the new administration were encouraging--not from our silent partner,
who was not in sympathy with the dominant party, but from other
prominent stockholders who were. The original trio--the little major,
our segundo, and myself--lay around under the shade of the trees
several days and argued the possibilities that confronted us on trail
and ranch. Edwards reproached me for my fears, referring to the time,
nineteen years before, when as common hands we fought our way across
the Staked Plain and delivered the cattle safely at Fort Sumner. He
even taunted me with the fact that our employers then never hesitated,
even if half the Comanche tribe were abroad, roving over their old
hunting grounds, and that now I was afraid of a handful of army
followers, contractors, and owners of bar concessions. Edwards knew
that I would stand his censure and abuse as long as the truth was
told, and with the major acting as peacemaker between us I was finally
whipped into line. With a fortune already in hand, rounding out my
forty-fifth year, I looted the treasury by contracting and buying
sixty thousand cattle for my company.

The surplus horses were ordered down from above, and the spring
campaign began in earnest. The old firm was to confine its operations
to fine steers, handling my personal contribution as before, while I
rallied my assistants, and we began receiving the contracted cattle at
once. Observation had taught me that in wintering beeves in the North
it was important to give the animals every possible moment of time to
locate before the approach of winter. The instinct of a dumb beast is
unexplainable yet unerring. The owner of a horse may choose a range
that seems perfect in every appointment, but the animal will spurn the
human selection and take up his abode on some flinty hills, and there
thrive like a garden plant. Cattle, especially steers, locate slowly,
and a good summer's rest usually fortifies them with an inward coat of
tallow and an outward one of furry robe, against the wintry storms.
I was anxious to get the through cattle to the new range as soon as
practicable, and allowed the sellers to set their dates as early as
possible, many of them agreeing to deliver on the reservation as soon
as the middle of May. Ten wagons and a thousand horses came down
during the last days of March, and early in April started back with
thirty thousand cattle at company risk.

All animals were passed upon on the Texas range, and on their arrival
at the pasture there was little to do but scatter them over the ranch
to locate. I reached the reservation with the lead herd, and was glad
to learn from neighboring cowmen that a suggestion of mine, made the
fall before, had taken root. My proposition was to organize all the
cattlemen on the Cheyenne and Arapahoe reservation into an association
for mutual protection. By cooeperation we could present a united front
to our enemies, the usurpers, and defy them in their nefarious schemes
of exacting tribute. Other ranges besides ours had suffered by fire
and fence-cutters during the winter just passed, and I returned to
find my fellow cowmen a unit for organization. A meeting was called at
the agency, every owner of cattle on the reservation responded, and an
association was perfected for our mutual interest and protection. The
reservation was easily capable of carrying half a million cattle, the
tribes were pleased with the new order of things, and we settled down
with a feeling of security not enjoyed in many a day.

But our tranquil existence received a shock within a month, when a
cowboy from a neighboring ranch, and without provocation, was shot
down by Indian police in a trader's store at the agency. The young
fellow was a popular Texan, and as nearly all the men employed on the
reservation came from the South, it was with difficulty that our boys
were restrained from retaliating. Those from Texas had little or no
love for an Indian anyhow, and nothing but the plea of policy in
preserving peaceful relations with the tribes held them in check. The
occasional killing of cattle by Indians was overlooked, until they
became so bold as to leave the hides and heads in the pasture, when
an appeal was made to the agent. But the aborigine, like his white
brother, has sinful ways, and the influence of one evil man can
readily combat the good advice of half a dozen right-minded ones, and
the Quaker agent found his task not an easy one. Cattle were being
killed in remote and unfrequented places, and still we bore with it,
the better class of Indians, however, lending their assistance to
check the abuse. On one occasion two boys and myself detected a band
of five young bucks skinning a beef in our pasture, and nothing but my
presence prevented a clash between my men and the thieves. But it
was near the wild-plum season, and as we were making preparations
to celebrate that event, the killing of a few Indians might cause
distrust, and we dropped out of sight and left them to the enjoyment
of their booty. It was pure policy on my part, as we could shame
or humble the Indian, and if the abuse was not abated, we could
remunerate ourselves by with-holding from the rent money the value of
cattle killed.

Our organization for mutual protection was accepted by our enemies as
a final defiance. A pirate fights as valiantly as if his cause were
just, and, through intermediaries, the gauntlet was thrown back in
our faces and notice served that the conflict had reached a critical
stage. I never discussed the issue direct with members of the clique,
as they looked upon me as the leader in resisting their levy of
tribute, but indirectly their grievances were made known. We were
accused of having taken the bread out of their very mouths, which was
true in a sense, but we had restored it tenfold where it was entitled
to go,--among the Indians. With the exception of an occasional bottle
of whiskey, none of the tribute money went to the tribes, but was
divided among the usurpers. They waxed fat in their calling and were
insolent and determined, while our replies to all overtures looking to
peace were firm and to the point. Even at that late hour I personally
knew that the clique had strength in reserve, and had I enjoyed the
support of my company, would willingly have stood for a compromise.
But it was out of the question to suggest it, and, trusting to the new
administration, we politely told them to crack their whips.

The _fiesta_ which followed the plum gathering was made a notable
occasion. All the cowmen on the reservation had each contributed a
beef to the barbecue, the agent saw to it that all the principal
chiefs of both tribes were present, and after two days of feasting,
the agent made a Quaker talk, insisting that the bond between the
tribes and the cowmen must be observed to the letter. He reviewed at
length the complaints that had reached him of the killing of cattle,
traceable to the young and thoughtless, and pointed out the patience
of the cattlemen in not retaliating, but in spreading a banquet
instead to those who had wronged them. In concluding, he warned them
that the patience of the white man had a limit, and, while they hoped
to live in peace, unless the stealing of beef was stopped immediately,
double the value of the cattle killed would be withheld from the next
payment of grass money. It was in the power of the chiefs present to
demand this observance of faith among their young men, if the bond
to which their signatures were attached was to be respected in the
future. The leading chiefs of both tribes spoke in defense, pleading
their inability to hold their young men in check as long as certain
evil influences were at work among their people. The love of gambling
and strong drink was yearly growing among their men, making them
forget their spoken word, until they were known as thieves and liars.
The remedy lay in removing these evil spirits and trusting the tribes
to punish their own offenders, as the red man knew no laws except his
own.

The festival was well worth while and augured hopefully for the
future. Clouds were hovering on the horizon, however, and, while at
Ogalalla, I received a wire that a complaint had been filed against
us at the national capital, and that the President had instructed the
Lieutenant-General of the Army to make an investigation. Just what the
inquiry was to be was a matter of conjecture; possibly to determine
who was supplying the Indians with whiskey, or probably our friends at
Washington were behind the movement, and the promised shake-up of army
followers in and around Fort Reno was materializing. I attended to
some unsettled business before returning, and, on my arrival at the
reservation, a general alarm was spreading among the cattle interests,
caused by the cock-sure attitude of the usurpers and a few casual
remarks that had been dropped. I was appealed to by my fellow cowmen,
and, in turn, wired our friends at Washington, asking that our
interests be looked after and guarded. Pending a report, General P.H.
Sheridan arrived with a great blare of trumpets at Fort Reno for
the purpose of holding the authorized investigation. The general's
brother, Michael, was the recognized leader of the clique of army
followers, and was interested in the bar concessions under the sutler.
Matters, therefore, took on a serious aspect. All the cowmen on the
reservation came in, expecting to be called before the inquiry, as it
was then clear that a fight must be made to protect our interests. No
opportunity, however, was given the Indians or cattlemen to present
their side of the question, and when a committee of us cowmen called
on General Sheridan we were cordially received and politely informed
that the investigation was private. I believe that forty years have so
tempered the animosities of the Civil War that an honest opinion is
entitled to expression. And with due consideration to the record of a
gallant soldier, I submit the question, Were not the owners of half a
million cattle on the Cheyenne and Arapahoe reservation entitled to a
hearing before a report was made that resulted in an order for their
removal?

I have seen more trouble at a country dance, more bloodshed in a
family feud, than ever existed or was spilled on the Cheyenne and
Arapahoe reservation. The Indians were pleased, the lessees were
satisfied, yet by artfully concealing the true cause of any and all
strife, a report, every word of which was as sweet as the notes of
a flute, was made to the President, recommending the removal of the
cattle. It was found that there had been a gradual encroachment on the
liberties of the tribes; that the rental received from the surplus
pasture lands had a bad tendency on the morals of the Indians,
encouraging them in idleness; and that the present system retarded
all progress in agriculture and the industrial arts. The report was
superficial, religiously concealing the truth, but dealing with broad
generalities. Had the report emanated from some philanthropical
society, it would have passed unnoticed or been commented on as an
advance in the interest of a worthy philanthropy but taken as a whole,
it was a splendid specimen of the use to which words can be put in
concealing the truth and cloaking dishonesty.

An order of removal by the President followed the report. Had we been
subjects of a despotic government and bowed our necks like serfs, the
matter would have ended in immediate compliance with the order. But we
prided ourselves on our liberties as Americans, and an appeal was to
be made to the first citizen of the land, the President of the United
States. A committee of Western men were appointed, which would be
augmented by others at the national capital, and it was proposed to
lay the bare facts in the chief executive's hands and at least ask
for a modification of the order. The latter was ignorant in its
conception, brutal and inhuman in its intent, ending in the threat
to use the military arm of the government, unless the terms and
conditions were complied with within a given space of time. The
Cheyenne and Arapahoe Cattle Company, alone, not to mention the other
members of our association equally affected, had one hundred and
twenty-five thousand head of beeves and through steers on its range,
and unless some relief was granted, a wayfaring man though a fool
could see ruin and death and desolation staring us in the face.
Fortunately Major Hunter had the firm's trail affairs so well in hand
that Edwards could close up the business, thus relieving my active
partner to serve on the committee, he and four others offering to act
in behalf of our association in calling on the President. I was
among the latter, the only one in the delegation from Texas, and we
accordingly made ready and started for Washington.

Meanwhile I had left orders to start the shipping with a vengeance.
The busy season was at hand on the beef ranges, and men were scarce;
but I authorized the foreman to comb the country, send to Dodge if
necessary, and equip ten shipping outfits and keep a constant string
of cattle moving to the markets. We had about sixty-five thousand
single and double wintered beeves, the greater portion of which were
in prime condition; but it was the through cattle that were worrying
me, as they were unfit to ship and it was too late in the season to
relocate them on a new range. But that blessed hope that springs
eternal in the human breast kept us hopeful that the President had
been deceived into issuing his order, and that he would right all
wrongs. The more sanguine ones of the Western delegation had matters
figured down to a fraction; they believed that once the chief
executive understood the true cause of the friction existing on the
reservation, apologies would follow, we should all be asked to remain
for lunch, and in the most democratic manner imaginable everything
would be righted. I had no opinions, but kept anticipating the worst;
for if the order stood unmodified, go we must and in the face of
winter and possibly accompanied by negro troops. To return to Texas
meant to scatter the cattle to the four winds; to move north was to
court death unless an open winter favored us.

On our arrival at Washington, all senators and congressmen
shareholders in our company met us by appointment. It was an inactive
season at the capital, and hopes were entertained that the President
would grant us an audience at once; but a delay of nearly a week
occurred. In the mean time several conferences were held, at which a
general review of the situation was gone over, and it was decided to
modify our demands, asking for nothing personally, only a modification
of the order in the interest of humanity to dumb animals. Before our
arrival, a congressman and two senators, political supporters of
the chief executive, had casually called to pay their respects, and
incidentally inquired into the pending trouble between the cattlemen
and the Cheyenne and Arapahoe Indians. Reports were anything but
encouraging; the well-known obstinacy of the President was admitted;
it was also known that he possessed a rugged courage in pursuance of
an object or purpose. Those who were not in political sympathy with
the party in power characterized the President as an opinionated
executive, and could see little or no hope in a personal appeal.

However, the matter was not to be dropped. The arrival of a deputation
of cattlemen from the West was reported by the press, their purposes
fully, set forth, and in the interim of waiting for an appointment,
all of us made hay with due diligence. Major Hunter and I had a
passing acquaintance at both the War and Interior departments, and
taking along senators and representatives in political sympathy with
the heads of those offices, we called and paid our respects. A number
of old acquaintances were met, hold-overs from the former regime, and
a cordial reception was accorded us. Now that the boom in cattle was
over, we expressed a desire to resume our former business relations
as contractors with the government. At both departments, the existent
trouble on the Indian reservations was well known, and a friendly
inquiry resulted, which gave us an opportunity to explain our position
fully. There was a hopeful awakening to the fact that there had been a
conspiracy to remove us, and the most friendly advances of assistance
were proffered in setting the matter right. Public opinion is a strong
factor, and with the press of the capital airing our grievances daily,
sympathy and encouragement were simply showered down upon us.

Finally an audience with the President was granted. The Western
delegation was increased by senators and representatives until the
committee numbered an even dozen. Many of the latter were personal
friends and ardent supporters of the chief executive. The rangemen
were introduced, and we proceeded at once to the matter at issue. A
congressman from New York stated the situation clearly, not mincing
his words in condemning the means and procedure by which this order
was secured, and finally asking for its revocation, or a modification
that would permit the evacuation of the country without injury to the
owners and their herds. Major Hunter, in replying to a question of the
President, stated our position: that we were in no sense intruders,
that we paid our rental in advance, with the knowledge and sanction of
the two preceding Secretaries of the Interior, and only for lack of
precedent was their indorsement of our leases withheld. It soon became
evident that countermanding the order was out of the question, as
to vacillate or waver in a purpose, right or wrong, was not a
characteristic of the chief executive. Our next move was for a
modification of the order, as its terms required us to evacuate that
fall, and every cowman present accented the fact that to move cattle
in the mouth of winter was an act that no man of experience would
countenance. Every step, the why and wherefore, must be explained to
the President, and at the request of the committee, I went into detail
in making plain what the observations of my life had taught me of the
instincts and habits of cattle,--why in the summer they took to
the hills, mesas, and uplands, where the breezes were cooling and
protected them from insect life; their ability to foretell a storm in
winter and seek shelter in coulees and broken country. I explained
that none of the cattle on the Cheyenne and Arapahoe reservation
were native to that range, but were born anywhere from three to five
hundred miles to the south, fully one half of them having arrived
that spring; that to acquaint an animal with its new range, in cattle
parlance to "locate" them, was very important; that every practical
cowman moved his herds to a new range with the grass in the spring, in
order that ample time should be allowed to acclimate and familiarize
them with such shelters as nature provided to withstand the storms of
winter. In concluding, I stated that if the existent order could be so
modified as to permit all through cattle and those unfit for market
to remain on their present range for the winter, we would cheerfully
evacuate the country with the grass in the spring. If such relief
could be consistently granted, it would no doubt save the lives of
hundreds and thousands of cattle.

The President evidently was embarrassed by the justice of our prayer.
He consulted with members of the committee, protesting that he should
be spared from taking what would be considered a backward step, and
after a stormy conference with intimate friends, lasting fully an
hour, he returned and in these words refused to revoke or modify his
order: "If I had known," said he, "what I know now, I never would have
made the order; but having made it, I will stand by it."

Laying aside all commercial considerations, we had made our entreaty
in behalf of dumb animals, and the President's answer angered a
majority of the committee. I had been rebuked too often in the past
by my associates easily to lose my temper, and I naturally looked at
those whose conscience balked at paying tribute, while my sympathies
were absorbed for the future welfare of a quarter-million cattle
affected by the order. We broke into groups in taking our leave,
and the only protest that escaped any one was when the York State
representative refused the hand of the executive, saying, "Mr.
President, I have my opinion of a man who admits he is wrong and
refuses to right it." Two decades have passed since those words,
rebuking wrong in high places, were uttered, and the speaker has since
passed over to the silent majority. I should feel that these memoirs
were incomplete did I not mention the sacrifice and loss of prestige
that the utterance of these words cost, for they were the severance of
a political friendship that was never renewed.

The autocratic order removing the cattle from the Cheyenne and
Arapahoe reservation was born in iniquity and bore a harvest unequaled
in the annals of inhumanity. With the last harbor of refuge closed
against us, I hastened back and did all that was human to avert the
impending doom, every man and horse available being pressed into
service. Our one hope lay in a mild winter, and if that failed us the
affairs of the company would be closed by the merciless elements. Once
it was known that the original order had not been modified, and
in anticipation of a flood of Western cattle, the markets broke,
entailing a serious commercial loss. Every hoof of single and double
wintered beeves that had a value in the markets was shipped regardless
of price, while I besought friends in the Cherokee Strip for a refuge
for those unfit and our holding of through cattle. Fortunately the
depreciation in live stock and the heavy loss sustained the previous
winter had interfered with stocking the Outlet to its fall capacity,
and by money, prayers, and entreaty I prevailed on range owners and
secured pasturage for seventy-five thousand head. Long before the
shipping season ended I pressed every outfit belonging to the firm on
the Eagle Chief into service, and began moving out the through cattle
to their new range. Squaw winter and snow-squalls struck us on the
trail, but with a time-limit hanging over our heads, and rather than
see our cattle handled by nigger soldiers, we bore our burdens, if not
meekly, at least in a manner consistent with our occupation. I have
always deplored useless profanity, yet it was music to my ears to
hear the men arraign our enemies, high and low, for our present
predicament. When the last beeves were shipped, a final round-up was
made, and we started out with over fifty thousand cattle in charge of
twelve outfits. Storms struck us en route, but we weathered them, and
finally turned the herds loose in the face of a blizzard.

The removed cattle, strangers in a strange land, drifted to the fences
and were cut to the quick by the biting blasts. Early in January the
worst blizzard in the history of the plains swept down from the north,
and the poor wandering cattle were driven to the divides and frozen
to death against the line fences. Of all the appalling sights that an
ordinary lifetime on the range affords, there is nothing to compare
with the suffering and death that were daily witnessed during the
month of January in the winter of 1885-86. I remained on the range,
and left men at winter camps on every pasture in which we had stock,
yet we were powerless to relieve the drifting cattle. The morning
after the great storm, with others, I rode to a south string of fence
on a divide, and found thousands of our cattle huddled against it,
many frozen to death, partially through and hanging on the wire. We
cut the fences in order to allow them to drift on to shelter, but the
legs of many of them were so badly frozen that, when they moved, the
skin cracked open and their hoofs dropped off. Hundreds of young
steers were wandering aimlessly around on hoofless stumps, while their
tails cracked and broke like icicles. In angles and nooks of the
fence, hundreds had perished against the wire, their bodies forming
a scaling ladder, permitting late arrivals to walk over the dead and
dying as they passed on with the fury of the storm. I had been a
soldier and seen sad sights, but nothing to compare to this; the
moaning of the cattle freezing to death would have melted a heart of
adamant. All we could do was to cut the fences and let them drift, for
to halt was to die; and when the storm abated one could have walked
for miles on the bodies of dead animals. No pen could describe the
harrowing details of that winter; and for years afterward, or until
their remains had a commercial value, a wayfarer could have traced
the south-line fences by the bleaching bones that lay in windrows,
glistening in the sun like snowdrifts, to remind us of the closing
chapter in the history of the Cheyenne and Arapahoe Cattle Company.




CHAPTER XXII

IN CONCLUSION


The subsequent history of the ill-fated Cheyenne and Arapahoe Cattle
Company is easily told. Over ninety per cent of the cattle moved under
the President's order were missing at the round-up the following
spring. What few survived were pitiful objects, minus ears and tails,
while their horns, both root and base, were frozen until they drooped
down in unnatural positions. Compared to the previous one, the winter
of 1885-86, with the exception of the great January blizzard, was the
less severe of the two. On the firm's range in the Cherokee Strip our
losses were much lighter than during the previous winter, owing to the
fact that food was plentiful, there being little if any sleet or
snow during the latter year. Had we been permitted to winter in the
Cheyenne and Arapahoe country, considering our sheltered range and
the cattle fully located, ten per cent would have been a conservative
estimate of loss by the elements. As manager of the company I lost
five valuable years and over a quarter-million dollars. Time has
mollified my grievances until now only the thorn of inhumanity to dumb
beasts remains. Contrasted with results, how much more humane it would
have been to have ordered out negro troops from Fort Reno and shot
the cattle down, or to have cut the fences ourselves, and, while our
holdings were drifting back to Texas, trusted to the mercy of the
Comanches.

I now understand perfectly why the business world dreads a political
change in administration. Whatever may have been the policy of one
political party, the reverse becomes the slogan of the other on
its promotion to power. For instance, a few years ago, the general
government offered a bounty on the home product of sugar, stimulating
the industry in Louisiana and also in my adopted State. A change of
administration followed, the bounty was removed, and had not the
insurance companies promptly canceled their risks on sugar mills, the
losses by fire would have been appalling. Politics had never affected
my occupation seriously; in fact I profited richly through the
extravagance and mismanagement of the Reconstruction regime in Texas,
and again met the defeat of my life at the hands of the general
government.

With the demand for trail cattle on the decline, coupled with two
severe winters, the old firm of Hunter, Anthony & Co. was ripe for
dissolution. We had enjoyed the cream of the trade while it lasted,
but conditions were changing, making it necessary to limit and
restrict our business. This was contrary to our policy, though the
spring of 1886 found us on the trail with sixteen herds for the firm
and four from my own ranches, one half of which were under contract.
A dry summer followed, and thousands of weak cattle were lost on the
trail, while ruin and bankruptcy were the portion of a majority of the
drovers. We weathered the drouth on the trail, selling our unplaced
cattle early, and before the beef-shipping season began, our range in
the Outlet, including good will, holding of beeves, saddle horses, and
general improvements, was sold to a Kansas City company, and the old
firm passed out of existence. Meanwhile I had closed up the affairs of
the Cheyenne and Arapahoe Company, returning a small pro rata of the
original investment to shareholders, charging my loss to tuition in
rounding out my education as a cowman.

The productive capacity of my ranches for years past safely tided me
over all financial difficulties. With all outside connections severed,
I was then enabled to give my personal attention to ranching in Texas.
I was fortunate in having capable ranch foremen, for during my almost
continued absence there was a steady growth, together with thorough
management of my mixed cattle. The improved herd, now numbering over
two thousand, was the pride of my operations in live stock, while my
quarter and three-eighths blood steers were in a class by themselves.
We were breeding over a thousand half and three-quarters blood bulls
annually, and constantly importing the best strains to the head of
the improved herd. Results were in evidence, and as long as the trail
lasted, my cattle were ready sellers in the upper range markets. For
the following few years I drove my own growing of steers, usually
contracting them in advance. The days of the trail were numbered; 1889
saw the last herd leave Texas, many of the Northern States having
quarantined against us, and we were afterward compelled to ship by
rail in filling contracts on the upper ranges.

When Kansas quarantined against Texas cattle, Dodge was abandoned as
a range market. The trail moved West, first to Lakin and finally to
Trail City, on the Colorado line. In attempting to pass the former
point with four Pan-Handle herds in the spring of 1888, I ran afoul of
a quarantine convention. The cattle were under contract in Wyoming,
and it was my intention not even to halt the herds, but merely to take
on supplies in passing. But a deputation met us south of the river,
notifying me that the quarantine convention was in session, and
requesting me not to attempt to cross the Arkansas. I explained that
my cattle were from above the dead line in Texas, had heretofore gone
unmolested wherever they wished, and that it was out of my way to turn
west and go up through Colorado. The committee was reasonable, looked
over the lead herd, and saw that I was driving graded cattle, and
finally invited me in to state my case before the convention. I
accompanied the men sent to warn me away, and after considerable
parley I was permitted to address the assembly. In a few brief words
I stated my destination, where I was from, and the quality of cattle
making up my herds, and invited any doubters to accompany me across
the river and look the stock over. Fortunately a number of the
cattlemen in the convention knew me, and I was excused while the
assembly went into executive session to consider my case. Prohibition
was in effect at Lakin, and I was compelled to resort to diplomacy in
order to cross the Arkansas River with my cattle. It was warm, sultry
weather in the valley, and my first idea was to secure a barrel of
bottled beer and send it over to the convention, but the town was dry.
I ransacked all the drug stores, and the nearest approach to
anything that would cheer and stimulate was Hostetter's Bitters. The
prohibition laws were being rigidly enforced, but I signed a "death
warrant" and ordered a case, which the druggist refused me until I
explained that I had four outfits of men with me and that we had
contracted malaria while sleeping on the ground. My excuse won, and
taking the case of bitters on my shoulder, I bore it away to the
nearest livery stable, where I wrote a note, with my compliments, and
sent both by a darkey around to the rear door of the convention hall.

On adjournment for dinner, my case looked hopeless. There was a
strong sentiment against admitting any cattle from Texas, all former
privileges were to be set aside, and the right to quarantine against
any section or state was claimed as a prerogative of a free people.
The convention was patiently listening to all the oratorical talent
present, and my friends held out a slender hope that once the
different speakers had relieved their minds they might feel easier
towards me, and possibly an exception would be made in my case. During
the afternoon session I received frequent reports from the convention,
and on the suggestion of a friend I began to skirmish around for a
second case of bitters. There were only three drug stores in the
town, and as I was ignorant of the law, I naturally went back to the
druggist from whom I secured the first case. To my surprise he refused
to supply my wants, and haughtily informed me that one application a
day was all the law permitted him to sell to any one person. Rebuffed,
I turned to another drug store, and was greeted by the proprietor, who
formerly ran a saloon in Dodge. He recognized me, calling me by name;
and after we had pledged our acquaintance anew behind the prescription
case, I was confidentially informed that I could have his whole house
and welcome, even if the State of Kansas did object and he had to go
to jail. We both regretted that the good old days in the State were
gone, but I sent around another case of bitters and a box of cigars,
and sat down patiently to await results. With no action taken by
the middle of the afternoon, I sent around a third installment of
refreshments, and an hour later called in person at the door of the
convention. The doorkeeper refused to admit me, but I caught his eye,
which was glassy, and received a leery wink, while a bottle of bitters
nestled cosily in the open bosom of his shirt. Hopeful that the signs
were favorable, I apologized and withdrew, but was shortly afterwards
sent for and informed that an exception had been made in my favor, and
that I might cross the river at my will and pleasure. In the interim
of waiting, in case I was successful, I had studied up a little speech
of thanks, and as I arose to express my appreciation, a chorus of
interruptions greeted me: "G' on, Reed! G' on, you d----d old
cow-thief! Git out of town or we'll hang you!"

With the trail a thing of the past, I settled down to the peaceful
pursuits of a ranchman. The fencing of ranges soon became necessary,
the Clear Fork tract being first inclosed, and a few years later
owners of pastures adjoining the Double Mountain ranch wished to
fence, and I fell in with the prevailing custom. On the latter range
I hold title to a little over one million acres, while there are two
hundred sections of school land included in my western pasture, on
which I pay a nominal rental for its use. All my cattle are now
graded, and while no effort is made to mature them, the advent of
cotton-seed oil mills and other sources of demand have always afforded
me an outlet for my increase. I have branded as many as twenty-five
thousand calves in a year, and to this source of income alone I
attribute the foundation of my present fortune. As a source of wealth
the progeny of the cow in my State has proven a perennial harvest,
with little or no effort on the part of the husbandman. Reversing
the military rule of moving against the lines of least resistance,
experience has taught me to follow those where Nature lends its
greatest aid. Mine being strictly a grazing country, by preserving the
native grasses and breeding only the best quality of cattle, I have
always achieved success. I have brought up my boys to observe these
economics of nature, and no plow shall ever mar the surface where
my cows have grazed, generation after generation, to the profit and
satisfaction of their owner. Where once I was a buyer in carload lots
of the best strains of blood in the country, now I am a seller by
hundreds and thousands of head, acclimated and native to the soil. One
man to his trade and another to his merchandise, and the mistakes
of my life justly rebuke me for dallying in paths remote from my
legitimate calling.

There is a close relationship between a cowman and his herds. My
insight into cattle character exceeds my observation of the human
family. Therefore I wish to confess my great love for the cattle of
the fields. When hungry or cold, sick or distressed, they express
themselves intelligently to my understanding, and when dangers of
night and storm and stampede threaten their peace and serenity, they
instinctively turn to the refuge of a human voice. When a herd was
bedded at night, and wolves howled in the distance, the boys on guard
easily calmed the sleeping cattle by simply raising their voices in
song. The desire of self-preservation is innate in the animal race,
but as long as the human kept watch and ward, the sleeping cattle had
no fear of the common enemy. An incident which I cannot explain, but
was witness to, occurred during the war. While holding cattle for the
Confederate army we received a consignment of beeves from Texas. One
of the men who accompanied the herd through called my attention to a
steer and vouchsafed the statement that the animal loved music,--that
he could be lured out of the herd with singing. To prove his
assertion, the man sang what he termed the steer's favorite, and to
the surprise of every soldier present, a fine, big mottled beef walked
out from among a thousand others and stood entranced over the simple
song. In my younger days my voice was considered musical; I could sing
the folk-songs of my country better than the average, and when
the herdsmen left us, I was pleased to see that my vocal efforts
fascinated the late arrival from Texas. Within a week I could call him
out with a song, when I fell so deeply in love with the broad-horn
Texan that his life was spared through my disloyalty. In the daily
issue to the army we kept him back as long as possible; but when our
supply was exhausted, and he would have gone to the shambles the
following day, I secretly cut him out at night and drove him miles to
our rear, that his life might be spared. Within a year he returned
with another consignment of beef; comrades who were in the secret
would not believe me; but when a quartette of us army herders sang
"Rock of Ages," the steer walked out and greeted us with mute
appreciation. We enjoyed his company for over a month, I could call
him with a song as far as my voice reached, and when death again
threatened him, we cut him to the rear and he was never spoken again.
Loyal as I was to the South, I would have deserted rather than have
seen that steer go to the shambles.

In bringing these reminiscences to a close, I wish to bear testimony
in behalf of the men who lent their best existence that success
should crown my efforts. Aside from my family, the two pleasantest
recollections of my life are my old army comrades and the boys who
worked with me on the range and trail. When men have roughed it
together, shared their hardships in field and by camp-fire like true
comrades, there is an indescribable bond between them that puts to
shame any pretense of fraternal brotherhood. Among the hundreds, yes,
the thousands, of men who worked for our old firm on the trail, all
feel a pride in referring to former associations. I never leave home
without meeting men, scattered everywhere, many of them prosperous,
who come to me and say, "Of course you don't remember me, but I made
a trip over the trail with your cattle,--from San Saba County in '77.
Jake de Poyster was foreman. By the way, is your old partner, the
little Yankee major, still living?" The acquaintance, thus renewed by
chance, was always a good excuse for neglecting any business, and many
a happy hour have I spent, living over again with one of my old boys
the experiences of the past.

I want to say a parting word in behalf of the men of my occupation.
Sterling honesty was their chief virtue. A drover with an established
reputation could enter any trail town a month in advance of the
arrival of his cattle, and any merchant or banker would extend him
credit on his spoken word. When the trail passed and the romance of
the West was over, these same men were in demand as directors of
banks or custodians of trust funds. They were simple as truth itself,
possessing a rugged sense of justice that seemed to guide and direct
their lives. On one occasion a few years ago, I unexpectedly dropped
down from my Double Mountain ranch to an old cow town on the railroad.
It was our regular business point, and I kept a small bank account
there for current ranch expenses. As it happened, I needed some money,
but on reaching the village found the banks closed, as it was Labor
Day. Casually meeting an old cowman who was a director in the bank
with which I did business, I pretended to take him to task over my
disappointment, and wound up my arraignment by asking, "What kind of a
jim-crow bank are you running, anyhow?"

"Well, now, Reed," said he in apology, "I really don't know why the
bank should close to-day, but there must be some reason for it. I
don't pay much attention to those things, but there's our cashier and
bookkeeper,--you know Hank and Bill,--the boys in charge of the bank.
Well, they get together every once in a while and close her up for
a day. I don't know why they do it, but those old boys have read
history, and you can just gamble your last cow that there's good
reasons for closing."

The fraternal bond between rangemen recalls the sad end of one of my
old trail bosses. The foreman in question was a faithful man, working
for the firm during its existence and afterwards in my employ. I would
have trusted my fortune to his keeping, my family thought the world
of him, and many was the time that he risked his life to protect my
interests. When my wife overlooks the shortcomings of a man, it is
safe to say there is something redeemable in him, even though the
offense is drinking. At idle times and with convivial company, this
man would drink to excess, and when he was in his cups a spirit of
harmless mischief was rampant in him, alternating with uncontrollable
flashes of anger. Though he was usually as innocent as a kitten, it
was a deadly insult to refuse drinking with him, and one day he shot a
circle of holes around a stranger's feet for declining an invitation.
A complaint was lodged against him, and the sheriff, not knowing the
man, thoughtlessly sent a Mexican deputy to make the arrest. Even
then, had ordinary courtesy been extended, the unfortunate occurrence
might have been avoided. But an undue officiousness on the part of the
officer angered the old trail boss, who flashed into a rage, defying
the deputy, and an exchange of shots ensued. The Mexican was killed at
the first fire, and my man mounted his horse unmolested, and returned
to the ranch. I was absent at the time, but my wife advised him to go
in and surrender to the proper authorities, and he obeyed her like a
child.

We all looked upon him as one of the family, and I employed the best
of counsel. The circumstances were against him, however, and in
spite of an able defense he received a sentence of ten years. No one
questioned the justice of the verdict, the law must be upheld, and the
poor fellow was taken to the penitentiary to serve out the sentence.
My wife and I concealed the facts from the younger children, who were
constantly inquiring after his return, especially my younger girls,
with whom he was a great favorite. The incident was worse than a
funeral; it would not die out, as never a day passed but inquiry was
made after the missing man; the children dreamed about him, and awoke
from their sleep to ask if he had come and if he had brought them
anything. The matter finally affected my wife's nerves, the older boys
knew the truth, and the younger children were becoming suspicious of
the veracity of their parents. The truth was gradually leaking out,
and after he had served a year in prison, I began a movement with the
view of securing his pardon. My influence in state politics was
always more or less courted, and appealing to my friends, I drew up
a petition, which was signed by every prominent politician in that
section, asking that executive clemency be extended in behalf of my
old foreman. The governor was a good friend of mine, anxious to
render me a service, and through his influence we managed to have the
sentence so reduced that after serving two years the prisoner was
freed and returned to the ranch. He was the same lovable character,
tolerated by my wife and fondled by the children, and he refused to
leave home for over a year. Ever cautious to remove temptation from
him, both my wife and I hoped that the lesson would last him through
life, but in an unguarded hour he took to drink, and shot to death his
dearest friend.

For the second offense he received a life sentence. My regret over
securing his pardon, and the subsequent loss of human life, affected
me as no other event has ever done in my career. This man would have
died for me or one of mine, and what I thought to be a generous act to
a man in prison proved a curse that haunted me for many years. But all
is well now between us. I make it a point to visit him at least once a
year; we have talked the matter over and have come to the conclusion
that the law is just and that he must remain in confinement the
remainder of his days. That is now the compact, and, strange to say,
both of us derive a sense of security and peace from our covenant such
as we had never enjoyed during the year of his liberty. The wardens
inform me that he is a model prisoner, perfectly content in his
restraint; and I have promised him that on his death, whether it
occurs before or after mine, his remains will be brought back to the
home ranch and be given a quiet grave in some secluded spot.

For any success that I may have achieved, due acknowledgment must be
given my helpmate. I was blessed with a wife such as falls to the lot
of few men. Once children were born to our union and a hearthstone
established, the family became the magnet of my life. It mattered not
where my occupation carried me, or how long my absence from home, the
lodestar of a wife and family was a sustaining help. Our first cabin,
long since reduced to ashes, lives in my memory as a palace. I was
absent at the time of its burning, but my wife's father always enjoyed
telling the story on his daughter. The elder Edwards was branding
calves some five miles distant from the home ranch, but on sighting
the signal smoke of the burning house, he and his outfit turned the
cattle loose, mounted their horses, and rode to the rescue at a
break-neck pace. When they reached the scene our home was enveloped in
flames, and there was no prospect of saving any of its contents. The
house stood some distance from the other ranch buildings, and as there
was no danger of the fire spreading, there was nothing that could be
done and the flames held undisputed sway. The cause of the fire was
unknown, my wife being at her father's house at the time; but on
discovering the flames, she picked up the baby and ran to the burning
cabin, entered it and rescued the little tin trunk that held her
girlhood trinkets and a thousand certificates of questionable land
scrip. When the men dashed up, my wife was sitting on the tin trunk,
surrounded by the children, all crying piteously, fully unconscious
of the fact that she had saved the foundation of my present landed
holdings. The cabin had cost two weeks' labor to build, its
contents were worthless, but I had no record of the numbers of the
certificates, and to my wife's presence of mind or intuition in
an emergency all credit is given for saving the land scrip. Many
daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. The
compiling of these memoirs has been a pleasant task. In this
summing-up of my active life, much has been omitted; and then again,
there seems to have been a hopeless repetition with the recurring
years, for seedtime and harvest come to us all as the seasons roll
round. Four of my boys have wandered far afield, forging out for
themselves, not content to remain under the restraint of older
brothers who have assumed the active management of my ranches. One bad
general is still better than two good ones, and there must be a head
to a ranch if it is to be made a success. I still keep an eye over
things, but the rough, hard work now falls on younger shoulders, and I
find myself delegated to amuse and be amused by the third generation