A Texas Cow Boy Part 14

We arrived on Crooked Creek, where there was a store and several ranches, just about dark. On riding up to the store, where we intended stopping all night, we found it vacated, and everything turned up-side down as though the occupants had just left in a terrible hurry. Hearing some ox bells down the creek we turned in that direction, in hopes of finding something to eat.

About a mile's ride brought us to a ranch where several yoke of oxen stood grazing, near the door. Finding a sack of corn in a wagon we fed our horses and then burst open the door of the log house, which was locked. Out jumped a little playful puppy, who had been asleep, his master having locked him up in there, no doubt, in his anxiety to pull for Dodge.

Hanging over the still warm ashes was a pot of nice beef soup which had never been touched. And in the old box cupboard was a lot of cold biscuits and a jar of nice preserves, besides a jug of mola.s.ses, etc.

After filling up we struck out for Dodge, still a distance of twenty-five miles. We arrived there a short while after sun-up next morning; and the first man we met--an old friend by the name of Willingham--informed us of the indian outbreak. There had been several men killed on Crooked Creek the evening before--hence John and I finding the ranches deserted.

On riding through the streets that morning, crowds of women, some of them crying, seeing we were just in from the South, flocked around us inquiring for their absent ones, fathers, brothers, lovers and sons, some of whom had already been killed, no doubt; there having been hundreds of men killed in the past few days.

John and I of course laughed in our boots to think that we turned back, instead of going on to the band of blood-thirsty devils that we had started to go to.

The first thing after putting our horses up at the livery stable, we went to Wright & Beverly's store and deposited our "wealth." John had a draft for one hundred and fourteen dollars, while I had about three hundred and fifty dollars. We then shed our old clothes and crawled into a bran new rig out and out. Erskine Clement, one of Mr. Beal's partners, was in town waiting to ship the herd which should have been there by that time. But he hadn't heard a word from it, since getting Moore's letter--which, by the way, had to go around through Las Vegas, New Mexico, and down through the southern part of Colorado--stating about what time it would arrive in Dodge. He was terribly worried when I informed him that John and I had neither seen nor heard anything of the outfit since it left the ranch.

That night about ten o'clock John, who had struck a lot of his old chums, came and borrowed twenty-five dollars from me, having already spent his one hundred and fourteen dollars that he had when he struck town.

I went to bed early that night, as I had promised to go with Clement early next morning to make a search for the missing herd.

The next morning when Clement and I were fixing to strike out, John came to me, looking bad after his all night rampage, to get his horse and saddle out of "soak." I done so, which cost me thirty-five dollars, and never seen the poor boy afterwards. Shortly after that he went to Ft.

Sumner and was killed by one of "Billy the Kid's" men, a fellow by the name of Barney Mason. Thus ended the life of a good man who, like scores of others, let the greatest curse ever known to mankind, whisky, get the upper hand of him.

Clement and I pulled south, our ponies loaded down with ammunition so in case the indians got us corralled we could stand them off a few days, at least. We were well armed, both having a good winchester and a couple of colts' pistols apiece.

We found the outfit coming down Crooked Creek; they having left the main trail, or road, on the Cimeron, and came over a much longer route, to avoid driving over a dry stretch of country, forty miles between water.

Hence John and I missing them. No doubt but that it was a lucky move in them taking that route, for, on the other, they would have just about come in contact with the three or four hundred Cheyenne reds, whose b.l.o.o.d.y deeds are still remembered in that country.

On arriving in town with the herd we split it in two, making four hundred head in each bunch, and put one half on the cars to be shipped to Chicago. I accompanied the first lot, while Clement remained to come on with the next.

In Burlington, Iowa, I met Mr. Beals. We lay there all day feeding and watering the cattle.

On arriving in Chicago, I went right to the Palmer house, but after paying one dollar for dinner I concluded its price too high for a common clod-hopper like myself. So I moved to the Ervin House, close to the Washington Street tunnel, a two dollar a day house.

That night I turned myself loose taking in the town, or at least a little corner of it. I squandered about fifteen dollars that night on boot-blacks alone. Every one of the little imps I met struck me for a dime, or something to eat. They knew, at a glance, from the cut of my jib, that they had struck a bonanza. They continued to "work" me too, during my whole stay in the city. At one time, while walking with Mr.

Beals and another gentleman, a crowd of them who had spied me from across the street, yelled "Yonder goes our Texas Ranger! Lets tackle him for some stuff!"

About the third day I went broke, and from that time on I had to borrow from Mr. Beals. I left there about a hundred dollars in his debt.

After spending six days in the city I left for Dodge City, Kansas, in company with Mr. Beals and Erskine Clement, who, instead of stopping at Dodge, continued on to Grenada, Colorado, where the "Beals Cattle Co."

still held their headquarters.

Arriving in Dodge City, I found Whiskey-peet, whom I had left in Anderson's stable, all O. K., and mounting him I struck out all alone for the "L. X." ranch, two hundred and twenty-five miles.

Arriving at the ranch I found the noted "Billy the Kid" and his gang there. Among his daring followers were the afterwards noted Tom O'Phalliard, and Henry Brown, leader of the Medicine Lodge Bank tragedy which happened in 1884, who was shot in trying to escape, while his three companions were hung. "The Kid" was there trying to dispose of a herd of ponies he had stolen from the "Seven River warriors" in Lincoln County, New Mexico--his bitter enemies whom he had fought so hard against, that past summer, in what is known as the "b.l.o.o.d.y Lincoln County war of '78." During his stay at the ranch and around Tascosa, I became intimately acquainted with him and his jovial crowd. I mention these facts because I intend to give you a brief sketch of Billy's doings, in the closing pages of this book.

CHAPTER XIX.

A LONELY RIDE OF ELEVEN HUNDRED MILES.

After laying around the ranch a couple of weeks, Mr. Moore put me in charge of a scouting outfit and sent me out on the South Plains to drift about all winter, watching for cattle thieves, etc.; also to turn back any cattle that might slip by the "sign riders" and drift across the Plains.

During that winter we, that is my crowd, went to church several times. A little Colony of Christians headed by the Rev. Cahart, had settled on the head of Salt Fork, a tributary of Red river, and built a church house in which the little crowd, numbering less than fifty souls would congregate every Sunday and pray.

That same little church house now ornaments the thriving little city of Clarendon, County seat of Donley County. The old inhabitants point to it with pride when telling of how it once stood solitary and alone out on the great buffalo range two hundred miles from nowhere.

The Colony had come from Illinois and drifted away out there beyond the outskirts of civilization to get loose from that demon whisky. And early that coming spring a lot of ruffians started a saloon in their midst. A meeting was called in the little church house and resolutions pa.s.sed to drive them out, if in no other way, with powder and lead. They pulled their freight and I am proud to state that I had a hand in making them pull it; for the simple reason that they had no business encroaching upon those good people's rights.

When spring opened Mr. Moore called me in from the Plains and put me in charge of a rounding-up outfit, which consisted of twelve riders and a cook.

To begin rounding-up, we went over to Canyon Paladuro, where Chas.

Goodnight had a ranch, and where a great many of the river cattle had drifted during the winter. There was about a hundred men and seven or eight wagons in the outfit that went over. We stopped over Sunday in the little Christian Colony and went to church. The Rev. Cahart preached about the wild and woolly Cow Boy of the west; how the eastern people had him pictured off as a kind of animal with horns, etc. While to him, looking down from his dry goods box pulpit into the manly faces of nearly a hundred of them, they looked just like human beings, minus the standing collar, etc.

About the first of July, Moore sent me to Nickerson, Kansas, with a herd of eight hundred shipping steers. My outfit consisted of five men, a chuck wagon, etc. Our route lay over a wild strip of country where there was no trails nor scarcely any ranches--that is, until reaching the southern line of Kansas.

We arrived at Nickerson after being on the road two months. "Deacon"

Bates, Mr. Beals partner, was there waiting for us. He had come through with several herds that had left the ranch a month ahead of us. He was still holding some of the poorest ones, south of town, where he had a camp established.

After loading my wagon with a fresh supply of grub, Mr. Bates, or the "Deacon" as he was more commonly called, sent me back over the trail he and his outfits had come, to gather lost steers--some they had lost coming through.

I was gone about a month and came back with eighteen head. We had a soft trip of it, as most of our hard work was such as buying b.u.t.ter, eggs, etc., from the scattering grangers along the Kansas border. We never missed a meal on the trip, and always had the best the country afforded, regardless of cost. Deacon Bates was always bragging on some of his bosses, how cheap they could live, etc. I just thought I would try him this time, being in a country where luxuries were plentiful, and see if he wouldn't blow on me as being a person with good horse sense. An animal of course, as we all know, will eat the choicest grub he can get; and why not man, when he is credited with having more sense than the horse, one of the most intellectual animals that exists?

On our return to Nickerson, I concluded to quit and spend the winter with mother, whom I received letters from every now and then begging me to come home. As I wasn't certain of coming back, I thought it best to go overland and take Whisky-peet along, for I couldn't even bear the _thought_ of parting with him; and to hire a car to take him around by rail would be too costly.

I got all ready to start and then went to Deacon Bates for a settlement.

He took my account book and, after looking it over, said: "Why, Dum-it to h--l, I can't pay no such bills as those! Why, Dum-it all, old Jay Gould would groan under the weight of these bills!" He then went on to read some of the items aloud. They ran as follows: Cod-fish $10; eggs $40; b.u.t.ter $70; milk $5; bacon $150; flour $200; canned fruits $400; sundries $600, etc., etc. Suffice it to say, the old gent told me in plain Yankee English that I would have to go to Chicago and settle with Mr. Beals. I hated the idea of going to Chicago, for I knew my failings--I was afraid I wouldn't have money enough left when I got back to pay my expenses home.

That same evening a letter came from Mr. Beals stating that he had just received a letter from Moore, at the ranch, in which he informed him that there were two more herds on the trail for Nickerson, and, as it was getting so near winter, for Joe Hargraves, better known as "Jinglebob Joe," and I to go and turn them to Dodge City, the nearest shipping point.

After putting Whisky-peet and my "Missouri" mare, one I had bought to use as a pack-horse going home, in care of an old granger to be fed and taken good care of until my return, Joe and I struck out with only one horse apiece--just the ones we were riding.

On our arrival in Dodge I pulled out for Chicago, to get a settlement, with the first train load we shipped. I took my saddle, bridle, spurs, etc. along and left them in Atchison, Mo., the first point we stopped to feed at, until my return.

Arriving in Chicago, I told Mr. Beals that I was going home to spend the winter, and therefore wanted to settle up.

He set 'em up to a fine Havana and then proceeded. Every time he came to one of those big bills, which caused the Deacon's eyes to bulge out, he would grunt and crack about a forty-cent smile, but never kicked.

When he had finished there was a few hundred dollars to my credit. He then asked me if I could think of anything else that I had forgotten to charge the "company" with? Of course I couldn't, because I didn't have time; his question was put to me too sudden. If I could have had a few hours to myself, to figure the thing up just right, I think I could have satisfied the old Gent.

I remained in the city three days taking in the sights and feeding the hungry little boot blacks. When leaving, Mr. Beals informed me that he was going to buy a lot of southern Texas cattle, to put on his Panhandle ranch, the coming spring, and if I wanted a job, to hold myself in readiness to boss one of the herds up the trail for him. Of course that just suited me, providing I couldn't make up my mind to remain at home.

Landing in Nickerson I hired a horse and went out to the old granger's ranch where I had left my two ponies. They were both fat and feeling good.

Before starting out on my little journey of only eleven hundred miles, I bought a pack-saddle and cooking outfit--that is, just a frying pan, small coffee pot, etc. I used the mare for a pack animal and rode Whisky-peet. I had just six dollars left when I rode out of Nickerson.

I went through Fort Reno and Fort Sill, Indian territory and crossed Red river into Texas on the old military road, opposite Henrietta.