valley.
When within a day's ride of the post, Mr. Loving took Wilson with him
and started in to Fort Sumner. The heat of August on the herd had made
recovery slow, but if a two weeks' postponement could be agreed on,
it was believed the beeves would qualify. The circumstances were
unavoidable; the government had been lenient before; so, hopeful of
accomplishing his mission, the senior member of the firm set out on
his way. The two men left camp at daybreak, cautioned by Goodnight
to cross the river by a well-known trail, keeping in the open, even
though it was farther, as a matter of safety. They were well mounted
for the trip, and no further concern was given to their welfare until
the second morning, when Loving's horse came into camp, whinnying for
his mates. There were blood-stains on the saddle, and the story of a
man who was cautious for others and careless of himself was easily
understood. Conjecture was rife. The presence of the horse admitted of
several interpretations. An Indian ambush was the most probable, and
a number of men were detailed to ferret out the mystery. We were then
seventy miles below Sumner, and with orders to return to the herd at
night six of us immediately started. The searching party was divided
into squads, one on either side of the Pecos River, but no results
were obtained from the first day's hunt. The herd had moved up fifteen
miles during the day, and the next morning the search was resumed,
the work beginning where it had ceased the evening before. Late that
afternoon and from the east bank, as Goodnight and I were scanning the
opposite side of the river, a lone man, almost naked, emerged from a
cave across the channel and above us. Had it not been for his missing
arm it is doubtful if we should have recognized him, for he seemed
demented. We rode opposite and hailed, when he skulked back into his
refuge; but we were satisfied that it was Wilson. The other searchers
were signaled to, and finding an entrance into the river, we swam it
and rode up to the cave. A shout of welcome greeted us, and the next
instant Wilson staggered out of the cavern, his eyes filled with
tears.

He was in a horrible physical condition, and bewildered. We were an
hour getting his story. They had been ambushed by Indians and ran for
the brakes of the river, but were compelled to abandon their horses,
one of which was captured, the other escaping. Loving was wounded
twice, in the wrist and the side, but from the cover gained they had
stood off the savages until darkness fell. During the night Loving,
unable to walk, believed that he was going to die, and begged Wilson
to make his escape, and if possible return to the herd. After making
his employer as comfortable as possible, Wilson buried his own rifle,
pistols, and knife, and started on his return to the herd. Being
one-armed, he had discarded his boots and nearly all his clothing to
assist him in swimming the river, which he had done any number of
times, traveling by night and hiding during the day. When found in the
cave, his feet were badly swollen, compelling him to travel in the
river-bed to protect them from sandburs and thorns. He was taken up
behind one of the boys on a horse, and we returned to camp.

Wilson firmly believed that Loving was dead, and described the scene
of the fight so clearly that any one familiar with the river would
have no difficulty in locating the exact spot. But the next morning as
we were nearing the place we met an ambulance in the road, the driver
of which reported that Loving had been brought into Sumner by a
freight outfit. On receipt of this information Goodnight hurried on to
the post, while the rest of us looked over the scene, recovered the
buried guns of Wilson, and returned to the herd. Subsequently we
learned that the next morning after Wilson left Loving had crawled to
the river for a drink, and, looking upstream, saw some one a mile
or more distant watering a team. By firing his pistol he attracted
attention to himself and so was rescued, the Indians having decamped
during the night. To his partner, Mr. Loving corroborated Wilson's
story, and rejoiced to know that his comrade had also escaped.
Everything that medical science could do was done by the post surgeons
for the veteran cowman, but after lingering twenty-one days he died.
Wilson and the wounded boy both recovered, the cattle were delivered
in two installments, and early in October we started homeward,
carrying the embalmed remains of the pioneer drover in a light
conveyance. The trip was uneventful, the traveling was done
principally by night, and on the arrival at Loving's frontier home,
six hundred miles from Fort Sumner, his remains were laid at rest with
Masonic honors.

Over thirty years afterward a claim was made against the government
for the cattle lost at Horsehead Crossing. Wilson and I were witnesses
before the commissioner sent to take evidence in the case. The hearing
was held at a federal court, and after it was over, Wilson, while
drinking, accused me of suspecting him of deserting his employer,--a
suspicion I had, in fact, entertained at the time we discovered him
at the cave. I had never breathed it to a living man, yet it was the
truth, slumbering for a generation before finding expression.




CHAPTER V

SUMMER OF '68


The death of Mr. Loving ended my employment in driving cattle to Fort
Sumner. The junior member of the firm was anxious to continue the
trade then established, but the absence of any protection against the
Indians, either state or federal, was hopeless. Texas was suffering
from the internal troubles of Reconstruction, the paternal government
had small concern for the welfare of a State recently in arms against
the Union, and there was little or no hope for protection of life or
property under existing conditions. The outfit was accordingly paid
off, and I returned with George Edwards to his father's ranch. The
past eighteen months had given me a strenuous schooling, but I had
emerged on my feet, feeling that once more I was entitled to a place
among men. The risk that had been incurred by the drovers acted like a
physical stimulant, the outdoor life had hardened me like iron, and
I came out of the crucible bright with the hope of youth and buoyant
with health and strength.

Meanwhile there had sprung up a small trade in cattle with the North.
Baxter Springs and Abilene, both in Kansas, were beginning to be
mentioned as possible markets, light drives having gone to those
points during the present and previous summers. The elder Edwards had
been investigating the new outlet, and on the return of George and
myself was rather enthusiastic over the prospects of a market. No
Indian trouble had been experienced on the northern route, and
although demand generally was unsatisfactory, the faith of drovers
in the future was unshaken. A railroad had recently reached Abilene,
stockyards had been built for the accommodation of shippers during the
summer of 1861, while a firm of shrewd, far-seeing Yankees made great
pretensions of having established a market and meeting-point for
buyers and sellers of Texas cattle. The promoters of the scheme had a
contract with the railroad, whereby they were to receive a bonus on
all cattle shipped from that point, and the Texas drovers were offered
every inducement to make Abilene their destination in the future. The
unfriendliness of other States against Texas cattle, caused by the
ravages of fever imparted by southern to domestic animals, had
resulted in quarantine being enforced against all stock from the
South. Matters were in an unsettled condition, and less than one per
cent of the State's holdings of cattle had found an outside market
during the year 1867, though ranchmen in general were hopeful.

I spent the remainder of the month of October at the Edwards ranch. We
had returned in time for the fall branding, and George and I both made
acceptable hands at the work. I had mastered the art of handling a
rope, and while we usually corralled everything, scarcely a day passed
but occasion occurred to rope wild cattle out of the brush. Anxiety to
learn soon made me an expert, and before the month ended I had caught
and branded for myself over one hundred mavericks. Cattle were so
worthless that no one went to the trouble to brand completely; the
crumbs were acceptable to me, and, since no one else cared for them
and I did, the flotsam and jetsam of the range fell to my brand. Had I
been ambitious, double that number could have been easily secured, but
we never went off the home range in gathering calves to brand. All
the hands on the Edwards ranch, darkies and Mexicans, were constantly
throwing into the corrals and pointing out unclaimed cattle, while I
threw and indelibly ran the figures "44" on their sides. I was partial
to heifers, and when one was sighted there was no brush so thick or
animal so wild that it was not "fish" to my rope. In many instances a
cow of unknown brand was still followed by her two-year-old, yearling,
and present calf. Under the customs of the country, any unbranded
animal, one year old or over, was a maverick, and the property of any
one who cared to brand the unclaimed stray. Thousands of cattle thus
lived to old age, multiplied and increased, died and became food for
worms, unowned.

The branding over, I soon grew impatient to be doing something. There
would be no movement in cattle before the following spring, and a
winter of idleness was not to my liking. Buffalo hunting had lost its
charm with me, the contentious savages were jealous of any intrusion
on their old hunting grounds, and, having met them on numerous
occasions during the past eighteen months, I had no further desire to
cultivate their acquaintance. I still owned my horse, now acclimated,
and had money in my purse, and one morning I announced my intention
of visiting my other comrades in Texas. Protests were made against
my going, and as an incentive to have me remain, the elder Edwards
offered to outfit George and me the following spring with a herd of
cattle and start us to Kansas. I was anxious for employment, but
assuring my host that he could count on my services, I still
pleaded my anxiety to see other portions of the State and renew old
acquaintances. The herd could not possibly start before the middle of
April, so telling my friends that I would be on hand to help gather
the cattle, I saddled my horse and took leave of the hospitable ranch.

After a week of hard riding I reached the home of a former comrade on
the Colorado River below Austin. A hearty welcome awaited me, but
the apparent poverty of the family made my visit rather a brief one.
Continuing eastward, my next stop was in Washington County, one of the
oldest settled communities in the State. The blight of Reconstruction
seemed to have settled over the people like a pall, the frontier
having escaped it. But having reached my destination, I was determined
to make the best of it. At the house of my next comrade I felt a
little more at home, he having married since his return and being
naturally of a cheerful disposition. For a year previous to the
surrender he and I had wrangled beef for the Confederacy and had been
stanch cronies. We had also been in considerable mischief together;
and his wife seemed to know me by reputation as well as I knew her
husband. Before the wire edge wore off my visit I was as free with the
couple as though they had been my own brother and sister. The fact
was all too visible that they were struggling with poverty, though
lightened by cheerfulness, and to remain long a guest would have
been an imposition; accordingly I began to skirmish for something to
do--anything, it mattered not what. The only work in sight was with a
carpet-bag dredging company, improving the lower Brazos River, under a
contract from the Reconstruction government of the State. My old crony
pleaded with me to have nothing to do with the job, offering to share
his last crust with me; but then he had not had all the animosities of
the war roughed out of him, and I had. I would work for a Federal as
soon as any one else, provided he paid me the promised wage, and,
giving rein to my impulse, I made application at the dredging
headquarters and was put in charge of a squad of negroes.

I was to have sixty dollars a month and board. The company operated
a commissary store, a regular "pluck-me" concern, and I shortly
understood the incentive in offering me such good wages. All employees
were encouraged and expected to draw their pay in supplies, which were
sold at treble their actual value from the commissary. I had been
raised among negroes, knew how to humor and handle them, the work was
easy, and I drifted along with all my faculties alert. Before long I
saw that the improvement of the river was the least of the company's
concern, the employment of a large number of men being the chief
motive, so long as they drew their wages in supplies. True,
we scattered a few lodgments of driftwood; with the aid of a
flat-bottomed scow we windlassed up and cut out a number of old snags,
felled trees into the river to prevent erosion of its banks, and we
built a large number of wind-dams to straighten or change the channel.
It seemed to be a blanket contract,--a reward to the faithful,--and
permitted of any number of extras which might be charged for at any
figures the contractors saw fit to make. At the end of the first month
I naturally looked for my wages. Various excuses were made, but I was
cordially invited to draw anything needed from the commissary.

A second month passed, during which time the only currency current was
in the form of land certificates. The Commonwealth of Texas, on her
admission into the Union, retained the control of her lands, over half
the entire area of the State being unclaimed at the close of the civil
war. The carpet-bag government, then in the saddle, was prodigal
to its favorites in bonuses of land to any and all kinds of public
improvement. Certificates were issued in the form of scrip calling for
sections of the public domain of six hundred and forty acres each, and
were current at from three to five cents an acre. The owner of one or
more could locate on any of the unoccupied lands of the present State
by merely surveying and recording his selection at the county seat.
The scrip was bandied about, no one caring for it, and on the
termination of my second month I was offered four sections for my
services up to date, provided I would remain longer in the company's
employ. I knew the value of land in the older States, in fact, already
had my eye on some splendid valleys on the Clear Fork, and accepted
the offered certificates. The idea found a firm lodgment in my mind,
and I traded one of my six-shooters even for a section of scrip, and
won several more in card games. I had learned to play poker in the
army,--knew the rudiments of the game at least,--and before the middle
of March I was the possessor of certificates calling for thirty
sections of land. As the time was drawing near for my return to Palo
Pinto County, I severed my connection with the dredging company and
returned to the home of my old comrade. I had left my horse with him,
and under the pretense of paying for feeding the animal well for the
return trip, had slipped my crony a small gold piece several times
during the winter. He ridiculed me over my land scrip, but I was
satisfied, and after spending a day with the couple I started on my
return.

Evidences of spring were to be seen on every hand. My ride northward
was a race with the season, but I outrode the coming grass, the
budding trees, the first flowers, and the mating birds, and reached
the Edwards ranch on the last day of March. Any number of cattle had
already been tendered in making up the herd, over half the saddle
horses necessary were in hand or promised, and they were only awaiting
my return. I had no idea what the requirements of the Kansas market
were, and no one else seemed to know, but it was finally decided to
drive a mixed herd of twenty-five hundred by way of experiment. The
promoters of the Abilene market had flooded Texas with advertising
matter during the winter, urging that only choice cattle should be
driven, yet the information was of little value where local customs
classified all live stock. A beef was a beef, whether he weighed eight
or twelve hundred pounds, a cow was a cow when over three years old,
and so on to the end of the chapter. From a purely selfish motive of
wanting strong cattle for the trip, I suggested that nothing under
three-year-olds should be used in making up the herd, a preference to
be given matured beeves. George Edwards also favored the idea, and as
our experience in trailing cattle carried some little weight, orders
were given to gather nothing that had not age, flesh, and strength for
the journey.

I was to have fifty dollars a month and furnish my own mount. Horses
were cheap, but I wanted good ones, and after skirmishing about I
secured four to my liking in return for one hundred dollars in gold.
I still had some money left from my wages in driving cattle to Fort
Sumner, and I began looking about for oxen in which to invest
the remainder. Having little, I must be very careful and make my
investment in something staple; and remembering the fine prices
current in Colorado the spring before for work cattle, I offered to
supply the oxen for the commissary. My proposal was accepted, and
accordingly I began making inquiry for wagon stock. Finally I heard of
a freight outfit in the adjoining county east, the owner of which had
died the winter before, the administrator offering his effects
for sale. I lost no time in seeing the oxen and hunting up their
custodian, who proved to be a frontier surveyor at the county seat.
There were two teams of six yoke each, fine cattle, and I had hopes
of being able to buy six or eight oxen. But the surveyor insisted on
selling both teams, offering to credit me on any balance if I could
give him security. I had never mentioned my land scrip to any one,
and wishing to see if it had any value, I produced and tendered the
certificates to the surveyor. He looked them over, made a computation,
and informed me that they were worth in his county about five cents an
acre, or nearly one thousand dollars. He also offered to accept them
as security, assuring me that he could use some of them in locating
lands for settlers. But it was not my idea to sell the land scrip,
and a trade was easily effected on the twenty-four oxen, yokes, and
chains, I paying what money I could spare and leaving the certificates
for security on the balance. As I look back over an eventful life, I
remember no special time in which I felt quite as rich as the evening
that I drove into the Edwards ranch with twelve yoke of oxen chained
together in one team. The darkies and Mexicans gathered about, even
the family, to admire the big fellows, and I remember a thrill which
shivered through me as Miss Gertrude passed down the column, kindly
patting each near ox as though she felt a personal interest in my
possessions.

We waited for good grass before beginning the gathering. Half a
dozen round-ups on the home range would be all that was necessary in
completing the numbers allotted to the Edwards ranch. Three other
cowmen were going to turn in a thousand head and furnish and mount a
man each, there being no occasion to road-brand, as every one knew the
ranch, brands which would go to make up the herd. An outfit of twelve
men was considered sufficient, as it was an open prairie country and
through civilized tribes between Texas and Kansas. All the darkies
and Mexicans from the home ranch who could be spared were to be taken
along, making it necessary to hire only three outside men. The drive
was looked upon as an experiment, there being no outlay of money, even
the meal and bacon which went into the commissary being supplied from
the Edwards household. The country contributed the horses and cattle,
and if the project paid out, well and good; if not there was small
loss, as they were worth nothing at home. The 20th of April was set
for starting. Three days' work on the home range and we had two
thousand cattle under herd, consisting of dry or barren cows and
steers three years old or over, fully half the latter being heavy
beeves. We culled back and trimmed our allotment down to sixteen
hundred, and when the outside contingents were thrown in we had a few
over twenty-eight hundred cattle in the herd. A Mexican was placed in
charge of the remuda, a darky, with three yoke of oxen, looked after
the commissary, and with ten mounted men around the herd we started.

Five and six horses were allotted to the man, each one had one or
two six-shooters, while half a dozen rifles of different makes were
carried in the wagon. The herd moved northward by easy marches, open
country being followed until we reached Red River, where we had the
misfortune to lose George Edwards from sickness. He was the foreman
from whom all took orders. While crossing into the Chickasaw Nation it
was necessary to swim the cattle. We cut them into small bunches, and
in fording and refording a whole afternoon was spent in the water.
Towards evening our foreman was rendered useless from a chill,
followed by fever during the night. The next morning he was worse, and
as it was necessary to move the herd out to open country, Edwards took
an old negro with him and went back to a ranch on the Texas side.
Several days afterward the darky overtook us with the word that his
master would be unable to accompany the cattle, and that I was to take
the herd through to Abilene. The negro remained with us, and at
the first opportunity I picked up another man. Within a week we
encountered a country trail, bearing slightly northwest, over which
herds had recently passed. This trace led us into another, which
followed up the south side of the Washita River, and two weeks after
reaching the Nation we entered what afterward became famous as the
Chisholm trail. The Chickasaw was one of the civilized tribes; its
members had intermarried with the whites until their identity as
Indians was almost lost. They owned fine homes and farms in the
Washita valley, were hospitable to strangers, and where the aboriginal
blood was properly diluted the women were strikingly beautiful.
In this same valley, fifteen years afterward, I saw a herd of one
thousand and seven head of corn-fed cattle. The grain was delivered at
feed-lots at ten cents a bushel, and the beeves had then been on full
feed for nine months. There were no railroads in the country and the
only outlet for the surplus corn was to feed it to cattle and drive
them to some shipping-point in Kansas.

Compared with the route to Fort Sumner, the northern one was a
paradise. No day passed but there was an abundance of water, while the
grass simply carpeted the country. We merely soldiered along, crossing
what was then one of the No-man's lands and the Cherokee Outlet, never
sighting another herd until after entering Kansas. We amused ourselves
like urchins out for a holiday, the country was full of all kinds of
game, and our darky cook was kept busy frying venison and roasting
turkeys. A calf was born on the trail, the mother of which was quite
gentle, and we broke her for a milk cow, while "Bull," the youngster,
became a great pet. A cow-skin was slung under the wagon for carrying
wood and heavy cooking utensils, and the calf was given a berth in the
hammock until he was able to follow. But when Bull became older he
hung around the wagon like a dog, preferring the company of the outfit
to that of his own mother. He soon learned to eat cold biscuit and
corn-pone, and would hang around at meal-time, ready for the scraps.
We always had to notice where the calf lay down to sleep, as he was
a black rascal, and the men were liable to stumble over him while
changing guards during the night. He never could be prevailed on to
walk with his mother, but followed the wagon or rode in his hammock,
and was always happy as a lark when the recipient of the outfit's
attentions. We sometimes secured as much as two gallons of milk a
day from the cow, but it was pitiful to watch her futile efforts at
coaxing her offspring away from the wagon.

We passed to the west of the town of Wichita and reached our
destination early in June. There I found several letters awaiting me,
with instructions to dispose of the herd or to report what was the
prospect of effecting a sale. We camped about five miles from Abilene,
and before I could post myself on cattle values half a dozen buyers
had looked the herd over. Men were in the market anxious for beef
cattle with which to fill army and Indian contracts, feeders from
Eastern States, shippers and speculators galore, cowmen looking for
she stuff with which to start new ranches, while scarcely a day passed
but inquiry was made by settlers for oxen with which to break prairie.
A dozen herds had arrived ahead of us, the market had fairly opened,
and, once I got the drift of current prices, I was as busy as a farmer
getting ready to cut his buckwheat. Every yoke of oxen was sold within
a week, one ranchman took all the cows, an army contractor took one
thousand of the largest beeves, feeders from Iowa took the younger
steers, and within six weeks after arriving I did not have a hoof
left. In the mean time I kept an account of each sale, brands and
numbers, in order to render a statement to the owners of the cattle.
As fast as the money was received I sent it home by drafts, except the
proceeds from the oxen, which was a private matter. I bought and sold
two whole remudas of horses on speculation, clearing fifteen of the
best ones and three hundred dollars on the transactions.

The facilities for handling cattle at Abilene were not completed until
late in the season of '67, yet twenty-five thousand cattle found a
market there that summer and fall. The drive of the present year
would triple that number, and every one seemed pleased with future
prospects. The town took on an air of frontier prosperity; saloons
and gambling and dance halls multiplied, and every legitimate line of
business flourished like a green bay tree. I made the acquaintance of
every drover and was generally looked upon as an extra good salesman,
the secret being in our cattle, which were choice. For instance,
Northern buyers could see three dollars a head difference in
three-year-old steers, but with the average Texan the age classified
them all alike. My boyhood knowledge of cattle had taught me the
difference, but in range dealing it was impossible to apply the
principle. I made many warm friends among both buyers and drovers,
bringing them together and effecting sales, and it was really a matter
of regret that I had to leave before the season was over. I loved the
atmosphere of dicker and traffic, had made one of the largest sales of
the season with our beeves, and was leaving, firm in the conviction
that I had overlooked no feature of the market of future value.

After selling the oxen we broke some of our saddle stock to harness,
altered the wagon tongue for horses, and started across the country
for home, taking our full remuda with us. Where I had gone up the
trail with five horses, I was going back with twenty; some of the oxen
I had sold at treble their original cost, while none of them failed
to double my money--on credit. Taking it all in all, I had never
seen such good times and made money as easily. On the back track we
followed the trail, but instead of going down the Washita as we had
come, we followed the Chisholm trail to the Texas boundary, crossing
at what was afterward known as Red River Station. From there home was
an easy matter, and after an absence of four months and five days the
outfit rode into the Edwards ranch with a flourish.




CHAPTER VI

SOWING WILD OATS


The results from driving cattle north were a surprise to every one. My
employers were delighted with their experiment, the general expense of
handling the herd not exceeding fifty cents a head. The enterprise had
netted over fifty-two thousand dollars, the saddle horses had returned
in good condition, while due credit was given me in the general
management. From my sale accounts I made out a statement, and once my
expenses were approved it was an easy matter to apportion each owner
his just dues in the season's drive. This over I was free to go my
way. The only incident of moment in the final settlement was the
waggish contention of one of the owners, who expressed amazement that
I ever remitted any funds or returned, roguishly admitting that no
one expected it. Then suddenly, pretending to have discovered the
governing motive, he summoned Miss Gertrude, and embarrassed her with
a profusion of thanks, averring that she alone had saved him from a
loss of four hundred beeves.

The next move was to redeem my land scrip. The surveyor was anxious
to buy a portion of it, but I was too rich to part with even a single
section. During our conversation, however, it developed that he held
his commission from the State, and when I mentioned my intention of
locating land, he made application to do the surveying. The fact that
I expected to make my locations in another county made no difference
to a free-lance official, and accordingly we came to an agreement. The
apple of my eye was a valley on the Clear Fork, above its juncture
with the main Brazos, and from maps in the surveyor's office I was
able to point out the locality where I expected to make my locations.
He proved an obliging official and gave me all the routine details,
and an appointment was made with him to report a week later at the
Edwards ranch. A wagon and cook would be necessary, chain carriers
and flagmen must be taken along, and I began skirmishing about for an
outfit. The three hired men who had been up the trail with me were
still in the country, and I engaged them and secured a cook. George
Edwards loaned me a wagon and two yoke of oxen, even going along
himself for company. The commissary was outfitted for a month's stay,
and a day in advance of the expected arrival of the surveyor the
outfit was started up the Brazos. Each of the men had one or more
private horses, and taking all of mine along, we had a remuda of
thirty odd saddle horses. George and I remained behind, and on the
arrival of the surveyor we rode by way of Palo Pinto, the county seat,
to which all unorganized territory to the west was attached for legal
purposes. Our chief motive in passing the town was to see if there
were any lands located near the juncture of the Clear Fork with the
mother stream, and thus secure an established corner from which to
begin our survey. But the records showed no land taken up around the
confluence of these watercourses, making it necessary to establish a
corner.

Under the old customs, handed down from the Spanish to the Texans,
corners were always established from natural landmarks. The union of
creeks arid rivers, mounds, lagoons, outcropping of rock, in fact
anything unchangeable and established by nature, were used as a point
of commencement. In the locating of Spanish land grants a century and
a half previous, sand-dunes were frequently used, and when these old
concessions became of value and were surveyed, some of the corners had
shifted a mile or more by the action of the wind and seasons on the
sand-hills. Accordingly, on overtaking our outfit we headed for the
juncture of the Brazos and Clear Fork, reaching our destination the
second day. The first thing was to establish a corner or commencement
point. Some heavy timber grew around the confluence, so, selecting an
old patriarch pin oak between the two streams, we notched the tree
and ran a line to low water at the juncture of the two rivers. Other
witness trees were established and notched, lines were run at angles
to the banks of either stream, and a hole was dug two feet deep
between the roots of the pin oak, a stake set therein, and the
excavation filled with charcoal and covered. A legal corner or
commencement point was thus established; but as the land that I
coveted lay some distance up the Clear Fork, it was necessary first to
run due south six miles and establish a corner, and thence run west
the same distance and locate another one.

The thirty sections of land scrip would entitle me to a block of
ground five by six miles in extent, and I concluded to locate the bulk
of it on the south side of the Clear Fork. A permanent camp was now
established, the actual work of locating the land requiring about ten
days, when the surveyor and Edwards set out on their return. They were
to touch at the county seat, record the established corners and
file my locations, leaving the other boys and me behind. It was my
intention to build a corral and possibly a cabin on the land, having
no idea that we would remain more than a few weeks longer. Timber was
plentiful, and, selecting a site well out on the prairie, we began the
corral. It was no easy task; palisades were cut twelve feet long and
out of durable woods, and the gate-posts were fourteen inches in
diameter at the small end, requiring both yoke of oxen to draw them
to the chosen site. The latter were cut two feet longer than the
palisades, the extra length being inserted in the ground, giving them
a stability to carry the bars with which the gateway was closed. Ten
days were spent in cutting and drawing timber, some of the larger
palisades being split in two so as to enable five men to load them on
the wagon. The digging of the narrow trench, five feet deep, in which
the palisades were set upright, was a sore trial; but the ground was
sandy, and by dint of perseverance it was accomplished. Instead of
a few weeks, over a month was spent on the corral, but when it was
finished it would hold a thousand stampeding cattle through the
stormiest night that ever blew.

After finishing the corral we hunted a week. The country was alive
with game of all kinds, even an occasional buffalo, while wild and
unbranded cattle were seen daily. None of the men seemed anxious to
leave the valley, but the commissary had to be replenished, so two of
us made the trip to Belknap with a pack horse, returning the next day
with meal, sugar, and coffee. A cabin was begun and completed in ten
days, a crude but stable affair, with clapboard roof, clay floor,
and ample fireplace. It was now late in September, and as the usual
branding season was at hand, cow-hunting outfits might be expected to
pass down the valley. The advantage of corrals would naturally make my
place headquarters for cowmen, and we accordingly settled down until
the branding season was over. But the abundance of mavericks and wild
cattle was so tempting that we had three hundred under herd when the
first cow-hunting outfits arrived. At one lake on what is now known
as South Prairie, in a single moonlight night, we roped and tied down
forty head, the next morning finding thirty of them unbranded and
therefore unowned. All tame cattle would naturally water in the
daytime, and anything coming in at night fell a victim to our ropes. A
wooden toggle was fastened with rawhide to its neck, so it would trail
between its forelegs, to prevent running, when the wild maverick was
freed and allowed to enter the herd. After a week or ten days, if an
animal showed any disposition to quiet down, it was again thrown,
branded, and the toggle removed. We corralled the little herd every
night, adding to it daily, scouting far and wide for unowned or wild
cattle. But when other outfits came up or down the valley of the Clear
Fork we joined forces with them, tendering our corrals for branding
purposes, our rake-off being the mavericks and eligible strays. Many
a fine quarter of beef was left at our cabin by passing ranchmen, and
when the gathering ended we had a few over five hundred cattle for our
time and trouble.

Fine weather favored us and we held the mavericks under herd until
late in December. The wild ones gradually became gentle, and with
constant handling these wild animals were located until they would
come in of their own accord for the privilege of sleeping in a corral.
But when winter approached the herd was turned free, that the cattle
might protect themselves from storms, and we gathered our few effects
together and started for the settlements. It was with reluctance that
I left that primitive valley. Somehow or other, primal conditions
possessed a charm for me which, coupled with an innate love of the
land and the animals that inhabit it, seemed to influence and outline
my future course of life. The pride of possession was mine; with my
own hands and abilities had I earned the land, while the overflow from
a thousand hills stocked my new ranch. I was now the owner of lands
and cattle; my father in his palmiest days never dreamed of such
possessions as were mine, while youth and opportunity encouraged me to
greater exertions.

We reached the Edwards ranch a few days before Christmas. The boys
were settled with and returned to their homes, and I was once more
adrift. Forty odd calves had been branded as the increase of my
mavericking of the year before, and, still basking in the smile of
fortune, I found a letter awaiting me from Major Seth Mabry of Austin,
anxious to engage my services as a trail foreman for the coming
summer. I had met Major Seth the spring before at Abilene, and was
instrumental in finding him a buyer for his herd, and otherwise we
became fast friends. There were no outstanding obligations to my
former employers, so when a protest was finally raised against my
going, I had the satisfaction of vouching for George Edwards, to the
manner born, and a better range cowman than I was. The same group of
ranchmen expected to drive another herd the coming spring, and I made
it a point to see each one personally, urging that nothing but choice
cattle should be sent up the trail. My long acquaintance with the
junior Edwards enabled me to speak emphatically and to the point,
and I lectured him thoroughly as to the requirements of the Abilene
market.

I notified Major Mabry that I would be on hand within a month. The
holiday season soon passed, and leaving my horses at the Edwards
ranch, I saddled the most worthless one and started south. The trip
was uneventful, except that I traded horses twice, reaching my
destination within a week, having seen no country en route that could
compare with the valley of the Clear Fork. The capital city was a
straggling village on the banks of the Colorado River, inert through
political usurpation, yet the home of many fine people. Quite a number
of cowmen resided there, owning ranches in outlying and adjoining
counties, among them being my acquaintance of the year before and
present employer. It was too early by nearly a month to begin active
operations, and I contented myself about town, making the acquaintance
of other cowmen and their foremen who expected to drive that year.
New Orleans had previously been the only outlet for beef cattle
in southern Texas, and even in the spring of '69 very few had any
confidence of a market in the north. Major Mabry, however, was going
to drive two herds to Abilene, one of beeves and the other of younger
steers, dry cows, and thrifty two-year-old heifers, and I was to
have charge of the heavy cattle. Both herds would be put up in Llano
County, it being the intention to start with the grass. Mules were to
be worked to the wagons, oxen being considered too slow, while both
outfits were to be mounted seven horses to the man.

During my stay at Austin I frequently made inquiry for land scrip.
Nearly all the merchants had more or less, the current prices being
about five cents an acre. There was a clear distinction, however,
in case one was a buyer or seller, the former being shown every
attention. I allowed the impression to circulate that I would buy,
which brought me numerous offers, and before leaving the town I
secured twenty sections for five hundred dollars. I needed just that
amount to cover a four-mile bend of the Clear Fork on the west end of
my new ranch,--a possession which gave me ten miles of that virgin
valley. My employer congratulated me on my investment, and assured
me that if the people ever overthrew the Reconstruction usurpers
the public domain would no longer be bartered away for chips and
whetstones. I was too busy to take much interest in the political
situation, and, so long as I was prosperous and employed, gave little
heed to politics.

Major Mabry owned a ranch and extensive cattle interests northwest in
Llano County. As we expected to start the herds as early as possible,
the latter part of February found us at the ranch actively engaged in
arranging for the summer's work. There were horses to buy, wagons to
outfit, and hands to secure, and a busy fortnight was spent in getting
ready for the drive. The spring before I had started out in debt; now,
on permission being given me, I bought ten horses for my own use and
invested the balance of my money in four yoke of oxen. Had I remained
in Palo Pinto County the chances were that I might have enlarged my
holdings in the coming drive, as in order to have me remain several
offered to sell me cattle on credit. But so long as I was enlarging my
experience I was content, while the wages offered me were double what
I received the summer before.

We went into camp and began rounding up near the middle of March. All
classes of cattle were first gathered into one herd, after which the
beeves were cut separate and taken charge of by my outfit. We gathered
a few over fifteen hundred of the latter, all prairie-raised cattle,
four years old or over, and in the single ranch brand of my employer.
Major Seth had also contracted for one thousand other beeves, and it
became our duty to receive them. These outside contingents would have
to be road-branded before starting, as they were in a dozen or more
brands, the work being done in a chute built for that purpose. My
employer and I fully agreed on the quality of cattle to be received,
and when possible we both passed on each tender of beeves before
accepting them. The two herds were being held separate, and a friendly
rivalry existed between the outfits as to which herd would be ready
to start first. It only required a few days extra to receive and
road-brand the outside cattle, when all were ready to start. As Major
Seth knew the most practical route, in deference to his years and
experience I insisted that he should take the lead until after Red
River was crossed. I had been urging the Chisholm trail in preference
to more eastern ones, and with the compromise that I should take the
lead after passing Fort Worth, the two herds started on the last day
of March.

There was no particular trail to follow. The country was all open,
and the grass was coming rapidly, while the horses and cattle were
shedding their winter coats with the change of the season. Fine
weather favored us, no rains at night and few storms, and within two
weeks we passed Fort Worth, after which I took the lead. I remember
that at the latter point I wrote a letter to the elder Edwards,
inclosing my land scrip, and asking him to send a man out to my new
ranch occasionally to see that the improvements were not destroyed.
Several herds had already passed the fort, their destination being the
same as ours, and from thence onward we had the advantage of following
a trail. As we neared Red River, nearly all the herds bore off to the
eastward, but we held our course, crossing into the Chickasaw Nation
at the regular Chisholm ford. A few beggarly Indians, renegades from
the Kiowas and Comanches on the west, annoyed us for the first week,
but were easily appeased with a lame or stray beef. The two herds held
rather close together as a matter of mutual protection, as in some
of the encampments were fully fifty lodges with possibly as many
able-bodied warriors. But after crossing the Washita River no further
trouble was encountered from the natives, and we swept northward at
the steady pace of an advancing army. Other herds were seen in our
rear and front, and as we neared the Kansas line several long columns
of cattle were sighted coming in over the safer eastern routes.

The last lap of the drive was reached. A fortnight later we went into
camp within twelve miles of Abilene, having been on the trail two
months and eleven days. The same week we moved north of the railroad,
finding ample range within seven miles of town. Herds were coming in
rapidly, and it was important to secure good grazing grounds for our
cattle. Buyers were arriving from every territory in the Northwest,
including California, while the usual contingent of Eastern dealers,
shippers, and market-scalpers was on hand. It could hardly be said
that prices had yet opened, though several contracted herds had
already been delivered, while every purchaser was bearing the market
and prophesying a drive of a quarter million cattle. The drovers,
on the other hand, were combating every report in circulation, even
offering to wager that the arrivals of stock for the entire summer
would not exceed one hundred thousand head. Cowmen reported en route
with ten thousand beeves came in with one fifth the number, and
sellers held the whip hand, the market actually opening at better
figures than the summer before. Once prices were established, I was in
the thick of the fight, selling my oxen the first week to a freighter,
constantly on the skirmish for a buyer, and never failing to recognize
one with whom I had done business the summer before. In case Major
Mabry had nothing to suit, the herd in charge of George Edwards was
always shown, and I easily effected two sales, aggregating fifteen
hundred head, from the latter cattle, with customers of the year
previous.

But my zeal for bartering in cattle came to a sudden end near the
close of June. A conservative estimate of the arrivals then in sight
or known to be en route for Abilene was placed at one hundred and
fifty thousand cattle. Yet instead of any weakening in prices, they
seemed to strengthen with the influx of buyers from the corn regions,
as the prospects of the season assured a bountiful new crop. Where
States had quarantined against Texas cattle the law was easily
circumvented by a statement that the cattle were immune from having
wintered in the north, which satisfied the statutes--as there was no
doubt but they had wintered somewhere. Steer cattle of acceptable age
and smoothness of build were in demand by feeders; all classes in fact
felt a stimulus. My beeves were sold for delivery north of Cheyenne,
Wyoming, the buyers, who were ranchmen as well as army contractors,
taking the herd complete, including the remuda and wagon. Under the
terms, the cattle were to start immediately and be grazed through. I
was given until the middle of September to reach my destination, and
at once moved out on a northwest course. On reaching the Republican
River, we followed it to the Colorado line, and then tacked north
for Cheyenne. Reporting our progress to the buyers, we were met and