IX. THE SCHOOL OF EXPERIENCE

by Andy Adams

　　THE SCHOOL OF EXPERIENCESuccess had made me daring. And yet I must have been wanderingaimlessly, for had my ambition been well directed, there is no tellingto what extent I might have amassed a fortune. Opportunity wasknocking at my gate, a giant young commonwealth was struggling in thethroes of political revolution, while I wandered through it all likea blind man led by a child. Precedent was of little value, as presentenvironment controlled my actions. The best people in Texas weredoubtful of ever ridding themselves of the baneful incubus ofReconstruction. Men on whose judgment I relied laughed at me foracquiring more land than a mere homestead. Stock cattle were in suchdisrepute that they had no cash value. Many a section of deeded landchanged owners for a milk cow, while surveyors would no longer locatenew lands for the customary third, but insisted on a half interest.Ranchmen were so indifferent that many never went off their home rangein branding the calf crop, not considering a ten or twenty percent loss of any importance. Yet through it all--from my Virginiarearing--there lurked a wavering belief that some day, in some manner,these lands and cattle would have a value. But my faith was neitherthe bold nor the assertive kind, and I drifted along, clinging to anypassing straw of opinion.The Indians were still giving trouble along the Texas frontier. A lineof government posts, extending from Red River on the north to the RioGrande on the south, made a pretense of holding the Comanches andtheir allies in check, while this arm of the service was ably secondedby the Texas Rangers. Yet in spite of all precaution, the redskinsraided the settlements at their pleasure, stealing horses and addingrapine and murder to their category of crimes. Hence for a number ofyears after my marriage we lived at the Edwards ranch as a matter ofprecaution against Indian raids. I was absent from home so much thatthis arrangement suited me, and as the new ranch was distant but aday's ride, any inconvenience was more than recompensed in security.It was my intention to follow the trail and trading, at the same timerunning a ranch where anything unfit for market might be sent tomature or increase. As long as I could add to my working capital, Iwas content, while the remnants of my speculations found a refuge onthe Clear Fork.During the winter of 1871-72 very little of importance transpired.Several social letters passed between Major Mabry and myself, in oneof which he casually mentioned the fact that land scrip had declineduntil it was offered on the streets of the capital as low as twentydollars a section. He knew I had been dabbling in land certificates,and in a friendly spirit wanted to post me on their decline, and hadincidentally mentioned the fact for my information. Some inklingof horse sense told me that I ought to secure more land, and afterthinking the matter over, I wrote to a merchant in Austin, and had himbuy me one hundred sections. He was very anxious to purchase a secondhundred at the same figure, but it would make too serious an inroadinto my trading capital, and I declined his friendly assistance. Mywife was the only person whom I took into confidence in buying thescrip, and I even had her secrete it in the bottom of a trunk, withstrict admonitions never to mention it unless it became of value. Itwas not taxable, the public domain was bountiful, and I was youngenough man those days to bide my time.The winter proved a severe one in Kansas. Nearly every drover whowintered his cattle in the north met with almost complete loss. Theprevious summer had been too wet for cattle to do well, and theyhad gone into winter thin in flesh. Instead of curing like hay, thebuffalo grass had rotted from excessive rains, losing its nutritivequalities, and this resulted in serious loss among all range cattle.The result was financial ruin to many drovers, and even augured alighter drive north the coming spring. Early in the winter I boughttwo brands of cattle in Erath County, paying half cash and getting sixmonths' time on the remainder. Both brands occupied the same range,and when we gathered them in the early spring, they counted out afew over six thousand animals. These two contingents were extra goodcattle, costing me five dollars a head, counting yearlings up, andfrom them I selected two thousand steer cattle for the trail. Themixed stuff was again sent to my Clear Fork ranch, and the steers wentinto a neighborhood herd intended for the Kansas market. But when thelatter was all ready to start, such discouraging reports came downfrom the north that my friends weakened, and I bought their cattleoutright.My reputation as a good trader was my capital. I had the necessaryhorses, and, straining my credit, the herd started thirty-one hundredstrong. The usual incidents of flood and storm, of begging Indiansand caravans like ourselves, formed the chronicle of the trip. Beforearriving at the Kansas line we were met by solicitors of rival towns,each urging the advantages of their respective markets for our cattle.The summer before a small business had sprung up at Newton, Kansas, itbeing then the terminal of the Santa Fé Railway. And although Newtonlasted as a trail town but a single summer, its reputation forbloodshed and riotous disorder stands notoriously alone among itsrivals. In the mean time the Santa Fé had been extended to Wichita onthe Arkansas River, and its representatives were now bidding for ourpatronage. Abilene was abandoned, yet a rival to Wichita had sprung upat Ellsworth, some sixty-five miles west of the former market, on theKansas Pacific Railway. The railroads were competing for the cattletraffic, each one advertising its superior advantages to drovers,shippers, and feeders. I was impartial, but as Wichita was fully onehundred miles the nearest, my cattle were turned for that point.Wichita was a frontier village of about two thousand inhabitants. Wefound a convenient camp northwest of town, and went into permanentquarters to await the opening of the market. Within a few weeksa light drive was assured, and prices opened firm. Fully aquarter-million less cattle would reach the markets within the Statethat year, and buyers became active in securing their needed supply.Early in July I sold the last of my herd and started my outfit home,remaining behind to await the arrival of my brother. The trip wassuccessful; the purchased cattle had afforded me a nice profit, whilethe steers from the two brands had more than paid for the mixed stuffleft at home on the ranch. Meanwhile I renewed old acquaintances amongdrovers and dealers, Major Mabry among the former. In a confidentialmood I confessed to him that I had bought, on the recent decline, onehundred certificates of land scrip, when he surprised me by sayingthat there had been a later decline to sixteen dollars a section. Iwas unnerved for an instant, but Major Mabry agreed with me that to aman who wanted the land the price was certainly cheap enough,--twoand a half cents an acre. I pondered over the matter, and as my nervereturned I sent my merchant friend at Austin a draft and authorizedhim to buy me two hundred sections more of land scrip. I was actuallynettled to think that my judgment was so short-sighted as to buyanything that would depreciate in value.My brother arrived and reported splendid success in feeding Coloradocattle. He was anxious to have me join forces with him and corn-feedan increased number of beeves the coming winter on his Missouri farm.My judgment hardly approved of the venture, but when he urged apromised visit of our parents to his home, I consented and agreedto furnish the cattle. He also encouraged me to bring as many as mycapital would admit of, assuring me that I would find a ready sale forany surplus among his neighbors. My brother returned to Missouri, andI took the train for Ellsworth, where I bought a carload of pickedcow-horses, shipping them to Kit Carson, Colorado. From there Idrifted into the Fountain valley at the base of the mountains, whereI made a trade for seven hundred native steers, three and four yearsold. They were fine cattle, nearly all reds and roans. While I wasgathering them a number of amusing incidents occurred. The round-upscarried us down on to the main Arkansas River, and in passing Pueblowe discovered a number of range cattle impounded in the town. I cannotgive it as a fact, but the supposition among the cowmen was that theobject of the officials was to raise some revenue by distressing thecattle. The result was that an outfit of men rode into the villageduring the night, tore down the pound, and turned the cattle back onthe prairie. The prime movers in the raid were suspected, and the nextevening when a number of us rode into town an attempt was made toarrest us, resulting in a fight, in which an officer was killed andtwo cowboys wounded. The citizens rallied to the support of theofficers, and about thirty range men, including myself, were arrestedand thrown into jail. We sent for a lawyer, and the following morningthe majority of us were acquitted. Some three or four of the boys wereheld for trial, bonds being furnished by the best men in the town, andthat night a party of cowboys reëntered the village, carried away thetwo wounded men and spirited them out of the country.Pueblo at that time was a unique town. Live-stock interests were itsmain support, and I distinctly remember Gann's outfitting store. Atnight one could find anywhere from ten to thirty cowboys sleeping onthe counters, the proprietor turning the keys over to them at closingtime, not knowing one in ten, and sleeping at his own residence. Thesame custom prevailed at Gallup the saddler's, never an article beingmissed from either establishment, and both men amassing fortunes outof the cattle trade in subsequent years. The range man's patronage hadits peculiarities; the firm of Wright, Beverly & Co. of Dodge City,Kansas, accumulated seven thousand odd vests during the trail days.When a cow-puncher bought a new suit he had no use for an unnecessarygarment like a vest and left it behind. It was restored to the stock,where it can yet be found.Early in August the herd was completed. I accepted seven hundred andtwenty steers, investing every cent of spare money, reserving onlysufficient to pay my expenses en route. It was my intention to drivethe cattle through to Missouri, the distance being a trifle less thansix hundred miles or a matter of six weeks' travel. Four men weresecured, a horse was packed with provisions and blankets, and westarted down the Arkansas River. For the first few days I did verylittle but build air castles. I pictured myself driving herds fromTexas in the spring, reinvesting the proceeds in better grades ofcattle and feeding them corn in the older States, selling in time toagain buy and come up the trail. I even planned to send for my wifeand baby, and looked forward to a happy reunion with my parents duringthe coming winter, with not a cloud in my roseate sky. But there werebreakers ahead.An old military trail ran southeast from Fort Larned to other posts inthe Indian Territory. Over this government road had come a number ofherds of Texas cattle, all of them under contract, which, in reachingtheir destination, had avoided the markets of Wichita and Ellsworth.I crossed their trail with my Colorado natives,--the through cattlehaving passed a month or more before,--never dreaming of any danger.Ten days afterward I noticed a number of my steers were ailing; theirears drooped, they refused to eat, and fell to the rear as we grazedforward. The next morning there were forty head unable to leave thebed-ground, and by noon a number of them had died. I had heard ofTexas fever, but always treated it as more or less a myth, and nowit held my little herd of natives in its toils. By this time we hadreached some settlement on the Cottonwood, and the pioneer settlers inKansas arose in arms and quarantined me. No one knew what the troublewas, yet the cattle began dying like sheep; I was perfectly helpless,not knowing which way to turn or what to do. Quarantine wasunnecessary, as within a few days half the cattle were sick, and itwas all we could do to move away from the stench of the dead ones.A veterinary was sent for, who pronounced it Texas fever. I hadpreviously cut open a number of dead animals, and found the contentsof their stomachs and manifolds so dry that they would flash and burnlike powder. The fever had dried up their very internals. In the hopeof administering a purgative, I bought whole fields of green corn,and turned the sick and dying cattle into them. I bought oils by thebarrel, my men and myself worked night and day, inwardly drenchingaffected animals, yet we were unable to stay the ravages of death.Once the cause of the trouble was located,--crossing ground overwhich Texas cattle had passed,--the neighbors became friendly, andsympathized with me. I gave them permission to take the fallen hides,and in return received many kindnesses where a few days before I hadbeen confronted by shotguns. This was my first experience with Texasfever, and the lessons that I learned then and afterward make meskeptical of all theories regarding the transmission of the germ.The story of the loss of my Colorado herd is a ghastly one. This feveris sometimes called splenic, and in the present case, where animalslingered a week or ten days, while yet alive, their skins frequentlycracked along the spine until one could have laid two fingers in theopening. The whole herd was stricken, less than half a dozen animalsescaping attack, scores dying within three days, the majoritylingering a week or more. In spite of our every effort to save them,as many as one hundred died in a single day. I stayed with them forsix weeks, or until the fever had run through the herd, spent my lastavailable dollar in an effort to save the dumb beasts, and, having myhopes frustrated, sold the remnant of twenty-six head for five dollarsapiece. I question if they were worth the money, as three fourths ofthem were fever-burnt and would barely survive a winter, the onlyanimals of value being some half dozen which had escaped the generalplague. I gave each of my men two horses apiece, and divided my moneywith them, and they started back to Colorado, while I turned homewarda wiser but poorer man. Whereas I had left Wichita three monthsbefore with over sixteen thousand dollars clear cash, I returned witheighteen saddle horses and not as many dollars in money.My air-castles had fallen. Troubles never come singly, and for thelast two weeks, while working with the dying cattle, I had sufferedwith chills and fever. The summer had been an unusually wet one,vegetation had grown up rankly in the valley of the Arkansas, andafter the first few frosts the very atmosphere reeked with malaria.I had been sleeping on the ground along the river for over a month,drinking impure water from the creeks, and I fell an easy victim tothe prevailing miasma. Nearly all the Texas drovers had gone home,but, luckily for me, Jim Daugherty had an outfit yet at Wichita andinvited me to his wagon. It might be a week or ten days before hewould start homeward, as he was holding a herd of cows, sold to anIndian contractor, who was to receive the same within two weeks. Inthe interim of waiting, still suffering from fever and ague, I visitedaround among the few other cow-camps scattered up and down the river.At one of these I met a stranger, a quiet little man, who also hadbeen under the weather from malaria, but was then recovering. He tookan interest in my case and gave me some medicine to break the chills,and we visited back and forth. I soon learned that he had come downwith some of his neighbors from Council Grove; that they expectedto buy cattle, and that he was banker for the party. He was muchinterested in everything pertaining to Texas; and when I had given himan idea of the cheapness of lands and live stock in my adopted State,he expressed himself as anxious to engage in trailing cattle north. Agreat many Texas cattle had been matured in his home county, and hethoroughly understood the advantages of developing southern steers ina northern climate. Many of his neighbors had made small fortunesin buying young stock at Abilene, holding them a year or two, andshipping them to market as fat cattle.The party bought six hundred two-year-old steers, and my new-foundfriend, the banker, invited me to assist in the receiving. Myknowledge of range cattle was a decided advantage to the buyers, whono doubt were good farmers, yet were sadly handicapped when given pickand choice from a Texas herd and confined to ages. I cut, counted, andreceived the steers, my work giving such satisfaction that the partyoffered to pay me for my services. It was but a neighborly act,unworthy of recompense, yet I won the lasting regard of the bankerin protecting the interests of his customers. The upshot of theacquaintance was that we met in town that evening and had a few drinkstogether. Neither one ever made any inquiry of the other's pastor antecedents, both seeming to be satisfied with a soldier'sacquaintance. At the final parting, I gave him my name and address andinvited him to visit me, promising that we would buy a herd of cattletogether and drive them up the trail the following spring. He acceptedthe invitation with a hearty grasp of the hand, and the simple promise"I'll come." Those words were the beginning of a partnership whichlasted eighteen years, and a friendship that death alone willterminate.The Indian contractor returned on time, and the next day I startedhome with Daugherty's outfit. And on the way, as if I were pursued bysome unrelenting Nemesis, two of my horses, with others, were stolenby the Indians one night when we were encamped near Red River. Wetrailed them westward nearly fifty miles, but, on being satisfied theywere traveling night and day, turned back and continued our journey. Ireached home with sixteen horses, which for years afterwards, amongmy hands and neighbors, were pointed out as Anthony's thousand-dollarcow-ponies. There is no denying the fact that I keenly felt theloss of my money, as it crippled me in my business, while my ranchexpenses, amounting to over one thousand dollars, were unpaid. I wasrich in unsalable cattle, owned a thirty-two-thousand-acre ranch,saddle horses galore, and was in debt. My wife's trunk was half fullof land scrip, and to have admitted the fact would only have invitedridicule. But my tuition was paid, and all I asked was a chance, for Iknew the ropes in handling range cattle. Yet this was the second timethat I had lost my money and I began to doubt myself. "You stick tocows," said Charlie Goodnight to me that winter, "and they'll bringyou out on top some day. I thought I saw something in you when youfirst went to work for Loving and me. Reed, if you'll just imbibe alittle caution with your energy, you'll make a fortune out of cattleyet."