CHAPTER III
LIFE ON THE FRONTIER
The
spring, summer and fall were passed constructing the necessary
buildings, getting together provender, and scouring with "By'' the
western part of the State for stock as a starter. The fellow who made
the statement that horseback riding was the best outdoor exercise of
all, hit the bull's-eye plumb in the center. The pale, sickly law
student from 49 Nassau Street, commenced to put on color. "By" was
constantly giving me pointers on the stock business. Gathering up
steers here and there, and then trying to drive the bunch with every
one of them wanting to bolt back home, keeps a fellow sliding on the
saddle. For my health while in New York City I attended John Wood's
gymnasium on Twenty-eighth Street, and rode horseback through Central
Park; but trying to head a steer on the prairies of the West, for
healthful exercise, takes the blue ribbon over all the gymnasiums and
bridle paths in the universe. I will never forget the day that "By" and
I were driving a bunch of stock, and he called my attention to a
particular steer who kept craning his neck and looking back. ''By" told
me that fellow would bolt before long, and when he did he would take
after him and wind him, and I was to try and hold the rest of the
lierd. Shortly, with tail in the air, the animal whirled and bolted
back over the prairie and disappeared over a hill with "By" after him
with his stock whip circling in the air. I had little difficulty
holding the herd, as they were hnngry and commenced fceding. I rode to
the top of the nearest hill to get a view of the process of winding a
steer. Every once in a while among the hills I would catch a sight of
"By" and the steer and could hear the stock whip as it snapped pieces
of hide from the animal's back. In about half an hour I saw the animal
coming back with '"By" riding leisurely in the rear. The animal's
tongue was hanging out about a foot. As we started the herd along,
"By's" friend took the lead, and seemed willing to admit that the man
on horseback is a dangerous proposition.
One of the first acquaintances I formed in the West, of the animal
kingdom, was the prairie wolf or coyote.
The wolf has a few ideas worth taking note of. His den is a hole in the
ground, but dug in such a way that neither the elements nor his enemies
can get at him. He usually selects a side hill and digs a hole down
about eight feet at an angle of forty-five degrees and then goes up
about two feet and excavates the den. Here the little wolves are born,
but there is no ''little window where the sun comes peeping in at
morn." When the rain comes it runs down the incline and at the bottom
soaks away, but the den is high and dry, showing the wolf had a great
head. If anything crawled down the hole, when it struck the angle the
wolf would be above it, and it is generally the case in this world that
the fellow who is on top when the row begins has the advantage, and the
wolf family seem to be aware of that fact and build their habitations
accordingly.
My dog Texas and the wolves were great friends. Often about daybreak we
would see the dog playing with the wolves along the Pigeon. One old
wolf, in particular, and Texas deemed to be the best of friends; the
wolf would chase the dog down the river bottom, and then "Old Tex," in
turn, would chase the wolf, and then they would rear up and clinch.
Thus would the wild and the tame meet on the level and act on the
square. All "nature fakirs" agree that animals of similar species
communicate with each other. I often wondered, as I saw "Tex'' and the
wolf momentarily resting from the fatigue of the play, with their noses
together, wliat they were saying. That is beyond the imagination to
fathom, and what would I not have given to have had my curiosity
satisfied!
The saying "keep the wolf from the door" does not refer to the prairie
species, for if there was ever a coward it is the prairie wolf. He
never had sand enough to go near anybody's house, let alone the door,
so if the bank account of any reader of this little yolume is nearing
the zero mark and he sees a wolf heave in sight, he need not worry if
it is of the prairie species.
Every animal has a means of defense, and the Supreme Being when he made
a prairie wolf knew he was making a quitter, so he gaye him the most
unearthly yell of all the four-footed animals. If you didn't know there was a coward back of that
yell you might feel a little neryous. Shakespeare must haye had the
prairie wolf in yiew when he coined the phrase, ^'Sound and fury signify nothing." If any college
could get on to that yell, the others would certainly throw up the
sponge. The prairie wolyes generally trayel in pairs. They haye the habit at night of sitting on different
hills and yelling wireless messages to each other, and, as the
unearthly noise echoes and reechoes among the hills, it is anything but
a pleasant lullaby. The only time they show any grit is when they are
in a pack and half famished. I neyer knew of their killing a human
being, but I don't know what might have happened to a mail-carrier on
one occasion if some of my men and I had not dropped around at an
opportune time.
Before the days of the railroads the mail was carried across Iowa by
relays. A relay was from one county seat to that of an adjoining one.
The mail route between Harlan in Shelby County and Magnolia in Harrison
County, a distance of fifty miles, passed through my land
of the Valley of the Pigeon, Sttanton's ranch]. I was a little out of
the direct line, but on account of a shallow ford across the Pigeon
River, which ran through my place, the mail route made a slight detour.
My place was about half way between Harlan and Magnolia, and the
mail-carriers generally stopped with me for dinner, and I was glad they
did, as they brought "the latest news from the front." The
mail-carrier's outfit consisted of a horse and a buckboard. They
generallu carried a half dozen pouches. Everybody in those days went
armed, as bands of Indians occasionally circled around, and horse and
cattle thieves were on the lookout to catch you napping. Colt's
revolvers were the means of defense.
One day when the carrier was due from the East, I was out with some of
the boys in search of a couple of two-yearolds we hadn't seen with the
herd for several days. We were leisurely loping along when off to the
east on a divide about a mile away we saw the mail-carrier with his
horse on the jump followed by a pack of wolves. We saw him throw
something overboard, which stopped the pack for a minute or two. It was
a mail bag. We started in full gallop for the ford, and as we came up
the bank we saw the mail-carrier coming at breakneck speed down a long hollow leading
to the ford, with the pack at his heels. It was lucky for him that his
horse had good wind and was sure-footed, or it might have been a case for the coroner, although I
believe if the fellow had stood his ground he might have scared them
off. Where he made a mistake was that all he carried as a means of defense was an old horse-pistol.
We fired our revolvers as we rode up the hollow, hoping to attract the
attention of the wolves, which it seemed we did, for they slackened their pace and as we came up they
slunk away.
The horse was all foam and the carrier as white as a sheet. I helped
him to the ranch, sending the boys back on the trail to gather up the
scattered mail. That night the carrier told us he wouldn't cross that
prairie again for the proceeds of all the star routes in the State.
And, sure enough, that was his last trip. I didn't blame him, as it was
a lonely twenty-five miles, without a habitation. He must have told the
man who took his job of his experience, for when the new mail-carrier
arrived his outfit looked like a battleship. He had guns and ammunition
enough to kill all the wolves in the State.
The fellow the wolves took after, told us the only thing that saved his
life was that about a mile back from where we saw him he shot one of
the wolves and the pack stopped to eat it up. It does seem that the
saying ''dog eat dog" is ever being enacted. One would think that kind
would protect kind, but it is not always so with wild animals, or
domestic, for that matter. Take even the poultry yard. Any breeder of
poultry knows that if one of the birds gets sick or injured, the others
pounce upon him. How carefully the cow moose has to secrete the
new-born from the murderous bull. The peacock who struts as the
beautiful personified not only breaks up the nest and destroys the eggs
but kills the little ones. Humanitv for the moment stands aghast at
such horrors, but how about this same humanity? Does the husband always
rejoice at the embryo and welcome the helpless one as it starts on the journey of life? How
does the society lady treat her fallen sister? What do the men do to
their former business associate as he starts down the toboggan? Yet we pose as teachers of the heathen!
Every good story having a Western brand was during the war repeated by
the friends and enemies of Prcsident Lincoln as ''Old Abe's last.'' One
of the stories appropriated as one of Abe's actually originated in the
court house at Harlan, Shelby county, Iowa, and a lawyer by the name of
Joe Smith was the originator.
As already stated, my place on the Pigeon was about half way between
the county seats of Shelby and Harrison Counties. I often entertained
the court and bar as they passcnl from one county seat to the
other. They were a witty and bright lot of fellows, but poor in purse.
Their clothes had seen long service and represented all the styles
before the war. Joe was a great wit, and, unfortunately, always broke. Once while attending
court at Harlan and while waiting for his own case to be called, he got
quite interested in the case which was being tried. The seat of the
trousers of one of the attorneys who was trying the case was worn
through, and as he wore a sack coat and while addressing the jury would
lean forward, one could see through the hole in the trousers the white
shirt within. A philanthropic brother attorney had drawn up a
subscription paper and passed it around among the lawyers for
signature, the purport of which was to buy the brother attorney a new
pair of trousers. Seventy-five cents in those days would have
accomplished the mission. When it came Smith's turn to sign, he, being
broke as usual, wrote the following endorsement on the subscription
paper: "On account of my financial condition I am unable to contribute anything toward the
object in view."
Chapter 2 -- Chapter 4
