XXII. IN CONCLUSION

by Andy Adams

　　IN CONCLUSIONThe subsequent history of the ill-fated Cheyenne and Arapahoe CattleCompany is easily told. Over ninety per cent of the cattle moved underthe President's order were missing at the round-up the followingspring. What few survived were pitiful objects, minus ears and tails,while their horns, both root and base, were frozen until they droopeddown in unnatural positions. Compared to the previous one, the winterof 1885-86, with the exception of the great January blizzard, was theless severe of the two. On the firm's range in the Cherokee Strip ourlosses were much lighter than during the previous winter, owing to thefact that food was plentiful, there being little if any sleet orsnow during the latter year. Had we been permitted to winter in theCheyenne and Arapahoe country, considering our sheltered range andthe cattle fully located, ten per cent would have been a conservativeestimate of loss by the elements. As manager of the company I lostfive valuable years and over a quarter-million dollars. Time hasmollified my grievances until now only the thorn of inhumanity to dumbbeasts remains. Contrasted with results, how much more humane it wouldhave been to have ordered out negro troops from Fort Reno and shotthe cattle down, or to have cut the fences ourselves, and, while ourholdings were drifting back to Texas, trusted to the mercy of theComanches.I now understand perfectly why the business world dreads a politicalchange in administration. Whatever may have been the policy of onepolitical party, the reverse becomes the slogan of the other onits promotion to power. For instance, a few years ago, the generalgovernment offered a bounty on the home product of sugar, stimulatingthe industry in Louisiana and also in my adopted State. A change ofadministration followed, the bounty was removed, and had not theinsurance companies promptly canceled their risks on sugar mills, thelosses by fire would have been appalling. Politics had never affectedmy occupation seriously; in fact I profited richly through theextravagance and mismanagement of the Reconstruction régime in Texas,and again met the defeat of my life at the hands of the generalgovernment.With the demand for trail cattle on the decline, coupled with twosevere winters, the old firm of Hunter, Anthony & Co. was ripe fordissolution. We had enjoyed the cream of the trade while it lasted,but conditions were changing, making it necessary to limit andrestrict our business. This was contrary to our policy, though thespring of 1886 found us on the trail with sixteen herds for the firmand four from my own ranches, one half of which were under contract.A dry summer followed, and thousands of weak cattle were lost on thetrail, while ruin and bankruptcy were the portion of a majority of thedrovers. We weathered the drouth on the trail, selling our unplacedcattle early, and before the beef-shipping season began, our range inthe Outlet, including good will, holding of beeves, saddle horses, andgeneral improvements, was sold to a Kansas City company, and the oldfirm passed out of existence. Meanwhile I had closed up the affairs ofthe Cheyenne and Arapahoe Company, returning a small pro rata of theoriginal investment to shareholders, charging my loss to tuition inrounding out my education as a cowman.The productive capacity of my ranches for years past safely tided meover 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 almostcontinued absence there was a steady growth, together with thoroughmanagement of my mixed cattle. The improved herd, now numbering overtwo thousand, was the pride of my operations in live stock, while myquarter and three-eighths blood steers were in a class by themselves.We were breeding over a thousand half and three-quarters blood bullsannually, and constantly importing the best strains to the head ofthe improved herd. Results were in evidence, and as long as the traillasted, my cattle were ready sellers in the upper range markets. Forthe following few years I drove my own growing of steers, usuallycontracting them in advance. The days of the trail were numbered; 1889saw the last herd leave Texas, many of the Northern States havingquarantined against us, and we were afterward compelled to ship byrail in filling contracts on the upper ranges.When Kansas quarantined against Texas cattle, Dodge was abandoned asa range market. The trail moved West, first to Lakin and finally toTrail City, on the Colorado line. In attempting to pass the formerpoint with four Pan-Handle herds in the spring of 1888, I ran afoul ofa quarantine convention. The cattle were under contract in Wyoming,and it was my intention not even to halt the herds, but merely to takeon supplies in passing. But a deputation met us south of the river,notifying me that the quarantine convention was in session, andrequesting me not to attempt to cross the Arkansas. I explained thatmy cattle were from above the dead line in Texas, had heretofore goneunmolested wherever they wished, and that it was out of my way to turnwest and go up through Colorado. The committee was reasonable, lookedover the lead herd, and saw that I was driving graded cattle, andfinally invited me in to state my case before the convention. Iaccompanied the men sent to warn me away, and after considerableparley I was permitted to address the assembly. In a few brief wordsI stated my destination, where I was from, and the quality of cattlemaking up my herds, and invited any doubters to accompany me acrossthe river and look the stock over. Fortunately a number of thecattlemen in the convention knew me, and I was excused while theassembly went into executive session to consider my case. Prohibitionwas in effect at Lakin, and I was compelled to resort to diplomacy inorder to cross the Arkansas River with my cattle. It was warm, sultryweather in the valley, and my first idea was to secure a barrel ofbottled beer and send it over to the convention, but the town was dry.I ransacked all the drug stores, and the nearest approach toanything that would cheer and stimulate was Hostetter's Bitters. Theprohibition laws were being rigidly enforced, but I signed a "deathwarrant" and ordered a case, which the druggist refused me until Iexplained that I had four outfits of men with me and that we hadcontracted malaria while sleeping on the ground. My excuse won, andtaking the case of bitters on my shoulder, I bore it away to thenearest livery stable, where I wrote a note, with my compliments, andsent both by a darkey around to the rear door of the convention hall.On adjournment for dinner, my case looked hopeless. There was astrong sentiment against admitting any cattle from Texas, all formerprivileges were to be set aside, and the right to quarantine againstany section or state was claimed as a prerogative of a free people.The convention was patiently listening to all the oratorical talentpresent, and my friends held out a slender hope that once thedifferent speakers had relieved their minds they might feel easiertowards me, and possibly an exception would be made in my case. Duringthe afternoon session I received frequent reports from the convention,and on the suggestion of a friend I began to skirmish around for asecond case of bitters. There were only three drug stores in thetown, and as I was ignorant of the law, I naturally went back to thedruggist from whom I secured the first case. To my surprise he refusedto supply my wants, and haughtily informed me that one application aday 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, whoformerly ran a saloon in Dodge. He recognized me, calling me by name;and after we had pledged our acquaintance anew behind the prescriptioncase, I was confidentially informed that I could have his whole houseand welcome, even if the State of Kansas did object and he had to goto jail. We both regretted that the good old days in the State weregone, but I sent around another case of bitters and a box of cigars,and sat down patiently to await results. With no action taken bythe middle of the afternoon, I sent around a third installment ofrefreshments, and an hour later called in person at the door of theconvention. The doorkeeper refused to admit me, but I caught his eye,which was glassy, and received a leery wink, while a bottle of bittersnestled cosily in the open bosom of his shirt. Hopeful that the signswere favorable, I apologized and withdrew, but was shortly afterwardssent for and informed that an exception had been made in my favor, andthat I might cross the river at my will and pleasure. In the interimof waiting, in case I was successful, I had studied up a little speechof thanks, and as I arose to express my appreciation, a chorus ofinterruptions greeted me: "G' on, Reed! G' on, you d----d oldcow-thief! Git out of town or we'll hang you!"With the trail a thing of the past, I settled down to the peacefulpursuits of a ranchman. The fencing of ranges soon became necessary,the Clear Fork tract being first inclosed, and a few years laterowners of pastures adjoining the Double Mountain ranch wished tofence, and I fell in with the prevailing custom. On the latter rangeI hold title to a little over one million acres, while there are twohundred sections of school land included in my western pasture, onwhich I pay a nominal rental for its use. All my cattle are nowgraded, and while no effort is made to mature them, the advent ofcotton-seed oil mills and other sources of demand have always affordedme an outlet for my increase. I have branded as many as twenty-fivethousand calves in a year, and to this source of income alone Iattribute the foundation of my present fortune. As a source of wealththe progeny of the cow in my State has proven a perennial harvest,with little or no effort on the part of the husbandman. Reversingthe military rule of moving against the lines of least resistance,experience has taught me to follow those where Nature lends itsgreatest aid. Mine being strictly a grazing country, by preserving thenative grasses and breeding only the best quality of cattle, I havealways achieved success. I have brought up my boys to observe theseeconomics of nature, and no plow shall ever mar the surface wheremy cows have grazed, generation after generation, to the profit andsatisfaction of their owner. Where once I was a buyer in carload lotsof the best strains of blood in the country, now I am a seller byhundreds and thousands of head, acclimated and native to the soil. Oneman to his trade and another to his merchandise, and the mistakesof my life justly rebuke me for dallying in paths remote from mylegitimate calling.There is a close relationship between a cowman and his herds. Myinsight into cattle character exceeds my observation of the humanfamily. Therefore I wish to confess my great love for the cattle ofthe fields. When hungry or cold, sick or distressed, they expressthemselves intelligently to my understanding, and when dangers ofnight and storm and stampede threaten their peace and serenity, theyinstinctively turn to the refuge of a human voice. When a herd wasbedded at night, and wolves howled in the distance, the boys on guardeasily calmed the sleeping cattle by simply raising their voices insong. The desire of self-preservation is innate in the animal race,but as long as the human kept watch and ward, the sleeping cattle hadno fear of the common enemy. An incident which I cannot explain, butwas witness to, occurred during the war. While holding cattle for theConfederate army we received a consignment of beeves from Texas. Oneof the men who accompanied the herd through called my attention to asteer and vouchsafed the statement that the animal loved music,--thathe could be lured out of the herd with singing. To prove hisassertion, the man sang what he termed the steer's favorite, and tothe surprise of every soldier present, a fine, big mottled beef walkedout from among a thousand others and stood entranced over the simplesong. In my younger days my voice was considered musical; I could singthe folk-songs of my country better than the average, and whenthe herdsmen left us, I was pleased to see that my vocal effortsfascinated the late arrival from Texas. Within a week I could call himout with a song, when I fell so deeply in love with the broad-hornTexan that his life was spared through my disloyalty. In the dailyissue to the army we kept him back as long as possible; but when oursupply was exhausted, and he would have gone to the shambles thefollowing day, I secretly cut him out at night and drove him miles toour rear, that his life might be spared. Within a year he returnedwith another consignment of beef; comrades who were in the secretwould not believe me; but when a quartette of us army herders sang"Rock of Ages," the steer walked out and greeted us with muteappreciation. We enjoyed his company for over a month, I could callhim with a song as far as my voice reached, and when death againthreatened 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 haveseen that steer go to the shambles.In bringing these reminiscences to a close, I wish to bear testimonyin behalf of the men who lent their best existence that successshould crown my efforts. Aside from my family, the two pleasantestrecollections of my life are my old army comrades and the boys whoworked with me on the range and trail. When men have roughed ittogether, shared their hardships in field and by camp-fire like truecomrades, there is an indescribable bond between them that puts toshame any pretense of fraternal brotherhood. Among the hundreds, yes,the thousands, of men who worked for our old firm on the trail, allfeel a pride in referring to former associations. I never leave homewithout meeting men, scattered everywhere, many of them prosperous,who come to me and say, "Of course you don't remember me, but I madea 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, thelittle Yankee major, still living?" The acquaintance, thus renewed bychance, was always a good excuse for neglecting any business, and manya happy hour have I spent, living over again with one of my old boysthe 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 establishedreputation could enter any trail town a month in advance of thearrival of his cattle, and any merchant or banker would extend himcredit on his spoken word. When the trail passed and the romance ofthe West was over, these same men were in demand as directors ofbanks or custodians of trust funds. They were simple as truth itself,possessing a rugged sense of justice that seemed to guide and directtheir lives. On one occasion a few years ago, I unexpectedly droppeddown 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 accountthere for current ranch expenses. As it happened, I needed some money,but on reaching the village found the banks closed, as it was LaborDay. Casually meeting an old cowman who was a director in the bankwith which I did business, I pretended to take him to task over mydisappointment, and wound up my arraignment by asking, "What kind of ajim-crow bank are you running, anyhow?""Well, now, Reed," said he in apology, "I really don't know why thebank should close to-day, but there must be some reason for it. Idon't pay much attention to those things, but there's our cashier andbookkeeper,--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 fora day. I don't know why they do it, but those old boys have readhistory, and you can just gamble your last cow that there's goodreasons for closing."The fraternal bond between rangemen recalls the sad end of one of myold trail bosses. The foreman in question was a faithful man, workingfor the firm during its existence and afterwards in my employ. I wouldhave trusted my fortune to his keeping, my family thought the worldof him, and many was the time that he risked his life to protect myinterests. When my wife overlooks the shortcomings of a man, it issafe to say there is something redeemable in him, even though theoffense is drinking. At idle times and with convivial company, thisman would drink to excess, and when he was in his cups a spirit ofharmless mischief was rampant in him, alternating with uncontrollableflashes of anger. Though he was usually as innocent as a kitten, itwas a deadly insult to refuse drinking with him, and one day he shot acircle of holes around a stranger's feet for declining an invitation.A complaint was lodged against him, and the sheriff, not knowing theman, thoughtlessly sent a Mexican deputy to make the arrest. Eventhen, had ordinary courtesy been extended, the unfortunate occurrencemight have been avoided. But an undue officiousness on the part of theofficer angered the old trail boss, who flashed into a rage, defyingthe deputy, and an exchange of shots ensued. The Mexican was killed atthe first fire, and my man mounted his horse unmolested, and returnedto the ranch. I was absent at the time, but my wife advised him to goin and surrender to the proper authorities, and he obeyed her like achild.We all looked upon him as one of the family, and I employed the bestof counsel. The circumstances were against him, however, and inspite of an able defense he received a sentence of ten years. No onequestioned the justice of the verdict, the law must be upheld, and thepoor fellow was taken to the penitentiary to serve out the sentence.My wife and I concealed the facts from the younger children, who wereconstantly inquiring after his return, especially my younger girls,with whom he was a great favorite. The incident was worse than afuneral; it would not die out, as never a day passed but inquiry wasmade after the missing man; the children dreamed about him, and awokefrom their sleep to ask if he had come and if he had brought themanything. The matter finally affected my wife's nerves, the older boysknew the truth, and the younger children were becoming suspicious ofthe veracity of their parents. The truth was gradually leaking out,and after he had served a year in prison, I began a movement with theview of securing his pardon. My influence in state politics wasalways more or less courted, and appealing to my friends, I drew upa petition, which was signed by every prominent politician in thatsection, asking that executive clemency be extended in behalf of myold foreman. The governor was a good friend of mine, anxious torender me a service, and through his influence we managed to have thesentence so reduced that after serving two years the prisoner wasfreed and returned to the ranch. He was the same lovable character,tolerated by my wife and fondled by the children, and he refused toleave home for over a year. Ever cautious to remove temptation fromhim, both my wife and I hoped that the lesson would last him throughlife, but in an unguarded hour he took to drink, and shot to death hisdearest friend.For the second offense he received a life sentence. My regret oversecuring his pardon, and the subsequent loss of human life, affectedme as no other event has ever done in my career. This man would havedied for me or one of mine, and what I thought to be a generous act toa man in prison proved a curse that haunted me for many years. But allis well now between us. I make it a point to visit him at least once ayear; we have talked the matter over and have come to the conclusionthat the law is just and that he must remain in confinement theremainder 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 suchas we had never enjoyed during the year of his liberty. The wardensinform me that he is a model prisoner, perfectly content in hisrestraint; and I have promised him that on his death, whether itoccurs before or after mine, his remains will be brought back to thehome ranch and be given a quiet grave in some secluded spot.For any success that I may have achieved, due acknowledgment must begiven my helpmate. I was blessed with a wife such as falls to the lotof few men. Once children were born to our union and a hearthstoneestablished, the family became the magnet of my life. It mattered notwhere my occupation carried me, or how long my absence from home, thelodestar 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 wasabsent at the time of its burning, but my wife's father always enjoyedtelling the story on his daughter. The elder Edwards was brandingcalves some five miles distant from the home ranch, but on sightingthe signal smoke of the burning house, he and his outfit turned thecattle loose, mounted their horses, and rode to the rescue at abreak-neck pace. When they reached the scene our home was enveloped inflames, and there was no prospect of saving any of its contents. Thehouse stood some distance from the other ranch buildings, and as therewas no danger of the fire spreading, there was nothing that could bedone and the flames held undisputed sway. The cause of the fire wasunknown, my wife being at her father's house at the time; but ondiscovering the flames, she picked up the baby and ran to the burningcabin, entered it and rescued the little tin trunk that held hergirlhood trinkets and a thousand certificates of questionable landscrip. When the men dashed up, my wife was sitting on the tin trunk,surrounded by the children, all crying piteously, fully unconsciousof the fact that she had saved the foundation of my present landedholdings. The cabin had cost two weeks' labor to build, itscontents were worthless, but I had no record of the numbers of thecertificates, and to my wife's presence of mind or intuition inan emergency all credit is given for saving the land scrip. Manydaughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. Thecompiling of these memoirs has been a pleasant task. In thissumming-up of my active life, much has been omitted; and then again,there seems to have been a hopeless repetition with the recurringyears, for seedtime and harvest come to us all as the seasons rollround. Four of my boys have wandered far afield, forging out forthemselves, not content to remain under the restraint of olderbrothers who have assumed the active management of my ranches. One badgeneral is still better than two good ones, and there must be a headto a ranch if it is to be made a success. I still keep an eye overthings, but the rough, hard work now falls on younger shoulders, and Ifind myself delegated to amuse and be amused by the third generationof the Anthonys. In spite of my years, I still enjoy a good saddlehorse, scarcely a day passing but I ride from ten to twenty miles.There is a range maxim that "the eyes of the boss make a fat horse,"and at deliveries of cattle, rounds-ups, and branding, my merepresence makes things move with alacrity. I can still give the boyspointers in handling large bodies of cattle, and the ranch outfitsseem to know that we old-time cowmen have little use for the modernpicturesque cowboy, unless he is an all-round man and can deliver thegoods in any emergency.With but a few years of my allotted span yet to run, I find myselfin the full enjoyment of all my faculties, ready for a romp with mygrandchildren or to crack a joke with a friend. My younger girls areproving splendid comrades, always ready for a horseback ride or a tripto the city. It has always been a characteristic of the Anthony familythat they could ride a horse before they could walk, and I find thethird generation following in the footsteps of their elders. Mygrandsons were all expert with a rope before they could read, and itis one of the evidences of a merciful providence that their lives havebeen spared, as it is nearly impossible to keep them out of mischiefand danger. To forbid one to ride a certain dangerous horse onlyserves to heighten his anxiety to master the outlaw, and to banishhim from the branding pens means a prompt return with or withoutan excuse. On one occasion, on the Double Mountain ranch, with thecorrals full of heavy cattle, I started down to the pens, but met twoof my grandsons coming up the hill, and noticed at a glance that therehad been trouble. I stopped the boys and inquired the cause of theirtears, when the youngest, a barefooted, chubby little fellow, said tome between his sobs, "Grandpa, you'd--you'd--you'd better keep awayfrom those corrals. Pa's as mad as a hornet, and--and--and he quirtedus--yes, he did. If you fool around down there, he'll--he'll--he'lljust about wear you out."Should this transcript of my life ever reach the dignity ofpublication, the casual reader, in giving me any credit for success,should bear in mind the opportunities of my time. My lot was cast withthe palmy days of the golden West, with its indefinable charm, nowpast and gone and never to return. In voicing this regret, I desireto add that my mistakes are now looked back to as the chasteningrod, leading me to an appreciation of higher ideals, and the finaltestimony that life is well worth the living.