried these clothes in a pair of saddle bags all the way home, and found after I reached there that I could have purchased them cheaper from a local merchant. But little did I care, for I was determined to **cut a shine" with the girls when I got back off that notable trip.

Eeferring back to some of the incidents that occurred on the trip, I can recall several amusing things that happened. The prairies near Abilene, Kansas, where we held our herds, were partly taken up by grangers, who lived in dugouts, a square hole in the ground, or on the side of a bluff, with timbers placed across and covered with dirt. Each granger had taken up about 160 acres of land, part of which was cultivated. They had no fences, so to mark the boundaries of their homesteads, they would plow a furrow around it. As there was no timber in the country, except a few cottonwoods which grew along the streams, the grangers were compelled to use buffalo chips for fuel. While we were there with our herds many other herds came in and the whole prairie was covered with cattle for many miles around. I visited lots of camps and met many old friends from Texas. Buyers were plentiful, cattle sold fast, and the grangers were active among the herds asking the cattlemen to bed cattle on their lands so they could get the chips for fuel. One evening I noticed several men and women in buggies and buckboards going to different herds and begging each boss to bed his herd on their respective lands. They soon got into a ^^ squabble'' with each other, claiming they had asked a certain boss first, and this caused the cowboys to congregate around to see the fun and encourage the row. Levi Anderson was the boss in question, and they all claimed he had promised to bed cattle on their land. Levi was puzzled, for he was not used to the customs of the country, and said the reason he had promised was because he thought they were all joking. He said those dugout people were somewhat different from the folks where he lived, remarking that ^'Down in Texas, if you gave a man dry dung he would fight you.

but here in Kansas they will fight you for dry dung.'' The grangers figured that 1,000 cattle would leave enough chips on the ground in one night to give them 500 pounds of fuel in a few days.

Ben Borroum and I were herding together one day, and as all of the cattle were in sight, we did not notice that they had gotten on a small patch of corn just coming up, until they had pawed and trampled the corn, crushing twenty little chickens to death, and ran all of the family into the dugout. This negligence on our part cost Choate & Bennett about $100.

Jack Potter once told me that while he was up in this part of Kansas he got lost from his outfit one night and rode up to one of these dugouts and asked if he could stop with them until morning. The granger told him he was welcome to do so, although their accommodations were very limited. They fed his horse for him and then invited him down into the dugout, which contained one room about sixteen feet square, but as neat as could be. In this room there was a nice clean bed, one table, four chairs, a stove, cooking utensils, the man, his wife and two small boys. The wife soon prepared a good supper for Jack, and after he had eaten they sat up and talked to him for quite a while, during which time the little boys fell asleep on the bed, while the parents, who seemed to be a very intelligent couple, told Jack about themselves and their plans. They were enthusiastic over the prospects to make a fortune in that new country, and talked about everything in general, but all this time Jack was puzzling his brain over how all of them were going to sleep on the one bed in that dugout. Finally the mother picked up the two boys and sat them over in a corner, leaning them against the wall still asleep, and then she informed Jack that he could occupy the bed and she and her husband went up the steps. Potter turned in and was soon asleep, and slept soundly all night long, but when he awoke the next morning he found himself sitting in the corner with the two little boys and the man and woman were occupying the bed. Jack told me he knew that couple was just bound to prosper anywhere, even in Kansas. After breakfast he gave them five dollars, but they protested, saying that fifty cents was enough to pay for the poor accommodations he had received, but Jack informed them that what he had seen and learned right there was worth five dollars to him. Eemember this was Jack Potter, not Jim Wilson.

I passed through this same old herding ground some twenty-five years later, and I was astonished to see the changes that had taken place. Pretty farms and new dwellings covered the whole region, and there were fine herds of good cattle, horses, sheep, mules and hogs everywhere, and the whole country looked prosperous.

After I reached home from my first trip I went to work on the range driving cattle to Eockport packeries in summer and winter and putting up trail herds each spring, following this occupation for several years, selling our family's cattle to the well-known trail drivers, J. D. Eeed, Dillard Fant and others. Cattle accumulated fast on the ranges. Many ranches were established, each ranch owner running his own outfit and exchanging brands with stockmen in different parts of the state. The ranchmen would brand calves and sell beeves for each other, then meet and make settlement once a year. Such arrangements were made between stockmen from San Antonio to Brownsville and from Victoria to Laredo. It was nothing strange for one man to own cattle throughout the above-mentioned territory. The cattle business gradually moved westward, forcing the redskins back; many of our stockmen began buying pure-bred bulls and improving their stock. Among those who first began to grade up their cattle were Bang & Kenedy, Eeynolds, Coleman, Matthis & Fulton, W. A. Pettus, N. G. Collins and others. The chuck wallet and pack horse disappeared and their places were taken by the chuck wagon.

During those days I belonged to Uncle Henry Scott's Minute Company for two years. This company was organized at Mission Eefugio in 1873 to protect the citizens of the border against Mexican bandits. During these two years a number of massacres were committed by these bandits, many of whom paid the penalty for their lawlessness. Among the families which were murdered by the Mexicans were the Swift family near Eefugio, John Maden, near St. Mary's, the Nux family and others at Nux Store, twelve miles west of Corpus Christi; Lee Kabb, the Penescal family and others whose names I cannot recall. When our company was called out for duty we went at a moment's notice, regardless of what we were doing or where we were, and we rode with such vengeance that our company soon became a terror to the invading murderous Mexicans.

For one year I was a deputy under Sheriff James Burk of Goliad, during which time I had some narrow escapes and made some dangerous arrests of desperate characters.

For a few years after the war there was a woman in that region by the name of Sally Skull, who was quite a character. She traded horses through our country, and operated alone, with a band of Mexican helpers, from Texas into Mexico, and had a record of being the most fearless woman ever known. Nearly all of the old citizens of that section remember Sally Skull.

In those early days cattle buyers usually met the sellers at some appointed place to close a deal for stock, and they would bring the purchase money in gold and silver in sacks on the backs of pack horses. When they reached the meeting places the sacks of money would be carelessly dumped on the ground where sometimes it would remain for two or three days without molestation, then when the settlement was made for cattle bought the sacks were opened, the money dumped out on a blanket in camp and counted out to each man who had participated in the trades. I fear that kind of an arrangement wonld not work today, but in those days those rugged pioneers dealt strictly on the square.

Pasture fencing commenced on the coast in 1872-3, and in a few years each cattleman had a pasture of from 1,000 to 50,000 acres, which stopped the exchanging of brands, for before a great while every man had his cattle in his own pasture and ran his own cow outfit. Space will not permit mention of the cattle stealing, fence-cutting, trouble between cattlemen and others, which called for the assistance of Texas Eangers and United States Marshals, with whose aid the cattlemen established law and order. With the organization of the Cattle Eaisers' Association a few years later the doom of the cattle and horse thief was sealed, for the organization soon grew to such proportions, with its expert inspectors at all markets and shipping points, that it made it almost impossible for a thief to exist.

In 1874 I was married to Miss Eachel Eeeves, who was the daughter of W. M. Eeeves, a well-known stockman of Eefugio County. "We began housekeeping on my ranch, eight miles from Goliad, where the present railroad station. Clip, is now located. I later sold this ranch to W. A. Pettus (better known as Buck Pettus), one of the most prosperous stockmen of Goliad County, and years later, when the railroad was built from Beeville to Goliad, it went across my old ranch and the station was named Clip, in honor of Mrs. Pettus, whose maiden name was Miss Clip Lott.

In 1880 my wife's health failed and I took her to San Antonio for treatment, and as I had to be near her, I could not follow my work as a stockman, so decided to get into some line of business in San Antonio to make a living in the big city. I finally bought several liaoks and teams and ran them day and night, carrying passengers over the city. The I. & G. N. and the S. P. Eail roads were just building into San Antonio, the city was flourishing and full of prospectors and stockmen. As I was acquainted with many of the visitors, mostly stockmen, I did a thriving business.

My wife died in January, 1883, and the following March I sold out my business, carried my two little girls to the home of my parents in Goliad, then returned to San Antonio and bought 300 Spanish mares, which I shipped to Vinita, Indian Territory, and drove them through Eastern Kansas, selling a few and paying fines for damage they did to unfenced fields along the way. I shipped from Springfield to Hannibal, Mo., where I decided to try to dispose of all of these mares. At this place I advertised ^^Wild Texas Ponies for Sale at William L. Fry's Stables, with an Exhibition of Eoping and Biding Wild Horses." I put my stock in a large lot adjoining the stable on the morning of the sale,* and everybody in the town was there to see them, all anxious to witness the bronco busting. I mounted a dry goods box and announced that these horses were for sale and invited buyers to come forward and select the mares they wanted, and in order to hold the crowd, I told them the bronco riding would be the last act of the show, but that they would not be disappointed. Quite a number bought horses, and as each animal was sold two of my expert cowboys would lasso it and hold it by the jaws and ears until a hackamore was securely placed on its head, then it was led through a gate and delivered to the buyer, who in turn employed negroes to take it home for him. We kept this up all morning, when word was passed around that all of the horses that had been sold were running loose in the town and surrounding country with ropes dragging. It seems that the negroes who had undertaken to lead the horses away, in each instance did not understand how to handle these broncos, and they would get away. One negro said it would take a long time to learn the nature of such horses, for they would lay down and kick and paw all of the rope around their bodies and legs and leave him nothing to hold to, and he just had to let go the rope. The buyers were good natured and did not blame me in the least. I sold fifty head of the mares here at good prices, and when the buying slacked up, I roped an outlaw horse, saddled him Wild West fashion, and Anderson Moreland, one of my cowboys, mounted him. This horse was a professional and on that occasion he did full credit to his past reputation, to the great delight and enthusiasm of the crowd of spectators. When we drove our herd out of town several of the citizens went with us for several miles. From here we drove them to Pittsfield, Illinois, selling and trading as we went, finally disposing of all of our Texas horses, but we still had about twenty large native horses that we had taken in exchange. We shipped these by boat down the Mississippi Eiver to St. Louis. This was our first boatride, and was greatly enjoyed by myself and my companions. We sold out at St. Louis and came home by train.

After returning to Texas I bought 150 saddle horses, or cow ponies, and shipped them to Wichita Falls, then the terminus of the Fort Worth & Denver Eailroad. From this point we drove them to Atascosa, on the Canadian River above the LIT ranch, where I sold them to Will Hughes at a big profit. After the sale was made we went to the ranch house together, and there I discovered that Hughes and I were boys together at Goliad, but his Goliad name was not Hughes.

When I returned to San Antonio, Harry Fawcett and myself bought the Narcisso Leal livestock commission business, with offices and stables opposite the Southern Hotel on Dolorosa Street. We put up our sign in September, 1883, and our business thrived from the very start. We sold horses by thousands on commission for parties who drove to the San Antonio market from South Texas and Mexico. During the fall and winter we bought considerable horse stock ourselves, which we sent to the Blnntzer pasture near San Patricio and also to the Tobey pasture in Atascosa County, expecting to sell them the next spring to trail drivers. Not being able to get as much for them as we thought they were worth, we decided to drive these horses up the trail ourselves, so we sold our commission business back to Leal, gathered our horses, brought them to San Antonio and for several days held them on Prospect Hill, which is now in the city limits. On April 5th, 1884, we loaded our chuck wagon and hit the trail for Dodge City, Kansas. We went by Kerrville and Junction City, following what was then known as the Upper or Western Trail. At Seymour we crossed the Brazos, and at Doan's Store we crossed Red Eiver. I will not attempt to describe the trouble we had on this trip with Indians, stampedes and swollen streams, as other sketches in this book have treated those subjects with full justice. There were many herds on the trail that year, and we wanted to keep in the lead, but to do so required systematic work, so I kept my herd moving forward all the time. I would go on ahead and select herding ground for nights and grazing grounds for nooning, grazed the horses up to these grounds and grazed or drove them off, never allowing them to graze back at all, for in this way I gained a great deal of valuable time, for I had learned that good time and lots of it was lost by the old way of stopping a herd and allowing it to graze in every direction, sometimes a mile or more on the back trail. In such cases the stock would travel over the same ground twice, which, in the long run, would amount to considerable mileage when you consider that the distance from Texas to the markets was from 1,000 to 1,500 miles. Good trail bosses who made quick time with stock in good shape were always in demand. Ab Blocker, Gus Black, Mac Stewart, Fayette Butler, Pleas Butler, Jim Byler, Sim Holstein, Henry Clair, Jones Glenn, Jesse McCoy, Bob Jennings and Bob Lauterday were all

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We reached Dodge City minus a few horses which were lost on the trail, but they were brought up by other herds and delivered to me at this point. One night while we were there a storm came up and caused several herds to stampede, and there were about 15,000 horses mixed up. Two men were killed by lightning that night. It took several days to gather and separate the horses. Several outfits from different parts of Texas gave the same road brand and this caused no end of trouble. Mr. I'awcett, my partner, had come up to Dodge City by train, and was present during the big stampede, which he thought was great sport. He said he would buy the leaders if we could pick them out, as he wanted to ship them to England to show the chaps over there what a running horse was like, and if he could ever get the blooming rascals gentle he would run foxes on them.

Just before we started this herd up the trail Harry Hotchkiss, who is now manager for the Houston Packing Company, arrived in San Antonio from England and helped us to get our herd together. Harry was an old friend to Mr. Fawcett and was so delighted with the prospect of getting into the horse business that he bought 100 head and put them into our herd. He made a good hand from the very start and was of great assistance to me on the trail. We had told him we expected to make $15 to $20 per head profit on our horses when we sold them up the trail, and he was looking forward to making a neat sum on his investment. One night while we were camped in a rough region between the Saline and the San Saba Eiver, west of Maberry's pasture, our herd stampeded, during a storm. I had told the boys on first relief not to attempt to hold the herd if they stampeded, as the country was too broken and that I would rather trail the horses the next day than to take any chances of some of my men getting killed. The boys all came to camp and at daybreak the next morning we were all ready to start cutting sign. In a few hours we rounded up most of them, while Hotchkiss was holding the herd and counting his horses as they came in in each bunch. I brought in several bunches, and each time Hotchkiss would come to me and want to know if I % thought he would ever get all of his horses back. I would tell him I did not have time to talk to him, for I was in a hurry to go after other bunches. The herd was pretty badly scattered, and had left plain trails in every direction. Some were followed for ten or fifteen miles before they were overtaken and brought back. This required fast work by all of us, for we had to gather them before they could mix with other range horses and be lost entirely. I brought a bunch into the herd about two o'clock and found we were still about 200 head short. Hotchkiss rushed up and commanded me to stop and explain to him how I could figure $15 or $20 per head profit for him on his horses when half of them were gone on the first ten days out, adding that it was a * * blawsted rotten misrepresentation," and that Fawcett and I must make it good. I told him not to worry, that we would get them all back, and as I left him he was cussing and cavorting around in great fashion ; in truth he was about the maddest man I ever saw. In a little while I met some of the boys with about twenty of Hotchkiss' horses in the bunch they were bringing in, and I told them to assure him that he would get all of them back before night, for he was in great suspense and needed consolation. By 5 o'clock that evening we had recovered all of our horses and Hotchkiss was a happy boy. Ten men riding at full speed all day, changing horses each time they brought in a bunch, accomplished a wonderful work that day.

We had another Englishman in our outfit on that trip who was also a tenderfoot and fresh from England. His name was Lambert and he had begged to be permitted to go with us, agreeing to furnish four horses and help us free of charge, as lie wanted to learn to be a bronco buster. He was game and would undertake anything he was told to do. He insisted that he be allowed to do night herding, and when given the work, went to sleep, his horse drifted into the herd and he fell off, causing a stampede. After that I set him free to go and come as he pleased. He would visit other herds in front and behind us, getting all the news, so we called him our reporter. My Mexican hands were riding wild horses when in open country and during good weather. Lambert begged me constantly to let him ride a bucking horse, so one day at noon, while we were camped in a beautiful prairie country, I had the boys to rope the worst bucking 'horse in the herd, saddle him, tie the stirrups, and fix a roll in front of the saddle. Then I mounted a welltrained horse, took firm hold on the rope attached to the bronco's hackamore, while Lambert was assisted to get on. As soon as all was ready I gave the bucker slack enough to get his head down. Lambert was eager to show what he thought he could do, and said to the horse, '^Gaddup, old Chap, IVe rode worse 'orses than you." But **old Chap*' did not move, just stood there all humped up. I told Lambert to hit him over the head with his hat, as the other boys did bucking horses. He took his big hat in his hand, reached forward and brought it down between the horse's ears. At that same instant the horse and the Englishman went straight up in the air with their heads toward the north, turned in the air and came down with their heads toward the south. Lambert quit the horse and hit the ground running, yelling, ** 'Old the blooming rascal. 'E made such peculiar movements I lost my balance. ' ' The boys who had bet on Lambert riding the horse, raised their bets, Bill Williams betting two to one on the Englishman ; so he tried it again. That horse threw Lambert five times before he gave it up, and said if the horse had a straight back he could ride him, but his back was too crooked for him to stay on.

Lambert pulled off a lot of stunts for our amusement on the trip, but decided that bronco busting was too hard to learn. One day he accidentally roped a wild mare with a rope that was tied around the neck of a little mule he was riding. The mare dashed through the herd and caused a stampede. Some of the horses ran across the rope and threw mare, mule and Englishman all to the ground. When the dust cleared Lambert was found holding the mule by the tail while the mule held the mare, until the boys roped her and removed Lambert's rope.

Lambert was the possessor of a red saddle blanket, and when we were in the Comanche country the Indians got friendly with our outfit and made signs that they wanted that red blanket. Tel Hawkins and some of the other boys told the Indians to take it, and when they began to pull it from under Lambert's saddle he pulled his pistol and I rushed up just in the nick of time to prevent bloodshed, for Lambert meant business.

While the boys were trading and hurrahing with the Indians I went to the old Comanche chief's tepee and had quite an enjoyable conversation with him. He told me he knew all of the region in South and Southwest Texas, and named many of the streams, and told of raids he had made down there. He also said he knew Creed Taylor, Captain John Sansom, John E. Baylor, Bigfoot Wallace, and other citizens of that section, who, he said, were **Heap bad mans. Killie heap Indians," and indicated that his warriors always dreaded to meet these well-known characters, for they always *'shot to kill."

In July, 1884, I bought two cars of saddle horses and a chuck wagon and shipped them from San Antonio to Alpine, where I received a herd of cattle for Keeney, AViley & Hurst, which they had bought from Millett & Lane. John Kokernot delivered this herd to me and I took them to Seven Rivers, New Mexico, via Saragosa, Pecos City and up the Pecos to Seven Rivers, where I turned them over to Mr. Keeney. It was a long, dry drive, and I was glad when through with it. After delivering this herd I went to Tat Huling's ranch in Rattlesnake Canyon, 35 miles west of Van Horn, in El Paso County, and remained there two months helping Huling do ranch work and prospecting for gold in the Delaware and Guadalupe Mountains with an old miner named Dyer, who claimed that Indians had told him where he could find a rich mine near an old Indian camp. While prospecting we camped at a spring where the Urcery boys of Oakville, Texas, later established a cattle ranch. We searched through the Delaware Mountains, going up into the Guadalupes, and came back by the salt lakes. These lakes cover a territory fifteen miles long and two or three miles wide with salt three to seven feet deep.

By appointment I met N. H. Hall at Toyah in October. He was in quarantine there with several thousand head of cattle, and was anxious to get a thousand two-yearold heifers to his ranch in Luna Valley, Arizona, for spring breeding. Mr. Hall offered me extra big wages to take them through, and as I had previously promised to make the trip for him, I consented to start as soon as the herd could be made ready. The weather was getting cold, and the route was through a dangerous region occupied by old Geronimo's band of Apaches, and I knew that I would have a hard trip, but I picked 1,000 of the best heifers in the best condition, selected the best horses and secured the best men I could find, all well armed, and pulled out with the herd, going by Cottonwood ranch, the Gran Tinnon ranch, passed the head of Delaware River, Guadalupe Peak, and stopped several days at Crow Springs, just over the line in New Mexico, to prepare for a 107-mile dry drive to the waters of the Sacramento River. When I started the herd from Crow Springs I left my horses there until the next morning, so as to have fresh mounts when they overtook us the second day, then we sent the horses on to water thirty miles up the Sacramento. From the mouth of the Sacramento the channel of the river was a dry bed of gravel for 30 miles with great bluffs on either side hundreds of feet high. The herd strung out up this canyon for several miles and we pushed forward as rapidly as possible. When we reached the water I turned the cattle up the steep mountain side as fast as they arrived and got their fill. It was ten hours from the time the lead cattle reached the water until the tail end got there. They were in very poor condition and a pitiful sight to see, with their sunken eyes, and some of them barely able to creep along. There was no grass in the canyon, but we found good grass and water on the mountains and range herded them several days, then put them back in the canyon several miles above and followed it up to the divide, where we crossed over to Dog Canyon. On this divide I saw my first wild elk, and some of the tallest pine trees I had ever seen. Dog Canyon was very steep and we had to lock all the wagon wheels to pass many places. At the mouth of Dog Canyon our route was around White Mountain, and in this region was where old Geronimo was depredating. We often saw the signal fires of the Indians at night, and in order to play safe we would bed our herd in the evening, eat supper before dark, then take our horses and wagon and camp a mile or more away from the herd so the Indians would not find us if they attacked the herd. No fire was built at those camps to guide the redskins. Next day we would round up the herd and move on. We were not attacked and I suppose it was because our cattle and horses were in such poor condition the Indians did not care for them; and, further, -they were not seeking a fight with a bunch of Texas cowboys. We went by Tularosa and La Luz, across the Melphia at the government crossing, and crossed the Rio Grande at San Marcial, proceeding on to Magdalena, where I was taken seriously ill. Mr. Hall met us here and took the herd on to Luna Valley, Arizona. Eemarkable as it may seem, I lost only five head of these cattle on the entire trip, which were bogged in a marsh at La Luz. At this marsh we had considerable difficulty in pulling out about fifty herd that were bogged, but we could not save the five head mentioned above.

The trip was made in cold weather, part of the time freezing temperatures prevailed, and we suffered a great deal from the cold and exposure.

This made the third herd, or trip, I had taken that year, which was a record-breaker, and I decided to recuperate, so I went to Socorro, N. M., reaching there the 20th of December, 1884, and after spending a while there I went to El Paso, and found employment with the Newman & Davis outfit, which was working in Chihuahua, Mexico, just across from the mouth of Van Horn Canyon. I was over there during the Cutting trouble, and helped to get many cattle across into Texas before the threatened confiscation occurred.

In the spring of 1886 I returned to San Antonio, and again went into the livestock commission business under the firm name of Smith, Oliver & Saunders, being associated with Frank Oliver, now of Victoria, and Capt. Bill Smith, one of San Antonio's most respected citizens, who is now deceased. I finally sold my interest in this firm to Jace Addington and bought the cattle end of the business, and going it alone with offices at the Sap stockyards near the Sap depot on the Hickman property, later purchasing the Weller stockyards on Medina Street, and was successful in building a good business. Afterward Dr. Graves, Captain Lytle, Jess Presnall, John Price, W. H. Jennings and myself formed a company and built the Union Stock Yards. I sold my yards on Medina Street and moved to the present location thirty-one years ago, and have continued right here ever since. I am the oldest livestock commission man in the state today who is still actively engaged in the business. I incorporated my business fifteen years ago, sold shares to leading stockmen all over the country, and today I am the president and general manager of the firm, which is known as the George W. Saunders Live Stock Commission Company, with offices at San Antonio and Fort Worth. The Fort Worth branch is managed by my son-in-law, W. E. Jary. We enjoy a liberal patronage from all parts of Texas, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Louisiana and Old Mexico, and do a gross business of between five and six million dollars annually.

Besides actively giving my attention to my commission business, I supervise the management of four small ranches and a 700-acre farm. I have always tried to follow the policies of my father and deal justly and fairly with all men, but considering the bad influences that many times engulfed me, the many temptations to deal unfairly, and the glowing prospects to greatly profit by yielding to them, it required an iron will and determination to resist, hence I feel proud that my record is not worse. I have made money in almost every undertaking, but my sympathy for suffering humanity, and my liberality in dealing has kept me from accumulating a fortune. I believe that ninety-five per cent of the people who know me are my friends, and I value them more than the millions of gold which perhaps I could have accumulated by sacrificing their friendship by unfair dealing. I have always been willing to give to charity or any laudable purpose that had for its object the uplift of my fellow man, and have always lent aid and encouragement to every undertaking that was for the upbuilding of our state and my home city, San Antonio. I served two terms as alderman of Ward 2 in San Antonio during the Clinton Brown administration, during which time we voted $3,500,000 city bonds, had them approved and sold and spent the money in municipal improvements, building sewers, widening streets and paving thoroughfares, making a modern city of the old Mexican town. During the World War I served as chairman of the Exemption Board, Division No. 1, free of charge, and did all I could to help win the war.

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My two daughters by my first marriage are now Mrs. W. E. Jary of Fort Worth and Mrs. T. M. Webb of Palestine. On January 1, 1889, I was married to Miss Ida Friedrich of San Antonio. Of this union we have one daughter, Mrs. C. D. Cannon of San Antonio.