Ancestors of Jenk Stephenson

32. Benjamin Thomas STEPHENSON, son of Abraham STEPHENSON and Mary JENKINS, was born in 1788 and died in 1873 in Northampton County, North Carolina at age 85.

General Notes: Information in the 1850 US Census Northampton, NC confirms the year of his birth.

Another paper I have indicates that Henry Stephenson (son of Benjamin) was not named in Benjamin's will (dated July 1873). Henry Stephenson not being named in the will tends to confirm his death prior to the division of Benjamin's property.

**The following information was taken from Rebecca Leach Ddozier's book, "Twelve Northhampton County, North Carolina Families 1650-1850, published by Gateway Press, INC., Baltimore, MD 2004; page 339:

Benjamin (Abraham(4), Arthur(3), Abraham(2), John Stephenson(1)), a son of Abraham and Mary Jenkins Stephenson was born around 1788 in Northampton Co., NC. Tradition says that Benjamin married twice. If true, then his first wife is unknown, but his second wife was Edith Jenkins(88), whom he married about 1825(89). On 10 May 1810, Benjamin's father Abraham deeded him a "deed of gift" of a 170 acres(90). Then on 30 May 1823, Benjamin received another 170 acres of land from his father Abraham "for love and affection". Later Benjamin was found on the 1850 census with his wife Edith, several younger children, and two of this grandchildren, Henry and John Flythe, children of Benjamin's daughter Sarah. In 1873, Benjamin died in Northampton Co., NC.(91). He named nine children in his will, five by his first wife and four by Edith Jenkins Stephenson(92). Gilbert T. Stephenson had the following written about Benjamin Stephenson:

"Ben, 4th son of Abraham.
Lived in the field where B. J. Ricks lives. Farmer, 20 slaves.
Good education. Children were Henry (did not marry, died at home and buried there...24 years old).
Patia (married Henry Everett--only child named Thomas, died at 18).
Jenkins (married Tabitah Britton. Children Salllie, Tump, Ben, Nathan, Eliza Ann, Sam).
Salllie (married Dred Flythe. Children Henry and John)"

Children by Benjamin and his unknown first wife were Patience, Jenkins, Sarah, Emily and Henry Stephenson. Benjamin's children by his second wife, Edith Jenkins, were Edith, Mary, Susan, and John Stephenson(93).

(88)Death Ceretificate, Thomas Boon Stephenson, Book 160, p. 22, NC Archives; This death ceretificates states that Thomas Boon Stephenson was 89 years old when he died in 1916. His parents were Benjamin and Edith Jenkins Stephenson. According to his age, Thomas was born in 1828, soon after his parents' marriage about 1825.

(89)Barnes, Thomas Wilson, 1850 Census Northampton Co., NC, p. 130

(90)Northampton Co., NC, DB 15, p 86.

(91)Northampton Co., NC, WB 6, p. 127--Benjamin Stephenson's will.

(92)Children's mothers were determined by their birth dates, which were derived from a study of Northampton Co., NC census records.

(93)Northampton Co., NC, WB 6, p. 127: Benjamin Stephenson's will.

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This information was provided to me by Jeannie Stephenson Stinson:

Marriage Bond: Northampton County
None located - On death certificate of Thomas b. Boone, Eddith Jenkins is listed as his mother. Based on the ages of the children, there seems to be evidence that Edith Jenkins might have been his second wife.

Census:
1820: Benjamin Stevenson: Males - Under 10 (2), 16 to 26 (1), 26 to 45 (1) - Females: under 10 (2), 16 to 26 (1).
1850: Dwelling 886 - Benjamin Stephenson 62, Farmer $2208 Real NC, Edith 52 NC, Henry 22, Edith 22, Mary 21, Susan 20, John 17, Henry Flythe 8, John Flythe 6.
1860: Cannot identify.
1870: kirby Township: Benjamin Stephenson 82, Emiline 40, mary 38, Edith 42 (Recheck)

Real Estate Transactions: Northampton County
Book 15, page 86, Dated Novermber 10, 1810, Recorded January 21, 1811, Deed of Gift, Abraham Stevenson of Northampton County to son benjamin Stevenson of Northampton County 170 acres joining lands of Arthur Stevenson, David Jenkins, Jenkins Stevenson, Etheldred Martin, and Abraham Stephenson. Signed Abraham (x) Stevenson, Witness: Jenkins Stephenson, Arthur Stephenson.

Book 22, page 8, Deed of Gift - Dated may 20, 1823, Rec , - Abraham Stephenson to son Benjamin Stephenson for natural love and affection and $1....... 170 acres of which I am now possessed.....one negro named Daniel......
Signed Abraham (x) Stevenson, Witness: Jerimiah Johnson, John Suter.

Book 38, page 358 - Deed of Gift - Dated September 20, 1866, Recorded December 1866 - benjamin Stephenson to Thomas B. Stephenson plus one dollar......a tract of land of 196 acres adjoining the lands of Elisha flythe, jack Flythe, Joseph Garris and others, it being the tract of land which the said Benjamin Stephenson now resides....Conveyance to begin and take effect upon the death of Benjamin Stevenson all subject to a life estate of the said Benjamin Stephenson.... Signed Benjamin Stephenson.....Witness: A. H. Stephenson, Matthew W. Bryant

Book 46, page 390 - Division, Registered April 19, 1875 - Petition of Mary Ann Stephenson, Patience Newsom, Emma Stephenson and Edith Stephenson to divide 120 acres (121 acres by Survey) inherited from their father, Benjamin Stephenson. Two parcels, one purchased from David Stephenson containing 117 acres and one purchased from Jesse B. Boon containing about 3 acres described as joining the lands of Junius Flythe, H. Britton, H. Davis and in metes and bound. Mentions the run of a unnamed branched. lot 1 to Emeline Stephenson containing 30 1/4 acres valued $86.42, Mention Davis land: Lot 2 to edith Stephenson containing 30 1/4 acres valued at $180.50; Lot 3 to mary Ann Stephenson containing 30 1/2 acres valued at $136.12, no landmark mentioned; Lot 4 to Patience Everette containing 30 1/4 acres valued at $69.57, no land mark mentioned.

Book 49, page 159 - Division, Registered May 12, 1876 - Superior Court - Thomas B. Stephenson, plaintiff vs Benjamin Stephenson, Samuel Stephenson, Sarah J. Stephenson, Jas Garris and wife, Elizabeth Ann, Patience Newsom, Emeline Stephenson, Mary Ann Stephenson, Edith Stephenson, Benjamin Ricks, and Lavinia Davis, Defendents. Order to allot: Lot marked A to Thomas B. Stephenson containing 91 acres. Lot 1 to Defendants, Benjamin Stephenson, Samuel Stephenson, Sarah J. Stephenson, James Garris and Wife Eliza, containing 11 acres. Lot 2 to Mary ann Stephenson containing 14 2/3 acres. Lot 3 to Lavinia Davis containing 14 2/3 acres (Benjamin Ricks is referred to as a Benjamin Ricks & William B. Rix). Lot 6 to patience Newsom containing 14 2/3 acres. Lot 7 to Edith Stephenson containing 14 2/3 acres. (Total plot 190 acres - diagram included)

Will:
Northampton County, Will book 6, page 127, Benjamin Stephenson, dated July 5, 1873, probated December 5, 1873, (abstract), Item 1. To Son, Thomas B. Stephenson the sum of five dollars....and no more....Item 2 to four daughters Mary A, Edith, Emeline(?), Stephenson and Patience Newsom, my two tracts of land known as the Everett Place west of where i now live and the other lying on the Poticasi Crek containing fify Acres more or less to be divided between my four daughters.......Item 3 to three daughters, Mary A, Edith, Emeline all stock, horses, cattle sheep, and hogs and household and kitchen furniture......Item 4. To four daughters Mary A, Edith, Emeline and Patience all of growing crop and provisions.....Item 5. to Mrs Lavinia A. Davis $25.00.......Item 6. to Grandchildren, William B. Ricks, Benjamin Stephenson, Samuel Stephenson, and Sarah I. Stephenson and Eliza A. Stephenson $2.00. Item 7. Residue of estate to three daughters Mary A, Edith, Emeline......Witness J. B. Lassiter, John H. Hedgspeth.
Note: Daughter Susan is not named and is belileved to have died before 1873. Mrs. Lavina A. Davis, is Benjamin's granddaughter and the daughter of Sara Stephenson Flythe. Grandson William B. Ricks came to be known as Benjamin J. Ricks. See Will of Mary A. Stephenson. Also note that in the 1880 Census he is listed in Mary Stephenson as Benjamin W. Ricks.

Other:
Note 1: Notes of Gilbert Stephenson, not dated - "Ben. 4th son of Abraham. Lived in the field where B. J. Ricks lives. Farmer. 20 slaves. Good education. Children were Henry (did not marry, died at home and buried there 24 years old), Patia (married Henry Everett--only child named thomas, died at 18), Jenkins (married Tabitha Britton. Children Sallie, Tump, Ben, Nathan, Eliza Ann, Sam), Sallie (married Dred Flythe, children Henry)"

Note 2: A hand written document of unknown orgin - Given to me by Mildred Davis, daughter of Ethel Woodard Davis. "Mr. Thomas Stephenson - Mrs. Nancy J. Stephenson- Pendleton, N.C. -- Mit (Mafrried Davis) Henry, & Jno Jenk (?)) Amy (did not marry, Mary (did not marry), Thomas married Nancy Woodard), Susan married Tom Ricks, Jno died in war, Buried at home, John -5th --?-- of Abraham, He did not marry. Did not amount to much."

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The following Information provided by Mary Catherine Flythe -- mflythe@ida.org, -- November 15, 2009

1. Benjamin Stephenson #3111 b. 1788, m. 1808-1810, Edith ? #3112, b. 1793,1 d. bef 1873. Benjamin died 1874.2
Children:
2. i Sara (Sally) Stephenson #3113 b. 1810-1820.
3. ii Patience Stephenson #3116 b. 1813.
4. iii Jenkins Stephenson #3114 b. 1815.
iv Thomas Boon Stephenson #3115 b. 1810-1820, Northampton County NC, d. aft 1875.
v Emiline "Emily" Stephenson #3121 b. 1822, Northampton County NC,1 d. aft 1877. In 1850 census in hh of Henry Everitt her brother-in-law. Died single.
vi Henry Stephenson #3117 b. 1828, Northampton County NC, d. bef 1873.2
vii Edith Stephenson #3118 b. 1828, Northampton County NC,1 d. aft 1877.4 Died single.
viii Mary Ann Stephenson #3119 b. 1829, Northampton County NC,1 d. aft 1877.4 Died Single.
5. ix Elizabeth Susan Stephenson #3120 b. 1830.
x John Stephenson #3122 b. 1833, Northampton County NC,1 d. bef 1873.2

Second Generation

2. Sara (Sally) Stephenson #3113 (1.Benjamin1) b. 1810-1820, Northampton County NC, m. Jan 12 1839, in Northampton County NC, Etheldred Flythe #3123, d. bef 1850. Sara died bef 1850. Etheldred: In 1850 census his children Henry and John are in hh of Benjamin Stephenson, Sally's father.
Children:
i Lavina Ann Millena Susan Flythe #3124 b. 1842, Northampton County NC,1 m. bef 1873,2 ? Davis #3140. Lavina died aft 1877.4 In hh of Henry Everitt in 1850 census. Henry married Patience, the sister of Sally.
ii Henry Flythe #3125 b. 1842, Northampton County NC,1 d. 1863-1868, in Civil War. In hh of Benjamin Stephenson, his grandfather, in 1850 census. Died as prisioner in Civil War.
iii John Flythe #3126 b. 1844, Northampton County NC,1 d. 1863-1868, in Civil War. In hh of Benjamin Stephenson, his grandfather, in 1850 census. Died a prisioner in Civil War.

3. Patience Stephenson #3116 (1.Benjamin1) b. 1813, Northampton County NC,1 m. (1) Jan 8 1847, in Northampton County NC,5 Henrey Everitt #3127, b. 1792,1 m. (2) ? Newsom #3129, d. bef 1877.4 Patience died 3/29-8/30 1877, Northampton County NC.4
Children by Henrey Everitt:
i Henry Everitte Jr #3128 b. 1850, Northampton County NC,1 d. bef 1877.4

4. Jenkins Stephenson #3114 (1.Benjamin1) b. 1815, Northampton County NC,1 m. Apr 1 1839, in Northampton County NC,5 Tabitha Britton #3130, b. 1817.1 Jenkins died bef 1873.2
Children:
i Sarah Stephenson #3131 b. 1841, Northampton County NC,1 d. aft 1877.4
ii Henry Stephenson #3132 b. 1843, Northampton County NC,1 d. bef 1873.2
iii Nathan Stephenson #3133 b. 1845, Northampton County NC,1 d. bef 1873.2
iv Samuel Stephenson #3134 b. 1848, Northampton County NC,1 d. aft Dec 1875.3
v Benjamin Stephenson #3135 b. aft 1848, Northampton County NC, d. aft 1875.3 Not in 1850 census with father but in Benjamin Stephenson will.
vi Eliza A. Stephenson #3136 b. aft 1848, Northampton County NC, m. 1873-1875,3 Jason Garris #3137. Eliza died aft 1875.3 Not in 1850 census with father but in Benjamin Stephenson will.

5. Elizabeth Susan Stephenson #3120 (1.Benjamin1) b. 1830, Northampton County NC,1 m. Feb 14 1866, in Northampton County NC,5 C. T. Ricks #3138. Elizabeth died bef 1873.2 Marriage bon lists her as Elizabeth S. Stephenson.
Children:
i William Benjamin Ricks #3139 b. 1867-1873,2 d. aft 1877.4

1850 census
Benjamin Stephenson will dated Jul 5 1873 probated Dec 5 1874. Names son Thomas B., four daughters Mary Ann, Edith, Emeline,Patience Newsom; Mrs Lavinia Davis; WM B. Ricks(gs);(gc) Ben, Samuel, Sarah, Eliza Stephenson.
Benjamin Stephenson distribution of property Dec 1875 to all named in will. Note that gd Eliza A. Stephenson has married Jason Garris since will in 1873.
Patience Stephenson Everitt Newsom's will dated Mar 29 1877, probated Aug 30 1877. Names niece Lavina Flythe Davis, niece Sarah Stephenson, nephew Wm Benjamin Stephenson, and sisters Edith, Emily and Mary Ann Steph. No children.
Marriage bond Northampton Co. NC

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The following information was provided by Alan C. Stephenson, from Chapel Hill, North Carolina, March 25, 2010:
Alan C. Stephenson says he died 1875.

Notes for Benjamin Thomas Stephenson:

According to research notes of Gilbert T. Stephenson (date unknown), Benjamin lived in the field where B. J. Ricks lives.

Deeds:

1. See deeds 6 and 11 under Deeds in the Notes for Abraham (d. 1823).

2. Benjamin Stephenson to Thomas B. Stephenson dated September 20, 1866, deed of gift to his son Thomas B. Stephenson of 196 acres adjoining the lands of Elisha Flythe, Jack Flythe, Joseph Garris and others, where Benjamin Stephenson now resides, Benjamin reserving to himself a life estate in the land; Benjamin signed [no mark indicated]; witnessed by A. H. Stephenson and Matthew W. Briant.

Will dated July 5, 1873 (proved December 5, 1873) (NH WB 6:127):

“In the name of God amen, I Benjamin Stephenson of the County of Northampton and State of North Carolina, being of sound mind and disposing memory, but considering the uncertainty of my earthly existence, do make and declare this my last will and testament in manner and form following, that is to say:
First that my executor hereinafter named shall provide for my body and a decent burial suitable to the wishes of my relations and friends and pay all necessary funeral expenses together with my just debts, howsoever and do whomsoever owing out of the moneys that may first come into his hands as a part of my estate.
Item 1st I give and bequeath to my son Thomas B. Stephenson the sum of five dollars in money to be paid by my executor, to have and to hold in fee simple forever, and no more.
Item 2nd I give and bequeath to my four daughters, Mary A., Edith, Emeline Stephenson, and Patience Newsom, my two tracts of land, one tract known as the Everett place west of where I now live, and the other lying on Poticasi Creek containing fifty acres more or less to be equally divided between the four above mentkioned Mary A, Edith, Emeline and Patience to have and to hold to them their heirs in fee simple forever.
Item 3rd I give and bequeath to my three daughters Mary A, Eadith [sic] and Emeline Stephenson all my stock of horses, cattle, hogs, and sheep, of every description to be equally divided and all of my household and kitchen furniture of every description to be equally divided between my three daughters Mary A, Eadith and Emeline Stephenson to have and to hold to them their heirs in fee simple forever.
Item 4th I give and bequeath to my four daughters Mary A. Stephenson, Eadith Stephenson, Emeline Stephenson and Patience Newsom all of my crop now growing of every description to be equally divided among them, and all of my provisions now on hand, to be equally divided between the last mentioned four, to have and to hold to them their heirs in fee simple forever.
Item 5th I give and bequeath to Mrs. Lavinia A. Davis the sum of twenty-five dollars in money to be paid by my executor, to have and to hold to her her heirs in fee simple forever.
Item 6th I give and bequeath to my grand children, William B. Ricks, Benjamin Stephenson, Samuel C. Stephenson and Sarah L. Stephenson and Elizabeth Stephenson two dollars each to have and to hold to them their heirs in fee simple forever.
Item 7th My will and desire is that all the residue of my estate if any, after taking out the devises and legacies above mentioned, shall be equally divided between my three daughters Mary A. Stephenson, Edith Stephenson, and Emeline Stephenson to have and to hold to them their heirs in fee simple forever.
In witness whereof I the said Benjamin Stephenson do hereunto set my hand and seal this the 5 day of July A. D. 1873.

Benjamin (his mark) Stephenson

Signed, sealed, published and declared to be the said Benjamin Stephenson’s last will and testament, in the presence of us who at his request and in his presence do subscribe our names as witnesses thereto.

J. B. Lassiter
John N. Hedgpeth”

Estate and Court Records:

1. In February 1875, Mary Ann Stephenson, Patience Newsom, Emma Stephenson and Edith Stephenson, daughters of Benjamin, petitioned the Northampton County Superior Court for a division of 120 acres of land adjoining Hillory Davis, H. S. Britton, Junis Flythe and others, which had been devised to them by their father, and another tract containing of which they were tenants in common and . In March 1875, five commissioners, including David N. Stephenson, appointed by the court report on the division with a plat showing the division.

2. In December 1875, on a petition by Thomas B. Stephenson, the court orders a division of 190 acres of land into either parts: 91 acres to Thomas B. Stephenson, 15-6/9 acres to each of Paline Stephenson, Emaline Stephenson, Mary Ann Stephenson, Edith Stephenson, Benjamin Ricks and Lavinia Davis, and a total of 11 acres divided among Benjamin Stephenson, Samuel Stephenson, Sarah Stephenson, James Garris and wife Eliza Ann. The division includes a plat. NH DB 49:157.

Census Records:

1. 1830 Federal Census (page 135): Benjamin Stephenson-1 white male under 5; 1 white male 10-15; 1 white male 15-20; 1 white male 40-50; 2 white females under 5; 2 white females 10-15; 1 white female 15-20; 1 white female 20-30; 1 white female 40-50; no slaves.

2. 1840 Federal Census (page 33): Benjamin Stevenson, three away from A. Stephenson-1 white male 5-10; 1 white male 10-15; 1 white male 20-30;1 white male 50-60; 1 white female 5-10; 1 white female 10-15; 2 white females 15-20; 1 white female 20-30; 1 female 40-50; 1 slave.

3. 1850 Federal Census (page 107): Benjamin Stephenson-Benjamin age 62, Edith, age 57, Henry, age 22, Edith, age 22, Mary, age 21, Susan, age 20, John, age 17, Henry Flythe, age 8, John Flythe, age 6; Benjamin and wife Edith, daughters Edith and Mary, and Henry are listed as illiterate.

4. 1860 Federal Census [cannot find]

5. 1870 Federal Census (page 570): Benj. Stephenson-Benj., age 82; Emeline, age 40 (keeping house); Mary, age 38; Edith, age 32; Jesse Tablen (?), age 21 (farm laborer); [illegible] Edwards, age 40 (female domestic); Rosa, age 3; Henry, age 1. [Mary’s age is inconsistent with the 1850 census.]

Tax Records:

See introductory note under Tax Records in Notes for William.

1. 1823 Tax List (District 7): Benjamin Stevenson-1 free poll; 5 black polls; 170 acres of land valued at $595.

2. 1824 Tax List (District 7): Benjamin Stevenson-1 free poll; 4 black polls; 170 acres of land valued at $595.

3. 1828 Tax List (District 7): Benjamin Stephenson-1 free poll; 1 black poll; 170 acres of land valued at $595.

4. 1834 Tax List (District 7): Benjamin Stevenson-195 acres of land valued at $672.

5. 1836 Tax List (District 7): Benjamin Stephens-195 acres of land valued at $672.

6. 1837 Tax List (District 7): Benjamin Stephenson-195 acres of land valued at $585; “situated on the north of Bennets road adjoining the lands of W. Stevenson and others”; dwelling house.

7. 1838 Tax List (District 7): Benjamin Stephenson-1 black poll; 195 acres of land valued at $585.

8. 1846 Tax List (District 7): Benja. Stephenson-192 acres of land valued at $480.

ii. Patience STEPHENSON was born in 1813 in Northampton County, NC and died in 1877 in Northampton County, NC at age 64.

v. Thomas Boone STEPHENSON was born in 1825 in Northampton County, North Carolina, died on 25 Mar 1916 in Northampton County, Kirby Township, Pendelton, NC at age 91, and was buried Roberts Chapel Baptist Church Cemetery.

ix. Elizabeth Susan STEPHENSON was born in 1830 in Northampton County, NC and died before 1873.

x. John STEPHENSON was born in 1833 in Northampton County, NC and died before 1873.

General Notes: On death certificate of Thomas B. Boone, Edith Jenkins is listed is listed as his mother. Based on the ages of the children, there seems to be evidence that Edith Jenkins might have been Benjamin's second wife.

Edith married Benjamin Thomas STEPHENSON about 1825. Benjamin was born in 1788 and died in 1873 in Northampton County, North Carolina at age 85.

36. Phillip CARRIKER, son of Phillip KARCHER and Christina EISENMAN, was born in 1757 in Cabarrus Co, NC and died on 5 May 1854 in Cabarrus Co, NC at age 97.

Phillip married Eve GOODMAN in Cabarrus Co, NC. Eve died in 1799 in Cabarrus Co, NC.

18 i. Charles CARRICKER (born on 30 Aug 1799 in Cabarrus Co., NC - died on 8 Jan 1873 in Woodruff Co, AR)

Eve married Phillip CARRIKER in Cabarrus Co, NC. Phillip was born in 1757 in Cabarrus Co, NC and died on 5 May 1854 in Cabarrus Co, NC at age 97.

40. Clint GARRETT was born about 1815 in South Carolina (maybe) and died from 1850 to 1860 about age 35.

Clint married Melinda DUNN. Melinda was born on 30 Apr 1816 and died after 1860.

i. Lawanda (Lewinda) GARRETT was born on 19 Oct 1833 and died on 4 May 1879 at age 45.

iii. Louis H. GARRETT was born on 7 Apr 1837, died on 24 Feb 1869 at age 31, and was buried in Ashley Cemetery, Woodruff County, Arkansas.

iv. Pendleton GARRETT was born 14 (or 4) Jan 1839 and died 6 Sep 1850 or 6 sept 189- at age -1649.

v. Mary Elizabeth GARRETT was born on 15 Dec 1840 and died 6 Sep 1857 or 1859 at age 16.

vi. William A. GARRETT was born on 11 Apr 1843 and died on 8 Mar 1906 at age 62.

vii. Livingston GARRETT was born on 7 Oct 1845, died on 17 Jun 1919 at age 73, and was buried in Red Mud Cemetery, near Spur, Texas.

ix. Margrett Malinda GARRETT was born on 26 Jul 1850 and died 22 Oct 1861 or 22 Oct 1869 at age 11.

41. Melinda DUNN, daughter of James DUNN and Unknown, was born on 30 Apr 1816 and died after 1860.

Melinda married Clint GARRETT. Clint was born about 1815 in South Carolina (maybe) and died from 1850 to 1860 about age 35.

44. Robert JONES, son of William Andrew JONES and Rebecca BOX, was born in 1808 in Livingston County, Kentucky, died on 1 May 1860 in Point Cedar Creek, Clark County, Arkansas at age 52, and was buried in Clark County, Arkansas (Phillip Cemetery).

General Notes: Application for enrollment into the Mississippi Choctaw Indian tribe, Consolidated application #6755 and #MCR6810.

The following information came from Mamie Joyce (Jones) Logue website:
http://familytreemaker.genealogy.com/users/l/o/g/Mamie-Logue/GENE9-0005.html

23. Robert4 Jones (William Andrew3, John2, Unknown1)115,116,117,118,119,120 was born 1808 in Smithland, Livingston Co., KY121, and died May 01, 1860 in Point Cedar Creek, Clark Co., AR122. He married Malinda Ann Ewing123,124,125,126,127 April 05, 1827 in Hardeman Co., TN, daughter of James Ewing and Elizabeth Dillard. She was born May 10, 1806 in Smith Co.,TN, and died March 05, 1902 in Mena, Polk Co., AR.

Notes for Robert Jones:
Ancestry.com/Images Online/Census/1840/Northern D iv./Pontotoc Co., MS:Date of Import 09/14/02:
Jones, Robert Head of Household. 1 Free White Male (under 5) 2 Free White Males (5-10) 1 Free White Male (10-15) 1 Free White Male (30-40) 2 Free White Females (under 5) 1 Free White Female (10-15) 1 Free White Female (20-30). No Slaves.

Genealogy.com/Census/1850/Clark Co., AR/Cedar Twp/Roll 25, Book 1:Date of Import 01/11/06:
Dwelling #103
Jones, Robert...............WM......42......Head......Farmer......SC
Jones, Malinda.............WF.......40......Wife.........................TN
Jones, Alfred..............WM.......22......Son..........................TN
Jones, Willis................WM.......19......Son..........................TN
Jones, Ledufsey..........WF.......17......Dau..........................TN
Jones, John.................WM.......15......Son..........................TN
Jones, Joseph.............WM.......12......Son..........................MS
Jones, Mary Ann.........WF........10.....Dau...........................MS
Jones, Sarah Annis....WF..........7.....Dau...........................AR
Jones, Adaline.............WF.........5......Son...........................AR
Jones, William R..........WM.........3......Son...........................AR

According to the above census, Robert was in TN from 1828-1835. He was in MS from 1838-1840 and then shows his next child born in AR in 1843.

More About Robert Jones:
Burial: Unknown, Clark Co., AR (Phillip Cemetery)128
Census: 1840, Pontotoc Co., MS

Notes for Malinda Ann Ewing:
Family Tree Maker, Genealogy.com/Census/1860/Clark Co., AR/Cedar Twp/Roll 39, Book 1:Date of Import 08/22/05:
Dwelling #115
Jones, Malinda........WF....Head....37....Widow....Farmer....TN
Jones, Sarah...........WF....Dau.....16...................................AR
Jones, Melinda A.....WF....Dau.....14...................................AR
Jones, William R......WM....Son.....12...................................AR
Jones, Rhoda...........WF....Dau.....10..................................AR

Ancestry.com/Images Online/Census/1880/Dist157/PaloPintoCo.,TX:Date of Import 09/04/01:
Weedle, Robert........WM....25....Head....Farmer....TX....MO....MO
Weedle, Rhoda........WF.....29....Wife.....................AR....TN.....TN
Weedle, Charles L...WM......3....Son......................TX.....TX.....AR
Weedle, Joseph B...WM......1....Son......................TX.....TX......AR
Jones, Malinda.........WF....72....Mother-in-law.......TN.....VA......VA

More About Malinda Ann Ewing:
Census: 1880, Palo Pinto Co., TX

Marriage Notes for Robert Jones and Malinda Ewing:
I have two different marriage dates as follows:
April 05, 1827 and July 05, 1827: I have not verified which is correct at this time.

Children of Robert Jones and Malinda Ewing are:
+ 76 i. Dr. Alfred5 Jones, M. D., born December 24, 1827 in Belvedere, Hardeman Co., TN; died December 18, 1891 in Amity, Clark Co., AR.
+ 77 ii. Dr. Willis Cornelius Jones, M. D., born September 03, 1830 in Bolivar, Hardeman Co., TN; died March 15, 1907 in Amity, Clark Co., AR.
+ 78 iii. Ledufsy S. Jones, born 1833 in Bolivar, Hardeman Co., TN; died December 15, 1870 in Point Cedar Creek, Clark Co., AR.
+ 79 iv. John Newton Jones, born February 04, 1835 in Bolivar, Hardeman Co., TN; died January 31, 1922 in Floydada, Floyd Co., TX.
+ 80 v. Joseph Wilson Jones, born 1838 in Pontotoc Co., MS; died 1864 in Civil War.
81 vi. Mary Ann Jones129,130,131, born 1840 in Pontotoc Co., MS; died WFT Est. 1857-1933. She married H. G. Mays132,133 October 19, 1856 in Clark Co., AR (House of Robert Jones); born Abt. 1836; died WFT Est. 1856-1929.
+ 82 vii. Sarah Aninias Jones, born September 18, 1843 in Batesville, Independence Co., AR; died May 16, 1870 in AR.
+ 83 viii. Melinda Adaline Jones, born December 15, 1845 in Point Cedar Creek, Pike Co., AR; died May 30, 1877 in AR.
+ 84 ix. William Robert Jones, born 1847 in Point Cedar Creek, Clark Co., AR; died Aft. 1867.
+ 85 x. Rhoda Jones, born September 07, 1850 in Point Cedar Creek, Clark Co.., AR; died Abt. 1940 in Bonham, Grayson Co., TX.

Robert married Malinda Ann EWING 5 Apr 1827 or 5 Jul 1827 in Hardeman County, Tennessee. Malinda was born on 10 May 1806 in Smith County, Tennessee and died on 5 Mar 1902 in Mena, Polk County, Arkansas at age 95.

i. Alfred JONES , M.D was born on 24 Dec 1827 in Belvedere, Hardeman County, Tennessee and died on 18 Dec 1891 in Amity, Clark County, Arkansas at age 63.

ii. Willis Cornelius JONES , M.D. was born on 3 Sep 1830 in Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tennessee and died on 15 Mar 1907 in Amity, Clark County, Arkansas at age 76.

iii. Ledufsy S. JONES was born in 1833 in Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tennessee.

22 iv. John Newton JONES (born on 4 Feb 1835 in Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tennessee - died on 31 Jan 1922 in Floydada, Floyd County, Texas)

v. Joseph Wilson JONES was born in 1838 in Pontotoc County, Mississippi and died in 1864 in Arkansas at age 26.

vii. Sarah Aninias JONES was born on 18 Sep 1843 in Batesville, Independence County, Arkansas.

viii. Melinda Adaline JONES was born on 15 Dec 1845 in Point Cedar Creek, Pike County, Arkansas.

ix. William Robert JONES was born in 1847 in Point Cedar Creek, Pike County, Arkansas.

x. Rhoda JONES was born on 7 Sep 1850 in Point Cedar Creek, Pike County, Arkansas.

Malinda married Robert JONES 5 Apr 1827 or 5 Jul 1827 in Hardeman County, Tennessee. Robert was born in 1808 in Livingston County, Kentucky, died on 1 May 1860 in Point Cedar Creek, Clark County, Arkansas at age 52, and was buried in Clark County, Arkansas (Phillip Cemetery).

General Notes: Occupation: Farmer

Places of residence: Orange, NC; Lincoln, Giles, TN; Tippah, MS

Timothy married Nancy BEVILL on 6 Jun 1821 in Orange, North Carolina. Nancy was born about 1799 in North Carolina and died after 1870.

24 iii. William Franklin RICH (born about 1826 in North Carolina - died in May 1887 in Tippah County, Mississippi)

iv. Ann Carolyn RICH was born about 1827 in North Carolina and died after 1870.

v. Morgan Alvis RICH was born on 21 May 1829 in Tennessee, died on 8 Apr 1907 in Tippah County, Mississippi at age 77, and was buried in Pleasant Ridge, Tippah County, Mississippi.

vi. Iley J (Frank) RICH was born about 1832 in Tennessee and died on 25 Jan 1867 about age 35.

49. Nancy BEVILL, daughter of Elisha BEVILL and Sarah DAVIS, was born about 1799 in North Carolina and died after 1870.

Nancy married Timothy RICH on 6 Jun 1821 in Orange, North Carolina. Timothy was born about 1799 in North Carolina and died after 1870.

50. John Locke BARKLEY was born in 1794 in , Rowan, North Carolina, USA and died in Jul 1850 in , Wayne, Tennessee, USA at age 56.

John married Elizabeth BOSTIC. Elizabeth was born in 1804 in , , Alabama, USA and died in 1880 in , , Mississippi, USA at age 76.

25 i. Martha A. BARKLEY (born about 1836 in , Maury, Tennessee, USA - died about 1910 in Tippah County, Mississippi, USA)

51. Elizabeth BOSTIC was born in 1804 in , , Alabama, USA and died in 1880 in , , Mississippi, USA at age 76.

Elizabeth married John Locke BARKLEY. John was born in 1794 in , Rowan, North Carolina, USA and died in Jul 1850 in , Wayne, Tennessee, USA at age 56.

52. Nathaniel DAVIS, son of Willis (1) DAVIS and Martha WELLINGHAM, was born on 8 Sep 1832 in , Fayette, Alabama, USA and died on 15 Jan 1902 in , Navarro, Texas, USA at age 69.

Nathaniel married Caroline CHAPPELL. Caroline was born on 4 Aug 1835 in Tuscaloosa, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, USA and died on 30 Mar 1912 in , , Texas, USA at age 76.

26 i. Willis (2) DAVIS (born on 28 Sep 1855 in , Fayette, Alabama, USA - died on 30 Aug 1927 in Aley, Henderson, Texas, USA)

53. Caroline CHAPPELL was born on 4 Aug 1835 in Tuscaloosa, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, USA and died on 30 Mar 1912 in , , Texas, USA at age 76.

Caroline married Nathaniel DAVIS. Nathaniel was born on 8 Sep 1832 in , Fayette, Alabama, USA and died on 15 Jan 1902 in , Navarro, Texas, USA at age 69.

54. Spencer BOBO was born in 1808 in Spartanburg, Spartanburg, South Carolina, USA and died in 1850 in , Fayette, Alabama, USA at age 42.

Spencer married Wealthy (Marthy) BARNES. Wealthy was born in 1830 in North Carolina and died in 1880 in Collins, Fayette, Alabama at age 50.

27 i. Fannie Lee BOBO (born on 5 Mar 1859 in , Fayette, Alabama, USA - died on 27 Jul 1940 in Texas)

Spencer next married Mary (Polly) RAINWATER. Mary was born in 1818 and died in 1850 at age 32.

55. Wealthy (Marthy) BARNES, daughter of Jesse X BARNES and Nancy dpd X CULVER, was born in 1830 in North Carolina and died in 1880 in Collins, Fayette, Alabama at age 50.

General Notes: I originally had 1825 as a birth date, but not sure I got that date.

I also have this info From Ancestry.com:

Wife of Spencer Bobo and mother of Fannie Bobo
Marthy Barnes - born 1830, , , North Carolina, USA and died 1880 in Collins , Fayette, Alabama, USA

Year: 1880; Census Place: Collins, Fayette, Alabama; Roll: T9_13; Family History Film: 1254013; Page: 482.4000; Enumeration District: 80; Image: 0473.

I do not know which information is accurate...more research needed.

Wealthy married Spencer BOBO. Spencer was born in 1808 in Spartanburg, Spartanburg, South Carolina, USA and died in 1850 in , Fayette, Alabama, USA at age 42.

General Notes: Information from the 1860 Census--his occupation was listed as a farmer.

29 i. Sara Elizabeth FARMER (born on 27 Feb 1849 in Jefferson County, Tennessee - died on 21 Sep 1917 near Afton, Dickens County, Texas)

General Notes: Listed in the 1860 census as the wife of William Farmer, born in Tennessee.

62. Thomas J. McCARTY was born in 1802 in , , Virginia, USA and died on 21 Dec 1884 in Glass Ranch, Dickens County, Texas at age 82.

General Notes: Thomas J. McCarty
This information was taken from the book: Our Kin by Patsy Rich Fuchs. 2003. page 2-4

Thomas J. McCarty “Col. T.” was born in 1802 in Virginia, died 21 Dec 1884 on the Browning Ranch (now Glass Ranch), in Dickens County, Texas. He married about 1825 Rebecca (Comstock?). She was born about 1810 in Tennessee and died after 1860. He married (2) about 1845 Sarah Eliza Jane LeFors. She was born 4 October 1831 in Kentucky. He married (3) 17 June 1857, Rutha Wakefield Grogan. She was born about 1836 in Indiana and died 1869/1870 near Fort Griffin, Shackelford County, Texas. He married (4) 14 November 1874 Sarah Elizabeth Farmer Bradford. She was born 27 February 1849 in Jefferson County, Tennessee and died 21 September 1917 near Afton, Dickens County, Texas.

Thomas J. McCarty was born in 1802 in Virginia. His parents have not been proven. At an early age his family moved near the Cumberland Gap and he lived there until he reached manhood.

Thomas was a big man. “He was over 6 feet tall. Some folks called him a brawny, friendly, happy Irishman while others thought of him as a hard bargaining, straight-laced, tight lipped Scotchman. He was a might good-looking an with dark curly hair and Irish blue eyes”, (From Mrs. JAB). He wore a short beard along his jaw line and chin. Thomas probably had a meager education, but he did learn to read and write.

He married Rebecca (Constock?) about 1825. Their first child many have been born in Tennessee before they left for Indiana in 1826. There were several McCarty’s as well as allied families that moved to Clark County, Indiana and later to Putnam and Morgan counties. They lived in Indiana for about 14 years. Most of their nine children were born there. There was a Thomas McCarty listed on the 1830 Federal Census of Morgan County, Indiana.

The Indians, thieves, and killers scourged that part of the country so it was necessary for the people to travel together in wagon trains and even then it was very dangerous. In 1840 there was another migration of the McCarty’s and their allied families to the southern counties of Missouri and northern Arkansas. Thomas was among them, and chose to settle his family in Marion County, Arkansas. He and his sons operated a sawmill there. It was probably located on the White River or one of the creeks leading to the river. He paid taxes there for several years, including the years 1846 to 1851. Thomas lived there until about 1854. The records of Marion County were burned during the Civil War with only a few surviving.

Rebecca left Thomas about 1844, going to Greene County, Missouri. In 1852 she was living in a household with the children of Abel Lanham. The Lanham’s lived in Tennessee before going to Missouri. Anna Lanham was married to William McCarty, probably an uncle to Thomas. Anna and Abel were sister and brother. There is no information about Rebecca’s connection to the Lanham’s. In 1858 she married James R. Gilbert, a farmer of Webster County, Missouri. There is no further information about Rebecca.

Thomas married Sarah LeFors about 1845. She was the daughter of James Jefferson LeFors and Jeanette Jones. She was born in Kentucky, 4 October 1831. Sarah was about thirty years younger than Thomas. The 1850 Federal Census of Marion County, Arkansas names four males (older sons of Thomas) as well as Thomas, Sarah, and their 2 children. Two sons were born in 1850 and in 1852.

On a Sunday morning, in the spring of about 1853, Thomas and Sarah were on their way to church and decided to cut across the land belonging to a man called Sully. Thomas and Sully were not on good terms and on this day Sully shot Thomas, the ball entering and passing through the stomach area. Sarah took him back to the house and set about to make a poultice to go on the wound. She made a tube from slippery elm bark and inserted it into the wound to keep it draining. Then she boiled slippery elm bark and made a paste to apply on the outside to keep down infection. Thomas was very near death for about 17 days. It took several months for him to heal and gain back his strength. It was said that Sully left the country when he hear Thomas was on the mend. (From Mrs. JAB)

Thomas was on the move a lot from 1854 onward. He bought a farm in McDonald County, Missouri about this time and soon after moved his family to Newton County, near the village of Neosho, to manage a grist and lumber mill. He bought 2 racing horses around 1855. Preston was the jockey but whether they were ever in a race is not known.

In 1855 in Benton County, Arkansas Thomas filed for a divorce from Sarah and he had it dismissed in 1856. At that time Sarah was living in Benton County, Arkansas and Thomas was living in Greene County, Missouri. By 1856 the children of Thomas and Rebecca were either married or living somewhere else and Thomas was left with four small children to care for. There is no information that tells us why Thomas had the children with him, nor why they were not with Sarah. In March of 1857 Thomas sold the McDonald County farm. This property was located on the McDonald County and Benton County Arkansas line. Two parcels were involved. The east half of the southwest quarter of section number twenty seven, in township number twenty one of range thirty one, eighty acres, and also the southwest fourth of the northeast quarter of section number thirty four, in township number twenty one of range number thirty one, containing forty acres. Thomas received $500 for the eighty acres from Ambrose Williams. He held a bond against John A Johnson for a title to the forty acres. Ambrose Williams paid Thomas $1,000 and Johnson signed the bond to Williams. Sarah did not sign the deed until February 6, 1858. She received $1 and a $50 horse for relinquishing her dower. There is no further information about Sarah after 1858.

Thomas married Rutha Grogan in 1857 in Webster County, Missouri. She was a young woman from Newton County.

In 1858 Thomas was involved in at least 2 court cases in Greene County. He owed money to the Bank of Missouri and there was a judgment reached in that case. In the same year Thomas filed a suit against Pleasant Henderson for money that Pleasant owed him.

On June 1, 1859 Thomas patented 106.84 acres of land in what is now Christian County, Missouri. It was not far from the land owned by Thomas’s daughter and son-in-law, Elizabeth and Reason Friend.

In the early fall of 1859 Thomas decided to go to Texas with his son Marion. He still had business in Webster County to take care of, so he and Marion agreed to meet at Elm Springs, Arkansas. Marion drove a team of oxen and Jeriah and Rutha both drove a te4am of horses. Angeline and Preston rode the two racehorses and the 3 small children rode in the wagon with Rutha. Oxen were very slow and with the added weight of the loaded wagon it made them even slower. They did not take any furnishings, such as they might have had in those days, only the necessary provisions to get them to Texas. Whatever the reason for the fast move it appears that Thomas was indeed in a hurry to get out of Missouri. They could only travel about 15 miles a day and Thomas met them 2 days after they reached Elm Springs.

It took over a month for them to get into Indian Territory. At this time Thomas seem to be more at ease. They arrived in Texas in the late fall of 1859. Thomas immediately begin thinking of shelter for the winter. He, Marion, and the older children set about cutting pecan trees and sawing them into lumber. Thomas had already made a deal with the army at Fort Belknap to buy what he could supply. They paid him $15 for 1,000 boards 2 feet long and $4 a bushel for 4 bushels of pecans. They burned the scrap from the pecan trees and Rutha and Jeriah leached out the lye and added antelope fat to make a years supply of soap, while Thomas and Marion made a few household furnishings.

In early 1860 the Indians raided the Hubbard Creek Colony stealing as many horses as they could get away with. The little group was forced to abandon their little colony for protection at Fort Belknap. After camping near the Fort for about 10 days Thomas decided to rent a farm he had heard about in Johnson County. He was listed on the 1860 Federal Census of Johnson County. Ruth, Preston, Angeline, Catherine, Ferwich, Melvin, and William are listed with him. His occupation was farming and his post office was Buchanan. They lived in Johnson County until about 1864. Thomas spent a lot of time at Fort Davis, the civilian fort in Stephens County. Sam and Susan Newcomb referred to him as Col. T. McCarty. Marion was living near the Fort and he and Thomas hunted buffalo, as they were still very plentiful at that time. They rounded up the longhorn cattle and branded them forming their own herds. Thomas used the CTM brand and it is on record in the Dickens County Courthouse.

When the Indians made another raid on the community where the McCarty family was living Thomas again packed up and moved near a Fort, leaving Johnson County. This time they moved to Fort Davis, a civilian fort. They moved with an oxen team because the Indians had stolen all their horses, including the two racing mares. Thomas had acquired a small herd of longhorn cattle that Preston drove to the new place.

By 1865 Angeline had married Joe browning and they were living at Camp Cooper, a military post that the army had abandoned. The was over by 1866 and even thought Indians were still a threat, the occupants of Fort Davis began to move out to other places. Thomas moved his family to Camp Cooper where Joe and Angeline were living.

One afternoon Preston and 4 other boys were out hunting cows when a party of Indians attacked them. Preston escaped and rode at full speed to Camp Cooper to report what had happened. A search party went out looking for the boys and found one of them had been killed. There was no sign of the Indians. After another wait of several days to see if the Indians were going to attack again the McCarty’s and Browning’s moved to Miller Valley in Haskell County where the grazing was better. This was in the fall of 1866.

In 1867 Marion and Jeriah moved to Miller Valley and built a large house. They invited Thomas and his family to move in with them. They were still rounding up the longhorn cows to build their herds. One evening Joe returned home to tell Angeline that Marion had branded a JAB calf with his brand. He confronted Marion and there was a shoot out. Marion was mortally wounded with a shot to the heart, and Joe took a bullet to the hip. A rift developed between the families and it lasted for many years. In 1869 Thomas went to see Angeline after the birth of a child and shook hands with Joe and ended the hostile feelings. Whether the rest of the family ever became friendly again isn’t known. There is not record that tells us Angeline was on good terms with any of them except Thomas and Rutha.

The McCarty’s moved from Miller Valley back east of Fort Griffin after Marion’s death. For a few years they enjoyed several happy events. Catherine was married to John William Newcomb in Shackelford County near Fort griffin, Rutha gave birth to a baby girl in 1859, named Cordelia, and Prerston married Martha Shaw in 1870.

About 1869/1870 Rutha became quite ill and Thomas took her for a visit with Angeline. They were still Angeline when Rutha died. Thomas became very despondent for a long time and Angeline finally sent for Preston. When he saw Thomas he immediately decided to take him back to Missouri for a visit. It was over 3 years before Thomas returned to Texas. The must have spent those years visiting the daughters, sons and grandchildren he had left behind in 1859.

It was in 1874 that Thomas married Sarah Elizabeth Farmer Bradford, a widow, living in Green County, Missouri. Sarah had a four-year old son from her previous marriage. They moved to Texas in 1875 to the town of Fort Griffin where their daughter, Flora, was born. They lived in or near Fort Griffin for about 6 years. Thomas paid taxes in Shackelford County from 1875 to 1881. They were listed on the 1880 Federal Census living in Shackelford County. About 1882 Thomas migrated on west to Dickens County were Angeline was living. They lived on Duck Creek about 3 miles west of where the town of Dickens now stands.

One evening about dusk Thomas and Sarah were returning home and a heavyl rainstorm came up. Sarah got out of the buggy and proceeded to lead the horse in the blinding rain. A wheel on the buggy dropped into a hole and the buggy overturned. Thomas received a broken hip and he later developed pneumonia. He was not strong enough to recover and he died on 21 December 1884 at the age of 82. He was buried on the W. L. “Bud” Browning Ranch, west of Dickens. A hand carved sandstone rock marks his grave. There are 2 unknown children’s graves beside him. The graves are located on a cliff on the east side of a branch off of Duck Creek about 1000 feet north of the east road crossing to the old Goens ranch house (now the Glass Ranch).

_______________________________________________________________
From Ancestry.com

MRS JAB
jolynnalv1added this on 6 Apr 2009
Mary Wilson originally submitted this to mccarty4 <http://trees.ancestry.com/pt/ViewStory.aspx?tid=8776240&oid=6ccb2840-be71-4abc-8555-591f0bddebd6> on 6 Dec 2008

WRITTEN BY WANDA BROWNING FALK

INDEX
Family of Thomas McCarty
McCarty, Thomas Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 11, 13
Comstock, Rebecca ( "Becky" Mrs. Rebecca McCarty) Chapter 1
McCarty, Allen Chapter 1, 2, 3
McCarty, Stirling Thaddeus Chapter 1, 2
McCarty, John Chapter 1, 2
McCarty, Francis Marion Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9
McCarty, James Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4
McCarty, Preston "Pres" Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
McCarty, Jane Chapter 2
McCarty, Elizabeth Chapter 2
McCarty, Louise J.* not in book
LaFource/ LaFourche, Sarah "Sallie" (Mrs. "Sallie" Sarah McCarty) Chapter 1, 2, 3
McCarty, Jeanette Angelina "Angie" Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
McCarty, Farwick also known as Warwick and Farick Chapter 2, 3, 4, 5. 6, 7
McCarty, Melvin " Mel" Chapter 2, 3, 4, 5. 6, 7, 8
Wakefield, Ruth / Rutha Grogan (Mrs. Ruth McCarty) Chapter 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 , 8, 9
McCarty, William "Bill" Chapter 4, 6, 7, 8
McCarty, Richard "Dick" Chapter 5, 6, 7, 8
Banty, Sarah Chapter 11

==================================================== ==
Alexander, T. C. Chapter 5
Bailor, John R. Chapter 9
Baker, Old man Chapter 3
Banty, Sarah Chapter 11, 13
Barkley, Evelyn Chapter 2, 3
Bass, Freeman Chapter 14
Bass, Sam Chapter 10
Bentonville, MO Chapter 2
Billy the Kid Chapter 12, 14
Blake Chapter 1
Blake, Tom Chapter 4
Bonnard, Charles Chapter 5
Britt, Jake Chapter 5
Britt, Nancy Chapter 5
Browning, "Bert" Albert L. Chapter 14
Browning, "Bob" Walter Claxton Chapter 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14
Browning, "Bud" William E. Chapter 9, 10, 11, 13
Browning, "Della" Sarah Ardella Chapter 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13. 14
Browning, "Diame" Didemia Chapter 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14
Browning, Fredrick Chapter 6
Browning, George Alansing Chapter 11, 12, 14
Browning, "Jack" James Napoleon Chapeter 11, 12, 13, 14
Browning, James Nathan "Jim" Chapter 8, 9, 10, 13
Browning, Joseph Alansing "Joe" Chapter 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11. 12, 13, 14
Browning, "Lily" Lillian Georgia Chapter 10, 12, 13, 14
Browning, Roddy Chapter 14
Browning, "Tod" Edwin L Chapter 12, 13, 14
Bryant, Hardy Chapter 14
Burke, Mary Lucas Chapter 6. 11, 13
Camp Cooper Chapter 7, 8
Camp David Chapter 7
Clark, Ellie Chapter 6
Comanche Chapter 11
Comanche Chief Andy Chapter 11
Croton Springs Chapter 12
Curtis, Joel Colonel Chapter 14
Degraftenread Chapter 11, 14
Dugan, Susan Chapter 5
El Paso Texas Chapter 14
Faith Chapter 2
Finley Creek, Webster County, Missouri Chapter 2
Fleming, Brother Mel (Methodist Preacher) Chapter 5
Fort Griffin Chapter 8, 9, 12
Fort Sumner Chapter 14
Garrett, Family Chapter 1
Garrett, Pat Chapter 14
Godwin, Tom
Greene County, MO Chapter 2
Grey, Family Chapter 1
Haig, Family Chapter 1
Henry, old man Chapter 9
Hitson, Bill Chapter 7
Hitson, Jess Chapter 7
Hitson, Joe Chapter 7
Hitson, John Chapter 7
Hitson, Mary Chapter 7
Hyde, Frank John Chapter 10
Jackson, Lucy Teacher Chapter 5
John R. Chapter 5, 7
Kane, Deborah Chapter 6, 9
Kelley, "Will" William Chapter 10
Neal, Lon Chapter 10
LaFource/ LaFourche, Sarah "Sallie" (Mrs. "Sallie" Sarah McCarty) Chapter 1, 2, 3
Lane, "Dick" Richard Chapter 11
Lapan Indians Chapter 11
Lapan Indian Frances Chapter 11
Lee, Geriah/ Jeriah Marcum (Mrs Marion McCarty) Chapter 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9
Lewis, Ben Chapter 9
Lewis, Granny Chapter 2
Linden, MO Chapter 2
Lott, Seargeant Chapter 5
Lucas, Charles Chapter 1
Manning, Guy Chapter 13
Metley, "Will" William Chapter 10, 11
McBride, "Jim" James Chapter 12, 13, 14
McCarty Chapter 1
McCarty, James (son of Marion) Chapter 4
McCarty, Thomas (son of Preston) Chapter 11
McClellan, Sam Chapter 5
McClellan, Mr. Mac & Mrs. Susan Chapter 5
McCommis, Wayne Chapter 11, 13, 14
McCord, Jim Chapter 11.
McDonald County, MO Chapter 2
McGrath, Family Chapter 1
Miller, Gadis E. Judge Chapter 6
Moore, Deedie Mr.
Mormon Chapter 3
Nacoma, Pete Chapter 6
Neosho, MO Chapter 2
Newman, Hance Chapter 14
Newton County, MO Chapter 2
Parker, Cynthia Ann Chapter 6
Pat, old man Chapter 12
Penergrass Chapter 1
Pepper Ranch Chapter 7
Randall, Phil Chapter 7
Robart, Professor Chapter 14
Ross, Sull Chapter 6
Sacramento Montains Chapter 14
Sillman Ranch Chapter 7
Sloan, Bob Chapter 6
Smith, Joseph Chapter 3
Steeldust Stallion Chapter 3
Stegall, Mary Lucas Chapter 6, 8, 11
Stegall, Mr. John H. Chapter 6, 8, 11
Stockton, Etta Chapter 10
Sully Chapter 1
Swank, Mrs. Chapter 5
Tonkowas, Indians Chapter 9, 11
Tonkowas Indian Scouts Chapter 11
Wakefield, Mrs. Chapter 2
Webster County, MO Chapter 2
Windsor, Mr. & Mrs. Chapter 14
Wilder, Dalla Chapter 7
Youcum, Mr. Chapter 11

Brands
MES Brother Mel Fleming Chapter 5
Texas brand for the war widows. Chapter 5
Elm Springs, Arkansas Chapter 3
Van Buren, Arkansas Chapter 3
Red River, Texas Chapter 3
Fort Preston, Grayson County, Texas Chapter 3
Fort Bellnap, Young County, Texas Chapter 4
Fort Worth, Tarrent County, Texas Chapter 4
Fort Davis, Texas Chapter 8
Camp Cooper, Throckmorton County, Texas Chapter 3, 4
Buchanan county/ later called Stephens County, Texas Chapter 4
Brazos River in Johnson County, Texas Chapter 5

Fort Cobb, Caddo County, Indian Territory
Fort Phantom Hill, Taylor County, Texas
Fort Cranbourne, Taylor County, Texas
Hubbard Creek, Young County, Texas Chapter 4
-----------------------------------------------

TIME LINE
1802 the McCarty couple had a son and they named him Thomas near Viginia/ in Tenn
Pa grew up near the Cumberland Gap
1821 married Rebecca Comstock of the Kentucky
1825 MaCarty s settled down at Terre Haute, Indiana
So Thomas said he would take the six boys along with him, and she could look after the girls.
1844 married Sarah LaFourche in
1849 and we were living on the White River in Southern Missouri
1850 United States Federal Census > Arkansas > Marion > Not Stated
1856 he left Marion county and went west. north toward Linden, Missouri.
1856 in at Finley Creek, in Webster County, Missouri,
Ruth lost first baby
1857 Marion, in the mean time, had been courting Geriah Lee
James turned 18 and wanted to stay in Finley Creek
1857 Angie was 11 when they went to texas
Buchanan county Hubbard Creek
1858 arrive at Fort Bellnap after indians ran them off Hubbard Creek,
1859 Angie 13 Moved out by McClellen Ranch Texas and little Richard was born.
1860 It wasn't long until Pa came to tell us he had some land in Erath County.
1862 in the midst of the Civil War, the Homestead Act was passed Angie came home from the mcClellans and waco. my folks had acquired on the Brazos River in Johnson County.
1963 Angie was 16 when McCartys arrived at Fort Davis,
January, 1865 Angie married Joe Browning at Fort Davis.
1866 Fort Davis Angie has Demia and Jim Browning who was 17 arrives to help.ranching 1866, Palo Pinto, Texas
1866 Miller valley which lay west of Fort Griffin.
1867 Baby Della Arives 1967 Stevens, Texas; Mr. Stegall, had moved into Cooke County, Texas
1868 Joe Browning shot by brother in law Marion Joe kills Marion goes to Fort Griffin to Dr
1872 Preston married Debroh KaneFort Picketville (Brekenridge now
1869 two miles from Fort Griffin Bob Browning born Shackelford County, Texas;
1869 Ruth died
1871 The oldest brother, Bud, had come west to be with his kin. Started the brothers Ranch Baby Jack born Shackelford County, Texas
Fort Griffin and get moved took over John R Bailor ranch
me that I had given a drink to Sam Bass, the noted Texas outlaw!
Stockton family came by the ranch.
1874 Baby died premture and Angie started having "rheumatism"

1875 Lily is born in Shackleford, Stephens County, Texas.
1876 Moved to Bufford Creek
1876 George was born Shakleford, Stephen County, Texas
1876 Ballard Springs was our next home, and it is on the very ground where Matador City
1879 be near a doctor at Fort Griffin. Preston and his family were near there again; so we had a good visit with them before young Tod Browning made his appearance into the world visited with Preston and his family.
1879 Duck Creek in Dickens County,
1882, Mettie was born in Dickens County, TX

1882 When Diame became Mrs. McBride in 1882 and Della Mrs. McCommis August 15, 1882, I was still stunned, but I was resigned to their marriage as long as they were to live near us.
1881 to 1884 our Texas had a private war of its own, called the Fence Cutter's War
1883 Families moved to New Mexico. Fort Sumner
When we came to Fort Sumner, Joe hunted up our old friends, the DeGraftenreads
Our wagons came to Fort Stanton, another government post, then on to Dollins Sawmill on the Rates River. After a while we passed through the Indian Reservation, which was called Apache
Silver Spring Canyon (Trough Canyon then) and James Canyon to find the mouth of the Penasco River. Curtis canyon in the Sacramento Montains was where they settled.
1885 Bert was born 1885,in Otero County, New Mexico Thomas McCarty Died a month later
Diame and Della are married, and they're goin' with their husbands whether you want them to or not. Diame's Jim has been offered a good job with Three L's outfit, and Wayne is goin' to be foreman for the J MIL's. Seems to me you'd be proud of the boys and say nothing to interfere with them."
spring of 1885 when Joe decided to go south east of Curtis Canyon, where there wasn't a sign of wagon tracks. He and our boys built roads as they went, over the mountain, down the canyon, on and on. It was worth all the work, for we finally came to a spot not far from where the town of Cloudcroft now stands.
1888 the families in lower Cox Canyon decided to build their own school house.
winter of 1889. Small pox hit the area. They ran out of vaccine and vaccinated from each other pock serum.
1893 when the railroad come to Roswell. So they did not have to take their cattle as far.
1890 Elk Canyon, just at the line of the Indian Reservation
1893 and 1894 because diphtheria broke no school
1892 in Elk, Chaves County, NM. Lily married Dick
1893 Bob's married Phronie [Sophronia]
1895 Penasco, Lincoln County Jack married Hettie,
1897 the settlers were moving fast into our mountain country.
1900 Joe and I found that the JAB and SP Bar cattle were decreasing at an alarming rate Indians were eating them.
Bob and his Phronie had moved to Penasco River and now owned the JMIL home ranch; Lily and Dick were heading to Colorado to join the gold hunt; Della and Jim were off to Wyoming, Jack and Hettie were talking about the country near Portales, New Mexico.
1901 Tod in Arizona would be coming home with a wife. Ida married in Datril, Catron, New Mexico
1902 Mettie [Jamettie], up and married Jim Lafferty;
Albert the only child left home they moved northeast to the Feliz River. He said it was a cattleman's paradise--good water, fine grass and few settlers. How many times I had heard that! But if Bert wanted to go there, I was not holding back.
Bert married his Carrie
Joe received thirteen thousand dollars from the government. Per Joe's invitation to make a large ranch. Jack, Tod, and Bert came, and they bought the fine herd which bore the Bar HL brand. Joe was happy again, and I had to admit I was feeling better myself. I wish I had been absolutely normal so I could have appreciated the stirring changes going on around us. I do remember them very well
1905 Saw their first car
1907 we were going through what might well be called an educational revolution. Many of the mountain people moved to Roswell or Alamogordo to send their children to better grade schools and high schools. Some cattlemen sold their land to large cattle companies and bought ranches closer to these towns. Usually, the mother and children lived in town during the school session, them moved back to the ranch for vacation time.
1910 I faced a daily routine battle. Each morning when I had finished the dishes, I would rush out to work in my garden. Each morning I would say, "Today, I won't take my medicine. I don't have an ache or pain today; I can do without. Today I'll keep on working in the garden, and I won't know when ten o'clock comes; I'll not even know it." With the help of her daughter in law and the Doctor. She fought the battle against her addiction and won.
1913 I could see that Joe was getting to old to do farm work and take care of the few stock we had. We talked it over with the boys, and it wasn't hard to persuade Joe to sell the little farm- ranch and move to Alamogordo. They bought a small home and a corner store.
1915. Alamogordo was putting on its best big and tucker to celebrate our Golden Wedding Anniversary.
Jack and Hettie and the five children had moved to Arizona,
1919 I could see that Joe was breaking fast they sold the store.
1923 Joe Browning died in Alamogordo, NM
1924 Mettie and children moved in with her. She went to Arkanss to visit Bob and Phronie and see a lot of the places where she grew up at.
1926 eightieth birthday crept upon me, and I had my first surprise birthday party. The Methodist Missionary Society of Alamogordo, New Mexico gave the party for me.
1931 Angie died in Alamogordo, NM
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I believe Angie was bit by a brown recluse spider. Not only did she have the open sore from the bite that broke open. It also went sytemic causeing her like a tetnus. Muscle cramping and excuciating pain, swollen joints. That made people think it was Rhuemitism. That she got addicted to a drug. No one can imagine the pain from having 20 charlie horses/ muscle cramps at one time. That she was able to break her addiction years later. Usually the pain subsides over the years but it never fully goes away, it only becomes tolerable.
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Joseph Alansing Browning married Jeanetta Angelina McCarty (1846-1931) on January 15, 1865 in Fort Davis, Texas Their Children:
1 DIDEMIA "Diame" BROWNING, b. March 25, 1866, Palo Pinto, Texas; m. James MCBRIDE.
2 SARAH ARDELIA "DELLA" BROWNING, b. June 12, 1867, Stephens, Texas; m. JIM Wayne MCCOMMUS, August 15, 1882, Wheeler County, Texas 1875 in Stephens County, Texas.
3 WALTER CLAXTON "BOB" BROWNING, b. June 23, 1869, Fort Griffin, Shackelford County, Texas; d. July 16, 1944. married "Phronie" SOPHRONIA LOUISE SNOW December 03, 1893, Travis, Texas daughter of PLEASANT SNOW and MARY HAMPTON. She was born October 03, 1874 in Texas, and died January 19, 1959 in Alamogordo, Otero County, New Mexico.
4 JAMES "JACK" NAPOLEON BROWNING, b. November 09, 1871, Shackelford County, Texas; d. November 03, 1939, Wilcox, Cochise County, Arizona. He married HETTIE BELLE MCNATT November 26, 1895 in Penasco, Lincoln County, Territory of New Mexico, daughter of MARION MCNATT and NANCY BROWN. She was born April 19, 1876 in Bowie, Montague County, Texas, and died June 24, 1956 in Wilcox, Cochise, Arizona.
5. Baby girl died at birth
6 LILLIAN "Lily" GEORGIA BROWNING, b. March 12, 1875 in Shackleford, Stephens County, Texas. She married (1) RICHARD ALVIN COLTON January 02, 1892 in Elk, Chaves County, NM. He was born June 09, 1866 in Elk, Chaves, New Mexico, and died July 15, 1919 in Las Vegas, Clark County, Nevada. She married (2) MR. YORK Aft. 1893.
7 GEORGE ALANSING BROWNING, b. April 15, 1876. in Texas Catherine Julia Pullan born 22 Dec 1880 Texas died 3 Oct 1939 Los Angeles, Calif. Daughter of A W Pullaln and Mary Jane Resner
1920 Fowler CA. George A Browning 41 Julia Browning 36 Leslie V Browning 10 Elzia T Browning 5 Elmer R Browning 6/12
Name: Leslie V Browning Birth Date: 22 Mar 1909 Gender: Male Mother's Maiden Name: Pullan Birth County: Fresno Name: Elzie T Browning Birth Date: 20 Apr 1911 Gender: Male Mother's Maiden Name: Pullen Birth County: Fowler, Fresno Co., CA
Name: Browning Birth Date: 25 Jun 1919 Gender: Female Mother's Maiden Name: Pullum Birth County: Fowler, Fresno Co., CA
California Death information BROWNING GEORGE 04/15/1877 MCCARTY / BROWNING M born TEXAS died STANISLAUS California 07/15/1954 77 y
LESLIE BROWNING 22 Mar 1909- 27 Jan 1980 90278 (Redondo Beach, Los Angeles, CA) (none specified) 549-01-3163 California
Name: Elzie Trueman Browning Social Security #: 549013133 Sex: MALE Birth Date: 22 Apr 1911 Birthplace: California Death Date: 18 May 1945 Death Place: Los Angeles Mother's Maiden Name: Pullen FATHER'S SURNAME: Browning
Name: Leslie V Browning Social Security #: 549013163 Sex: MALE Birth Date: 22 Mar 1909 Birthplace: California Death Date: 27 Jan 1980 Death Place: Los Angeles Mother's Maiden Name: Pullen
Elmer R Browning M Jun 1919 in Fowler, Fresno, California, USA
8. EDWIN L. "TODD" BROWNING, b. December 12, 1879, in Fort Griffin, Shackelford County, Texas, and died June 04, 1932 in El Paso, El Paso, Texas. He married IDA MAY TENNEY April 20, 1901 in Datril, Catron, New Mexico, daughter of SAMUEL TENNEY and LORA BROWN. She was born December 24, 1884 in Luna Valley, Catron, New Mexico, and died June 05, 1955 in Phoenix, Maricopa, Arizona.
9 JAMETTIE BELLE BROWNING, b. July 07, 1882, in Dickens County, TX, and died January 13, 1971 in El Paso, Texas. She married JAMES ANNIS LAFFERTY February 09, 1902 in Elk, Chaves County, NM, son of JOHN ANNIS LAFFERTY and MARY HANNAH LIPSEY. JIM was born February 16, 1875 in Graham, Young County, Texas, and died May 16, 1955 in San Diego, CA. Jim and Mettie had 10 children. They seperated in 1924. He had a child with a friend. Then he remarried and had four more chidlren two died as infants and his young wife died at the birh of his last child.
10 ALBERT L. "BERT" BROWNING, b. 1885,in Otero County, New Mexico, and died in Las Vegas, Nevada. He married (1) MARY CAROLINE "CARRIE" ARTHUR. She was born May 21, 1890 in Mayhill, Otero, NM. He married (2) BLANCH WILBURN.

11. Roddy (Rodrick)
Information from Marley Lafferty
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SOME CENSUS INFORMATION
1850 United States Federal Census > Arkansas > Marion > Not StatedThomas McCarty 41 tn ; Sarah 27 ky; Allen 22 ind; John 20 ; Stirling 16 thadeus; Francis M 12; Jeanetta A 4 fe mo; Zerelda C 2 fe ar;
1850 United States Federal Census </> Missouri > > Greene </> Campbell
Thomas Lanham 24 TN Farmer 1200 reslestate Garland M Lanham < 22 TN; Abel Lanham < 16 TN; Rebecca Mc Carty 40 TN 1810; John Mc Carty 20 IN 1830; Louisa J Mc Carty 15 IN 1835; Preston Mc Carty 7 IN 1843; Catharine Lanham 12 MO;
1860 United States Federal Census about James R Gilbert ; Name: James R Gilbert Age in 1860: 62 Birth Year: abt 1798 Birthplace: Virginia Home in 1860: Linden, Christian, Missouri Gender: Male; Post Office: Ozark ; Value of real estate: Household Members: Name Age James R Gilbert 62 VA Farmer; Rebecca Gilbert 54 VA ; Mary Gilbert 20 VA; James R Gilbert 15 VA; Jno W Gilbert 13 VA; Lafeayatt Gilbert 11 VA; Melvina Gilbert 9 NC;
1850 CENSUS; Farwick C. McCarty Nov 1850 MO he died 5-3-1908 1900 Brownwood, Brown, Texas; wife Mary R; May McCarty ; Irvine McCarty; Maude McCarty.

Mrs. JAB biography or a true Pioneer Woman
Everybody loved to hear my Grandma Angelna's stories of pioneer days in Missouri, Texas, and New Mexico. We children always begged for stories of the Indians, the cowboys and the trailblazers. We knew her stores so well we could prompt her when her throat was tired or she happened to sneeze.
We all adored this tiny lady, who stood five feet two inches tall and weighed all of a hundred pounds. She could spin such good yarns and tell the best jokes and sing the happiest songs. It never dawned on any of us that she had suffered a living hell for twenty years.
I was seven years old when Grandma Angelina (my father's mother) came to our home in Roswell, New Mexico. My mother warned me that grandma was very ill, and that the doctor would be coming to our house often. We were not to be noisy, and above, all we were to be very kind to Grandma.
Not until I was twelve years old did my parents tell me the horrifying truth about the Grandma's illness, but my the time she was in good health, the curse had been lifted, and I looked forward to her visits. I do remember feeling embarrassed when I saw her for the first time after my parents confession, but her ready smile, her good humor and sincere interest won me again.
When I was older and a bit wiser, I realized that I could honestly say my grandmother was a heroine of the first order, and I was determined that some day I would get to tell her story. One night I interviewed Grandma Angelina for twenty years, jotting down certain important dates, gathering the few pictures available, and using the favorite stores when I had English compositions due at school.
When I was married and had two children of my own, it came to me suddenly, that Grandma and I had better get together to finish this story of her life. After all she was past eighty.
In 1929 we invited her to our home in Tucson, Arizona an and we set to work. Se went over all my notes, checked our history books, gathered, family pictures and reviewed my favorite stories. This meeting had to be different that all other. There were some important questions I was to ask, and I was to receive some very candid answers.
When we finished this last long interview, Grandmother Angelina remarked good humoredly," I feel naked as a jay-bird."
CHAPTER
EARLY CHILDHOOD
When you are up in years as I am, folks are likely to ask, "Grandma what is the first thing you can remember?"
Gracious me! How far back can a child remember? We hear something told over and over again by older members of our family, and we aren't sure whether we really remember or not. Anyway, I do not remember some things that happened when I was close to three years old.
It was 1849 and we were living on the White River in Southern Missouri. We were at the supper table when my brother Allen (just turned eighteen) announced that he was going to join the gold hunters in California. He said a caravan from our colony would be leaving in ten days.
I was heart-broken, for Allen was my oldest brother who took mighty good care of me. I remember bursting into tears and yelling "Don't leave me, Allen! Don't leave me!" and my Pa hushing me in one hurry by demanding, "Dry your tears, Angie, or leave the table."
My mother looked very sad, and my Pa looked as sour as green apples, but my other five brothers went hog -wild with excitement and talked of nothing else for the next ten days.
I remember the big girls in the settlement bringing tree branches to put on the wheels of the wagons and gathering wild flowers to hang around the oxen's necks.
The morning the caravan was to move out, Allen came to me with a package, and he said, "Angie, this is for a big girl who never cries." I opened the package and there were two pretty side combs and a pair of knitting needles. I looked over my mother and she had the identical presents. I was prouder than a peacock, and I did try not to cry, but when the teams started up the tears rolled down my cheeks; but at least I didn't make any noise or fuss, and I just hoped Allen was to far away to see my tears.
The part I didn't know about until years later, when my brother Preston told me, was that Allen had had a real argument with Pa that evening when he first announced his plans. It seems that Ma and all the boys were some surprised that Allan had the grit to cross Pa and actually make a move to leave the nest.
Pres said he would never forget that evening as long as he lived. After supper, Allen and Pa sat down under the big tee to the right of our door. Pres and John didn't dare go near the tree (John was sixteen and Pres nine). They sat out to the side of the house and stretched their ears to listen. They were to scared to move and to interested to keep whittling, which was what they were supposed to be doing.
Pres said it was like two big bulls eyeing each other. That's a good likeness, come to think about it, for both Pa and Allen were big men. Both were over six feet, but Pa filled out all over and weighed a lot more. Some neighbors said that my father, Thomas McCarty, was a brawny, friendly happy Irishman, but others call him hard-bargaining, strait-laced, tight-lipped Scotchman. All agreed that Allen was the "spittin' image" of his Pa; and they were mighty good- looking men with dark curls and Irish blue eyes.
Pres said Pa seemed calm and peaceful enough when he asked Allen about this uproar in California, and Allen answered him cool as a cucumber.
"Pa, it is rumored that gold has been found in Californy that a man can grow rich in a day by simply picking up rocks on top o' the ground."
Allen was heating up a little. "Charles Lucas brought word from the east that President Polk vowed this was no rumor. There is gold there, all right! Plenty of it!"
"Then every rakshell in the country will be headed west by sun-up. You're to young for such a trip among robbers and thieves and worse!"
"I'm eighteen, pa and I'm not the youngest in our colony who expects to head west soon." Pres and the other boys nearly swallowed their tongues when Allen went on, halfway poking fun at Pa. "I do remember being told there was one Thomas McCarty, who at the ripe age of eighteen took for his wife one Rebecca Comstock, who traveled with him from Kentucky to the wilds of Indiana."
"Are you thinking of taking a wife on this journey?"
Allen roared with laughter at the shocked look on Pa's face. "That I am not. There are maidens about, but I'm doing my traveling first; make my pile, then settle down."
"You are wise there, Son Many women are poor travelers." But Pa wasn't giving in this easy. "You know nothing of your country to the east and less of this barren land to the west. That is not all; you know so little of your forekin, where they came from, what they did! I tell you, Son, you are not ready to fly out of the nest."
"So!" retorted Allen, "I haven't listened to you to tell all of us again about your up-bringin'."
John winked at all the boys scrunched down at the side of the house; then he sauntered around lazy-like to the tree. The rest followed a few at a time and waited to see if Pa would wave them away, but he didn't.
Pres said Ma let me out of the house about then, and I crept into Pa's arms and fell fast asleep in a few minutes. Wouldn't you know it! But Pa's strong, melodious voice could lull and charm far older women than I. When he read the Bible to us, it would give you goose pimples. If he had been a calmer man, he would have been a wonderful preacher.
Pres said Pa let out all the stops that evening and repeated al his best stories. He didn't hesitate to tell his sons that the Scotchman had been driven out of England because they didn't see eye to eye on religious questions. They moved over into Ireland and taught the Irish a few things about thrift and orderliness, but the thanks they got for that was to be invited out of their adopted home and told to move out fast. What did that Irish period contribute to the family? ( I can see Pa's eyes crinkling at the corners when he's tickled about something.) "Oh, a bit o' the brogue that will last for generations!"
Pa pointed out that by 1789 thousands of these Scotch-Irish had arrived in Pennsylvania. There were a lot of other immigrants there, and they were going to stay, for the Allegheny mountains discouraged movement westward. But don't think these stopped the Scotch-Irish. They just up and found a passageway to the north, traveled around the mountains and south again until they reached the edge of Virginia.
There the Garrett s, Penergrass es, Haig s, Grey s, Blake s, McGrath s, and McCarty s built homes, tilled the soil, worshiped God as good Presbyterians. Sure they had to fight Indians! Sure they had to conquer the wilderness!
In 1802 the McCarty couple had a son and they named him Thomas. Pa said it was no concern of his that President Jefferson the next year acquired the Louisiana Territory. He had no more reason to be concerned about western expansion when he was eight years old, for his own little world collapsed. His parents died of a strange and vicious fever, apparently malaria. A lot of folks in that settlement died of the same ailment.
Pa said he would be forever grateful to the Blakes and the McGraths who looked after him, and when the Blakes moved the next year they took your Thomas with them.
Pa grew up near the Cumberland Gap where he watched the emigrant wagons travel through this natural gateway in a never ending line. He listened a lot around the campfires at night, and he learned more and more about the country west of Kentucky and Tennessee and the Mississippi River.
Pa let the boys know he was taking care of himself by the time he was twelve, and when he was eighteen, he was full-grown and ready to strike out for himself.
He married Rebecca Comstock of the Kentucky Comstock s, and a new wife was reason enough to hit the for the new country. The McCarty s joined a caravan heading toward Indiana and Ohio. Then the news came that New York State had, at last, started the Erie Canal. Thomas and Rebecca rushed to the scene of this exciting enterprise, and there Thomas worked as a subcontractor until the canal was finished in 1825.
The MaCarty s settled down at Terre Haute, Indiana, and watched an Indian stockade blossom into a thriving city. Pa admitted that he loved the excitement of road and canal building, and he decided that it was the right place and the right time to start the family. He reminded the boys they were born at Terre Haute all six of them, and three sisters besides.
Then the excitement was over. Indiana was bankrupt because she had invested too heavily in highways and byways. Pa said he had a feeling in his bones that hard times were coming, and he felt restless and uneasy. He knew they should get out while the getting was good, but he couldn't persuade Rebecca. She kept putting him off week after week, and finally she just said she was going to stay in civilized country among civilized people. So Thomas said he would take the six boys along with him, and she could look after the girls.
That was about all I ever did find out about this split-up. My brother John, the solem, quiet boy of the bunch, told me when I was too curious one day, that his mother, Rebecca, knew Pa would never come back, so she sued for divorce and got it in less than a year. Pa never opened his mouth about it again, and you can bet I never questioned him.
Pa had told all the history he was going to say that evening. He turned to Allen with, "The rest you can remember well: you were twelve by then."
Allen wasn't quite ready to close the discussion. He answered, "Yes I do remember. We traveled to Missouri, and we went through St. Louis and St. Genevieve. You told us that people there were French, and we looked them over hard, because we never heard of such. You took one look at the White River country and told us we were going to start a saw mill. We did just that and we never worked any harder in our lives, but I liked it."
Allen had to get in a little teasing, though, which is something none of the rest of us ever had the nerve to do with Pa. "I keep thinking, though, that it seems a mite strange that you chose this particular spot to build a saw mill. It couldn't have been that a certain pretty little French girl, Salle LaFource, had something to do with sudden decision to stay in these parts."
The other boys, Pres said, held their breaths at Allen's daring. But Pa just brushed him off. "That's no concern of yours, Son. Marion, go look after the horses, and I'll put this young lady to bed. She is getting heavier than a ton of led."
Allen chuckled, but then said very seriously, "Sallie is pretty, she's good, and she's my friend."
That was the opinion echoed by all the boys' I can tell you that for sure. When Pa married Sallie LaForce in 1844, the boys were nightly surprised, but they soon found out this young girl knew how to make a house a home.
Sallie's first baby was a boy who died after birth; then I came along, Jeanette Angelina. Imagine one baby girl among all those boys! I guess they set out to spoil me rotten, but Pa made it plain that he didn't like spoiled children around. My three older half-brothers, Allen, John, Thaddeus, were my guardians, while Marion, James, Preston were my playmates.
I remember that Ma worked night and day to finish a coat for Allen to take to California. Of course she had to weave and sew by hand.
Ma actually made two coats in one; the inside was plaid material and the outside was a plain color. I know how much Allen appreciated it; he was the kind who would make a lot over it if you handed him a pretty wildflower.
Pa and Allen parted friends, but they never saw each other again. We heard from Allen once or twice a year, but the mail didn't get to us often, and there was no pony express until 1860.
This next episode is one that I remember very distinctly, although I must have been about three and a half years old. It was Sunday morning and we were at the breakfast table when Pa announced suddenly, "Marion, get the horses; your Ma and I are going to church this morning."
"What will I do with Angie?" asked Ma gently.
"Well, I guess Marion and Preston are big enough to take care of her!" and Pa left the room.
"Oh, Ma," Pres whined, "Marion and I wanted to go down the land and climb trees."
" You can take Angie with you."
"With them fat, short legs taggin' along!"
"Take her or stay at the house all day."
The folks weren't out of sight until we were down the wide lane looking for the tallest tree to climb. Suddenly Marion yelled, "There's the red bull coming! Quick, Angie, we gotta climb a tree!"
Sure enough, the big bull that belonged to our neighbor was coming right down the lane toward us. We hoped he hadn't seen us yet. Each boy grabbed one of my fat hands and ran to the nearest tree. Marion swung up first to a lower limb, then he reached for me. " Lift her up quick, Pres, and you get yourself up in one hurry!"
There we sat, awaiting the approach of one of the meanest bulls around. He lumbered along slowly, lowing softly; lowing softly then he would stop long enough to shake his head in vain attempt to rid himself of the pesky flies, that buzzed about him. Maybe you think our hearts weren't beating fast! He came right under the tree where we were perched, and there we stopped. He flung his head over his own shoulder and then the other, wile the slobber flew from his head over his own shoulder and then the other, while the slobber flew from his mouth in all directions, some of it actually reaching Pres's big toe clinched like a vise to the limb of the tree. It seemed like hours, but it couldn't have been many minutes until Mr. Bull ambled on up the lane absolutely unconscious of the terror he was spreading.
"Well, we're in the same fix we wuz. He's µtween us and the house." Marion was always the pessimist. As we were figuring out what to do, we heard the sharp clickety-clack of a loping horse down the road, and a rider came into view. He spied us crouched in the tree and raced up shouting at the top of his lungs.
"Git to the house, all of you. Yer pa's been shot." Then he was past us, rushing our enemy, the bull away off to the side of the lane. We didn't even think about the bull any more as we ran after the horse and rider, crying as we went.
"Who did it?" gasped Marion to John, who stood at the yard gate waiting for us.
"Ole Sully," he answered in a tired voice. Marion turned and looked at Pres and said bitterly, "Yeah! He's been spoilin' for a fight for a long time."
Then a neighbor man came out to tell us, "Your pa and ma took a short cut to church over one o' Sully's pastures just like they've done a heep o' times but Sully was in a bad mood, I guess, and ordered them offen his land. Yer pa isn't one to take orders like that without explanation, so he had words with him; and the next thing, according to y'r ma, Sully had out his gun and shot your pa right through the belly. Yer ma sez the bullet went through him and out his back clean as a whistle but he sur is bleedin'!"
I remember running into the house to find my mother kneeling over my Pa who was white as a bed sheet. I was scared silly, of course, and started crying out aloud. Thaddeaus grabbed me up and ran out of the room, whispering, "Angie! You can't be a cry-baby. You gotte be big. Ma's got no time to pay you mind now. Pa is awful bad."
Sometime that afternoon Ma called us to the door and said very quietly, "John, you are to take Allen's place her now. While I doctor your pa, you take care of Angie and the boys. See that they mind you. I won't have time to look after any of you."
We crept around that house for seventeen days, and we didn't cross patient, solem John once. We were just that scared. I didn't know until I was older what kind of doctoring Ma was doing, but she told me later she probed the wound each day with a with a narrow piece of silk, using slippery elm bark tor a tube to keep the wound open and draining properly. She also made a slippery, sticky mucilage by boiling the elm bark and water together. This was used to draw inflamation from the wound. Imagine what doctors would say about all this nowadays!
I know the neighbors gathered in the yard at different times, and they shook their heads and looked very sad. None of them expected Pa to live. On the seventeenth day, word got around that his bowels finally moved. Folks seemed so relieved and wore such happy faces! I didn't see why that was so important, but twenty years later when I was doctoring my own, I often thought of this very important event.
It was just a month afterwards that Ole Sully heard that Thomas McCarty was up and about and ending fast. Much to the amusement of the whole community, Sully suddenly sold out and moved to some other district. John brought the word to us that Sully was gone, and he remarked in his slow, solem way, "Know, maybe we can have peace for quiet a spell."
Of course I had to know later on what caused this shooting, and as usual it was good old Pres who tried to explain it to me. He told me it was all harkened back to a long time ago when our Pa got interested in the Regulator and Moderator feud.(1) Pres said he was sure the whole thing was past and gone except maybe in that little corner of Missouri. In thinking it was over years later, Pres thought Pa and Sully were just trying to taunt each other. Anyway, the neighbor men told our boys that Pa was proud of his Moderator stock of seventy years back, while Ole Sully swore by his Regulator stock. They just seemed to like to argue over this every time they met, but election time care around and the argument got pretty heated, Sully bragging that he was the only real Democrat in the whole settlement. It seemed he didn't take to our Pa's ideas about Free-Soilers (2)
You might know I didn't understand any of this until many years later when I studied some of my grandchildren's history books. Maybe me brothers were right when they said the whole mess would have died out early if the people in the settlement hadn't kept egging Pa and Sully on, just for the lack of something better to do.
Pres remembered John and Ma trying to figure out what the feud was really about, and John drawling out in his slow way, "Don't men find the damndest things to go shootin' over!"
For once Ma didn't scold him, even if he did use a swear word before a lady.
Footnote:1. Collier Encyclopedia. 1765-1771 Regulator Moment started in Carolinas. The back country farmers took government in their own hands to drive out law country grasping tax collectors. They opposed armed force with force. Moderators took side of army, which finally subdued Regulators in Battle of Alamanac. CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER TWO
GROWING PAINS
It seems to me, as I look back, that the McCarty s lived peacefully and comfortably for the next five years. We had a big house, made of logs like all frontier houses. It had a great fire place at one end to warm us and cook our food. (I can never forget the smell of clean pine knots burning.) We used tallow candles, although I also remember Ma Sallie making pretty green candles out of waxy berries she gathered from bayberry bushes.
We had plenty of food, for Pa was a good farmer. We had corn, beans, turnips, and plenty of other vegetables. We gathered wild berries for jams jellies, and we had good apple cider to drink. I never saw coffee until after the Civil War, and come to think of it, very little tea.
The most important event in those five years were when Ma Sallie presented us with two big, bouncing boys, Farwick and Melvin. I really enjoyed taking care of them. They were like big dolls to me.
It was spring again, and we all wondered why Pa spent long hours walking over his fields or riding far from his land. We might have known that Pa had stayed put long enough. He announced suddenly that he had bought a farm near McDonald County and we'd be moving pretty soon.
I suppose Ma Sallie was comforted by the thought that at least we were not leaving the state, and when we got to the new farm in Newton County, it was just as prosperous looking and well kept as the one we left. As for me, I was a happy girl, for we fund friendly neighbors only a half-mile away, and there was a little girl in the family who was just my age. She was to teach me how to play girl's games and encourage me to talk girl's talk. Ma was pleased that little Evelyn Barkley came over to our house often. I guess Ma brooked over the fact that from the time I was seven, I would try to run as fast, climb as high, and ride as far as Pres, James, Marion. It was high time I started to be more ladylike.
Looking back not, I can see Pa was spreading out a bit. He had turned the far over to John and Thaddeus and had become a manager of a grist and lumber mill in the nearly village of Neosho. This was the time, too when he became interested in horses, particularly blooded racing stock. We heard house talk at every meal, and the brothers and I loved it. If Pa heard of a new race horse in the district, he could always find time to go have a look at the newcomer.
It was a time when everybody in the McCarty household was very busy and very happy. But it wasn't to be that way for very long.
I guess the trouble started the day Granny Lewis [not her real name] came by to visit with ma-- her first and only visit. I wouldn't have been half so curious about her if I hadn't overheard my big brothers say she was the worst gossip in Neosho-- in fact, they used to say she was a cranky old crone and mean as a bat!
I happened to be in the front bedroom putting Melvin and Warwick down for a nap when I heard somebody call, "Anybody home?" I peeked into the front room just as Ma was letting her visitor through the door. She was an old witch if I ever saw one. All she needed was a peaked hat and a broom stick!
After a lot of palaver about the weather and everybody's health, I got the idea that old Granny Lewis was mighty busy running down a newcomer named Faith. Granny declared she wouldn't trust her as far as she could throw a full grown steer. She did admit this Faith was pretty in a sort of simpering way. From what I could gather, Faith was causing an awful stir among the men of the settlement . Old Granny confessed she had stayed up all hours of the night and had seen with her own eyes just.
Plenty of men coming and going from Faith's house. She let it be known then and there that if she had a good-looking husband, she's see that Faith didn't get her claws on him.
I don't remember Ma saying a single word, but she wasn't long showing Granny Lewis to the door. I remember running out a side door to open the front gate for Granny. I was just being friendly, but I admit I was overly curious. She glanced and me and snapped, "Your ma is the untalkingest, unfeelingest woman I ever met!"
I ran back into the house as fast as I could and yelled at Ma, "What's she so mad about?"
Ma said sweetly enough, "Never mind, Angie, get the boys up and I'll ring the supper bell. Your Pa will be ready to eat the minute he comes in."
I shut my mouth then, but I exploded at the table. I was just in the midst of telling the whole world about our visitor when Ma touched me gently on the shoulder and said, "Never mind, Angie. Finish your supper."
A lot of good it did for Little Curiosity Cat to repeat a bit of Gossip. I tried to tell my brothers in private about old Granny's visit, but they just shrugged and didn't even look at me. Even Pres failed me when I repeated what I'd heard. I asked him why the old crone was so nasty to me, and he just yawned and said, "Why don't you talk it over with Ma. Iffen there's something you orta know, she'll tell you."
It was some two weeks later that Ma called all her children and step children to her and told us she was going to see her parents. She remarked that they were getting up in years, and she's like to see how they were getting along. I remember her leaving explicit order for each of us. I was to run the kitchen with Marion and James to help me. "Just be sure the meals are ready when Pa comes in. Angie, you look after Farwick and Melvin. You can manage them all right."
"Pres, you see that there is plenty of wood and water at the house. That's your job. Angie you see that the house is kept in order. Don't let things get messed up."
Actually, we were al excited over Ma's trip, and nobody could have felt more important than Jeanetta Angelina. I was big boss, and I knew it, and I was all of eight years old!
Somebody asked Ma how long she would be gone, and she said she'd be back as soon as she could, for us all to do our part to keep things going until she could return.
I stood at the gate as Ma Mounted her beautiful mare. She had seen Pa, who appeared suddenly from the back of the house. Ma Waited cool enough as he walked toward her very quickly and burst out in an angry voice, "Sallie, I don't like this. I don't see why you pick this time of year to visit your folks. There's fruit ripenin' here, and it will be rotten in another week."
I felt a little sick with disappointment for my mother. That nice visit was spoiled, for of course she wouldn't go unless Pa gave his consent.
Ma looked down at Pa and her black eyes were flashing as she said firmly, "Thomas McCarty, when you get your house in order, I'll be back." She wheeled the mare quickly, waved at all of us, then road off at a fast lope.
You could have knocked me over with a feather and I turned to question Pa, but one look at his face and I skedaddled into the house as fast as my legs would take me. The rest of the day I walked about the house repeating to myself what Ma had sead: "House in order!" Every copper kettle shining both Dutch ovens in their place right on the fireplace; the spinning wheel in its corner on the left; stacks of tallow candles ready for use; the feather beds high and smooth; the floors sweet-smelling for hard soap scrubbings. Never was there a house in more order. What ever in the world did my Ma mean?
I didn't have to much time to ponder over this, for I was running in a high trot trying to keep things in apple-pie order until my Ma would be home again. The bossing part of my job was to get me into trouble. I yelled at Melvin and Warwick from daylight to dark, and ordered my big brothers around so much that Pa set his foot down. "Angie, Quit being so bossy! Everybody hates a bossy woman!" That settled my puffing feathers for a bit, and I had it coming to me.
Ma returned in two weeks, and I was the happiest girl in the world. I talked an arm off her and she took over the washing, ironing and the dreaded mending. She never stopped working that whole day! Then about sundown she told me things weren't right yet, and she would have to go back to her parents for a spell. I took it that her parents were ailing and still needed her help. I know she left because Pa never once came to the house that whole day.
I remember taking Melvin and Warwick to the barn so they couldn't see Ma leave. I wanted to cry in the worst way, but I knew if the little boys saw me they would tune up, and I'd have real trouble on my hand to get them to stop.
It was about that time that we had unexpected company one evening. I had fixed corn as one of the vegetables. When I passed it to Pa, he saw that I had put too much milk, and it was a little soupy. He turned to our guest, a man I'd never seen before, and said pleasantly, "You'll have to excuse Angie's corn. She's just learning to cook real well." You can bet I never made soupy corn again!
Ma came again in two weeks, but found that Pa had hired a Negro boy to help with the washing and scrubbing, so she didn't have to work so hard that time. She baked up a lot of pies and helped me snap beans for supper.
We talked and talked, and when the brothers came in from the field they were so happy to see her. Everything was fine when Ma Sallie was home. But she left again at sundown, and though I didn't know it then, this was her last visit. Pa didn't come home until way in the night.
My Memory of the next months was a blur. The Negro boy didn't last long. Others, white and Negro ca, came and went, and before I knew it a whole year had gone by. There was one sunshinny spot for me in that time, for news came to Pa that his daughter Jane (By Rebecca) was visiting Webster county.
Pa sent Marion to talk to the girl and beg her to come and keep house for us. Bless Jane's heart! She came for a few months, but then hurried on home to prepare for her own wedding. She was good to me, and I hated to see her go; but when she was out of sight I realized my Pa was depending on me more and more, and that was a great comfort to me.
By the next year, both John and Thaddeus were married and lived on farms many miles away. James and Marion took over the heavy farm work with Pa, and Preston was a busy boy learning to ride and manage Pa's fine race horses. Melvin and Warwick depended on me for everything. And I loved being their little mother, and when I couldn't manage them I could always turn to Pa for help.
In the midst of all these changes and confusing incidents, I knew my Pa would never leave me. Handsome, fourty-threee-year-old Thomas McCarty might have seemed a shifting and unsteady anchor, but he was all I had, and I was sticking to him through thick and thin.
It was Mrs. Wakefield, our nearest neighbor, who finally came to my rescue. She knew what a load I was carrying; so she persuaded her oldest daughter to come over to our home twice a week and help me with ironing and baking. How I appreciated Ruth Wakefield! She was blue-eyed, black haired and as Irish as ever lived. She was twenty-four years old but there were times she could and did act my age.
It wasn't long until it was routine, when the day's work was done, for Mrs. Wakefield to watch over Melvin and Warwick while Ruth and I went horseback riding.
Neither Preston nor I would ever have dared ask permission to ride Pa's race horses on a pleasure trip. But Ruth felt no timidity toward any man, not even Thomas McCarty. In the cool of this particular afternoon, Ruth announced that she and Preston wanted to ride the two prize-race mares! Pa's mouth dropped, but he owned a lot to this neighbor girl who had helped all of us for many weeks. Maybe he saw Pres and me pleading with our eyes. Anyway, he suddenly nodded, and before he could swallow twice, his fine animals were bridled and saddled and going out the gate.
Ruth turned to yell at me, "Come on, Angie, you can ride behind me!"
Pa choked, but he nodded again, and I ran like a streak of lightning. Pa did yell out a warning as we waved at him. "Pres, see that you don't race those mares."
"Oh, we won't, Pa," yelled Pres as he proudly sat proudly sat the pace for us. We were gone longer than we planned, and Pres knew he just hurry back to take care of all the horses before dark. We were in sight of the house when Pres yelled, "I can beat you to the house, Ruth."
Down that lane we raced, and with me blued to the back of Ruth's saddle like a silly money, urging her to beat Mr. Smarty. Suddenly our mare shied at something, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground with Ruth and Pres leaning over me. As I started to get up, a sharp pain hit my shoulder, Press looked sick and turned to ruth with, "I reckon she's gone and broken a shoulder." As they helped me to the horses, I could think of just one thing, "We can't tell Pa! He'll skin Pres alive!"
Ruth was all set to go straight to Pa with the whole truth, but she had second thoughts. She wasn't about to give Pa a chance to get at Pres, who had deliberately disobeyed. She would go scot-free for the same crime, but Pres would be in real trouble.
"Come on, Honey, we'll get you in the house. We can strap your arm to your side and you keep you out of your Pa's sight as much as possible. I'd hate to think what he'd do to Pres if he found out."
Pa came in from his work tired and hungry, and the minute he hit the door he called out, "Angie, is supper ready?"
"In a minute, Pa." I tried to sound hale and hardy, but I was aching all over.
Ruth and Preston, looking like criminals, hurried to get the meal of the table. Luch for them, Pa was in a reading mood and did not look up until supper was ready. "Where's Angie?" he demanded the minute he noticed that I wasn't at my place at the table.
Ruth hastened to reply, "She's got a little stomach upset; she's stayin' out in the cool for awhile."
"Reckon you rode too far in the sun?" Pa seemed a little put out, but Ruth was changing the subject very quickly. Is there anything I can help you to, Mr. McCarty?"
Ruth later claimed that was the first time Pa ever really looked at her and he spoke very kindly. "We sure do appreciate your Ma letting you come over here to help Angie. It's mighty neighborly of you. Seems like nobody want to work these days. I've tried for two solid months to get steady help.
I felt feverish for several days, but that didn't keep me from enjoying all the attention given me by Ruth and Pres, or they were at my side at the smallest signal for help. About a week later, were beginning to relax, a little and congratulating ourselves for fooling Pa so well when he arrived for supper in a gay mood. He had just heard that there was to be a magic lantern show in Neosho.
"Get your dishes done in a hurry, girl, and well go see this new invention. They say it makes the pictures come to life."
Ruth turned to look at me and I nodded, and before Pa and Pres had the team hitched to the spring wagon, Ruth and little Melvin and Warwick had the dishes out of the way, she had the boys all spruced up, and out of the door we went. Pres was very careful to seat me in the easiest riding part of the wagon and I was actually very comfortable.
The show was on the second floor of a building, so I let the little boys go ahead and climb the stairs as fast as they could scramble. I was holding back, for I wanted to go as slow and easy as I could. I might have known that Pa would mess up my plan. He saw I was lagging a little, so ever the gallant gentleman, he caught my arm to help me along. I felt hot fire shoot through my arm and shoulder, and my stomach turned over, I stumbled on the next step and Pa cautioned me with "Careful now, Angie!" But he didn't know I had broken out in a cold sweat, nor did he notice that Ruth and Press stood stiff as pokers until I fell into the first chair I could find.
I guess a magic lantern show wouldn't mean much to children of today, what with all the good movies we got to see, but this show was the highlight of my childhood. The man who told the story of Noah and his Ark- just as Pa had read it to us so many times--and right there before us were the animals moving up into the ark, two by two. Of course, we could imagine the cows flipping the flies with their tails, or the horses kicking at each other, but we just had a good imaginations. It was enough to see them appear on the white sheet hung up on the wall. We talked about it for days, and even the little boys never forgot this first show.
The days went by, and my shoulder healed with Pa none the wiser. Did we ever tell him? We did not. We know when we were well off.
But now we had another problems. Mrs. Wakefield arrived nearly one morning to tell us that Ruth had gone to visit an aunt, who lived in another county.
I don't know to this day what caused Pa to hire Faith, the same Faith of Granny Lewis's conversation, to help us. Maybe he did it for spite, or maybe he just couldn't find anybody else. Anyhow, he did so--then his troubles really began.
With in a few days he received a notice from Ma Sallie that she was suing for divorce and was demanding her children because she did not intend to have hem under the influence of a harlot.
We could tell Pa was really alarmed by Ma Sallie's threat, for he sent that simpering Faith back to her home in a hurry. Two nights later he packed us into the spring wagon and headed for Arkansas. He had hardly crossed the state line when he was warned that Sallie had sworn out a warrant for him at Bentonville. Pa was not one to give up easily. And there he told us of his plan.
"We're going' horseback from here on. We've got to travel faster through the Ozarks. Preston, you will take Warwick in the saddle in front of you. Melvin will ride with me. Angie, you will ride back of James. , Marion you will be ridin' alone so you can drive the horses." (There were forty head.)
Do you think I could ever forget this wild chase? Here we were riding fast in the dead of night, and Marion holding all those horses in good order over bad mountain trails. We did have a bright moon to help light the way. I couldn't keep my teeth from chattering, for it was bitting cold. The horses, breathing into that frosty air, caused a mist to rise all around and over us. I leaned over to speak to Melvin. "See, Mel, we're ridin' on the clouds!"
Pa's voice was tern, "No talking', Angie!"
Marion had the houses ahead of us now, and he was climbing fast, when he stopped suddenly and signaled Pa to look back. Far down the canyon we could see a misty cloud moving nearer every minute. Pa caught up with Marion and gave a sharp order. "Turn into this side canyon quick, and not a sound out of any of you. That's officers following us."
A half-hour later the posse went hurrying up the trail, never dreaming that we were nearby, hidden by heavy trees. Actually, they could have hit us with a rock.
We didn't know it, but Pa had turned and was heading north toward Linden, Missouri. He had found out that his daughter Elizabeth (by Rebecca) was married and living in Linden. Pa knew she would take in his other children until he could make other plans.
Several days later we stopped in front of a neat looking place and Pa lifted me from James's horse. I took Melvin and Warwick by the hand and walked just back of Pa. Suddenly he stopped dead still and stared at a woman in the doorway. In a moment Pa said in a kind of a choked voice, "Angie, this is Rebecca McCarty."
I looked up into the kindest, sweetest face I had ever seen. This woman bent over me and put her arms around me and said very softly, "Angie, would you like to call me Aunt Becky? So many young'uns do." Then, just to make all of this really confusing, here come James and Marion running to hug and kiss this woman like they had known her forever. I had a whole lot of questions to ask, and as soon as I could I pulled Preston away from the crowd.
"Is she really my Aunt Becky?"
"No, she's your stepmother and my real mother, Just like Ma Sallie is your own mother and my stepmother. Both of em is Pa's wives."
"Sakes alive! Where does Pa get all these wives? Nobody else seems to get so many."
"You have to get a divorce from the government to get a new wife."
"What's a divorce?"
"It's a piece of paper says men and women don't have to stay married together if they don't get along."
"Well, that's nice. If you find you don't like a husband, then you don't have to put up with him."
Before I knew what was going on, Pres, who was thirteen then, grabbed me by both shoulders and looked me right in the eyes as he scolded me hard, "Angie, folks don't talk about divorces. They ain't nice so don't mention them to nobody. Do you hear?"
"Well, if Pa had them, they can't be so bad."
"You'll see when you grow up, young lady! They are mighty, awful wrong."
I was a little anxious to change the subject, for I didn't like to be scolded by Preston. "You don't think we will be stayin' here long, do you Pres? Pa seems kinda squirmy to me."
" I guess maybe he was a little surprised--hidin' out from one wife , then runnin' smack dab into another'n, " Pre's eyes were almost twinkling at the corners. He was finding something funny about all this.
My sense of humor was not that well developed yet. " I wish we'd get to our own house. I don't want'a be mixed up like this. Other folks don't do it."
"Now, Angie, don't start frettin', I heard Pa say he's going on from here by himself so's he can find us a place pretty quick."
"It can't be too soon for me!"
Pa did leave that very day on la long horse back ride. He must have known that Ma Sallie's divorce had been granted, and his job was to find a home for his children far enough away that Ma couldn't hear about it, Pa had some other important business on this trip, but we didn't know about that until his return in two weeks. He rode up to tell us he had a new farm and a new wife. We didn't know what the grownups thought, but Pres and I and the little boys were thrilled pink for the new wife was our best helper, our good friend and playmate, Ruth Wakefield.
If there was stinging or bitter remarks by these various women attached to Pa at one time or another, I never heard them. All I can remember was how kind they were to a bewildered little girl.
My own children and now my grandchildren have asked me why Ma Sallie deserted her children, and whether I felt resentment. You must consider how tiny and shy Sallie was, and how big and over powering Pa was. No, I never blamed her for leaving. I'm just sorry she didn't stand up to Pa and fight it out with him, but she wasn't brought up that way. Now can I be resentful when I have only sweet memories of her?
As for Pa , I know he was sinfully proud and stubborn, but one thing is sure, he took might good care of me and my brothers, I worshiped him, though sometimes I was afraid of him.
In no time Pa and Ruth had us settled in at Finley Creek, in Webster County, Missouri, and it didn't take Ruth long to discover a school house within a half-mile of our new home. I might have known she would start a campaign to get me into that school house. "It's time you got a lot o' learnin', Angie. You're smart as a whip anyway, and you can get a whole good start in three months of schoolin'."
"But Ruthie, you need me here at home. You know I can help you a lot. I know what hard work is."
"Now, Angie, I can make out all right. I a'm used to hard work, too, you know. You plan on going to school just as soon as the weather cleans up a bit."
I couldn't help but to be excited, but I was so far behind and so hopelessly ignorant, I felt shy about starting. I let ruth know about my uneasiness; "They say there's some starting at five years old, and here I am going on ten. I don't really remember my ABC's right good."
"Then we'll talk to your Pa; he can start you to reading again." "Oh, don't bother Pa. I can make out, I reckon."
But Ruth wasn't the modest, retiring wife. She walked right up to Pa without a moment's hesitation "Thomas, I know that you read well aloud from the Bible, and the boys say you are a good hand at figurin'."
Pa cocked a suspicious eye at this bold female who spoke her mind plain enough. "You would be flatterin's me, Mrs. McCarty," and Pa bowed to his waist as he mocked Ruth, "but what is it you want?"
Ruth gave him the benefit of her loveliest Irish smile. "I would be havin' you teach your daughter her letters again. She's goin' to school."
"Angie? School?" Pa's eyes were popping out of his head. "What does Angie need with schoolin."
"Your boys know how to read. You caught them how, didn't you?"
"Yes, but they need to know how to read for business--man's business."
Pa was giving Ruth his most charming smile, but she wasn't taking the bait.
"Angie needs learnin' for woman's business," Ruth spoke firmly.< "Pa throw back his head and roared, "You're the peppery thing, young lady. 'T wouldn't do for you to have to much learnin'."
"I'll make out, Thomas McCarty, but Angie is different. Times ae changin', and it ain't proper to grow up without learnin', it shows people are trashy when they won't go to school when they have a chance."
Nobody could say it and live, that any McCarty, male or female, was trashy. That settled it. I was going to school.
"Angie! Angie! " roared my Pa, "come here to me. Your new Ma is rasing' an awful fit for you to have some learnin', guess it won't harm you none."
When school opened in the early spring, I had relearned my ABC's and would even read well in the first reader, I was looking forward now to the first day of school. Ruth saw to it that I had a brand new dress, hoops, ruffles and all, with matching gloves and bonnet.
At the end of that first day, I ran about half of the way home, then I saw Ruth coming to meet me. I started yelling my head off, "Hurry, Ruthie, I got so much to tell you I'm about to bust." You'd have thought I had been gone a whole month.
"Now begin at the beginning, Angie and don't leave nothing out," was Ruth's greeting while she hugged me tight.
"First of all, our teacher--he's a preacher, I think--read from the Bible, and he sounded as good as Pa. Then we sang hymns; you know both of them:
"Approach my soul, the mercy seat, where Jesus answers prayer, and humbly bow before his feet, for none can perish there,"
"And there's the other one you like so much."
"We're out on the ocean sailing, Homeward bound we swiftly glide, We're out on the ocean sailing, To a home beyond the tide."
My! I did enjoy the singin'. Seems like it's the best part of school."
"Go on, Angie, what else happened?" Ruth was having as much fun as I was.
Nothing impressed her as much though, as my teacher's story of the spreading of the school in our country. He said we had lots of schools as far west as the Mississippi. He even predicted that one fine day there would be schools in every settlement in Missouri. Ruth pondered over this for a bit, then said, "There's no call for young'uns to grow up ignorant--like now is there?"
I think Ruth got as much out of the next tree months schooling as I did, and it was the happiest, most carefree summer I had ever known. I can remember dozens of happenings. There was the day our kind teacher brought strawberry candy for each of us. We had never tasted anything like it. There was a show at school, when grown folks came from miles around to se a ventriloquist who made a puppet talk, and a magician who made coins fall from his handkerchief and hens fly out of his hat. There was a big party for grownups, and I got to see my first hoe-down. Tight there I decided that if I ever got big enough to go to a dance and while around like that, I wouldn't ask for any other favors.
It was good I had some months of pure job, for there were some less happy days ahead.
Pa saw better farms and faster horses in Greene County, and he was talking a lot about both. Marion, in the mean time, had been courting Geriah Lee, and suddenly he asked Pa if he would consider letting the young couple take over this present farm. Marion said he and Geriah wanted to get married and settle Down right there.
Pa was pleased, but he had his plans postponed for a bit, for our dear Ruth had lost her first born son, and wasn't gaining her strength as she should. It was pitiful to see how Ruth and Pa grieved over this lost baby. Pa sais we would all be better if we'd just get to a new neighborhood. Summer come again, and we were in a new home in Greene County, but there wasn't a school with in miles of it. Anyway, ruth needed me at home, so I didn't have time to mourn over the lack of a school house.
Poor Ruth had to spend a lot of time lying on the bed: so she could watch closely every day. She said later she really was worrying over me, for I didn't sing and laugh and talk any more. She must have talked to Pa and the boys. She finally figured out that Miss. Jeanetta Angelina McCarty was just suffering from growing pains. She had the good sense not to nag at me and she promised me that as soon as she was on her feet again, she would see that Pa started a petition for a school in this very district. She would have, too, but by the time she had taken over in the house we were getting ready for a real shocker. CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER THREE
LOOKING FARTHER WEST
The boys said pa was troubled; he talked a lot about the world crowding in too much. He and his neighbors seemed to think local affairs, ordinary life and business under the control of the State of Missouri were coming along fairly well, but it was the Federal Government that needed to put its house in order.
The summer of 1858 men sat at our table and talked "tariff." Some argued that the tariff was a real necessity, while other said it was a protection for just one part of the country. You might know I hadn't the remotest idea what they were talking about, but I listened anyway until Pa signaled for me to take Melvin and Warwick outside, or, if it was after supper, put them to bed.
One subject I could understand was the awful slavery question. Pa hated it with his whole heart, but he gave a strange reason. It seemed this problems was splitting his beloved Democratic Party! That the arrogant new Republican Party was gaining to many recruits from Northern Wigs, Northern Democrats, and even Free Soiler. (3)
Pa slammed his first down hard on the dining table when he roared that politics was getting more and more confusing, and he couldn't honestly say he was a Democrat and a Free Soiler too!
It was my brother James, though, who sensed what was really bothering Pa. I heard James talking to Ruth, and you bet Pres and I were right there listening. He said Pa was really getting crowded out by farmers when he started raising stock. It took a lot more land to feed cattle and horses.
"What'll he do?" Ruth was asking for all of us.
James said Pa had talked to him lately about the out-west county called Texas. James said he had heard Pa talking to men in caravans heading west. They told him there was room for everybody, that it was a stock-raiser's paradise; that grass was belly height to cattle that spring gushed from the ground every mile or two: and that the colonies were springing up every where. The most important things of all was that the Federal government had stationed soldiers at forts just tem miles apart to Protect the whites from the prairie Indians.
James had started to walk away from us as we stood in the yard, then he turned to ruth to say, "I guess I better tell you the real reason that Pa is Worried sick. He's heard from some friends that Ma Sallie has found where we are, and she is comin' after the little boys and Angie."
How did I feel? Like a little scared rabbit with somebody pulling at my front legs and somebody else jerking at my hind legs. Ruth was a Godsend to me right there and then. I don't remember talking very much to me, but she started piecing a beautiful quilt which to was to be my very own.
Maybe the Lord had a hand in the next event, for in just a few days Marion and Geriah came by to spend the night with us. We were at the supper table when Marion announced, "I guess we'll be leavin' for Texas sometime tomorrow, Pa."
Pa questioned Marion back and forth, up and down; then he said suddenly, "Where's your first stop, Marion?
"Elm Springs, I reckon."
"Take Ruth and the young'uns with you, and wait for me there."
If Pa had shot off a gun right in the middle of the table, we couldn't have acted any more surprised. I don't remember what any of us really said. I do remember Pres letting out his best Indian yell as he stood up to grunt. "Me scalp palefaces!" We all laughed at him, and that helped all of us for the moment.
Then Marion answered, "there won't be Indians to fight, Pres. Uncle Sam has 'em under control now. They live just like white folks. But there as thick as flies. You'll get all the shootin' you want."
Pa sat right there at the table and made all the plans before you could count to a hundred. There would be three wagons, one to be filled with provisions. He told Ruth and me to get packing in a hurry. We would not take any furniture--just clothes, bedding and pot-vessels. Then Pa moved to the door and announced, "I'm going to Webster County to sell some property and bring back a few more head of horses."
That's when brother James, who had just turned eighteen, spoke up, "Have you sold this place yet, Pa?"
"No, but that won't be hard. Ol' man Baker has had his eye on it ever since we moved here."
"Leave me have it, Pa. I'm stayin' here."
"That you are not. I need you to help drive the horses."
"I'm stayin', Pa."
There was a long silence; then Ruth smiled sweetly and said, "They do grow up fast, Thomas!."
Pa matched her smile and shrugged. "All right, Son! But help us get ready as fast as you can. We mustn't hold Marion and Geriah up." Out the door he went, but Ruth walked beside him to the corral.
It was many years later that I found out what passed between them out there at the corral. (Goodness knows, I had a hard enough time worming it out of her.) Pa said tenderly, "Ruth, girl! You are rightly named, for you are like the Ruth in the Bible--'whither thou goest I will go; thy people shall be my people; thy God my God.'"
Ruth didn't swallow all that right at first, and she gave it to Pa with both barrels: "Yes, I'm going with you because I'm not the quittin' kind, but if you ever do this to me again, you'll wish I hadn't come along!"
Pa was surprised and downright puzzled, but Ruth made it very plain to him. " I need a little advance notice of your plans, Thomas McCarty! I am not one of your children; I'm your wife, and I want to make plans with you--not have yours thrown at me without getting any warning or having any say-so!"
I can imagine how really shocked Pa was; but he had the good sense to sooth Ruth by declaring he hadn't meant to be insulting--he was just in the habit of making decisions all alone all his life; he'd never asked help from anybody.
"It's time you changed y our ways, Thomas McCarty. And while you're about it, you better spread some o' your blarney near your daughter Angie. She's to quiet these days, and she wasn't finding anything to laugh about tonight. If you want my honest opinion, she's not happy about moving out there to the ends of the earth."
Pa reacted like she had slapped him in the face; then he whiled suddenly with, "Let's get back to the house."
Maybe you think I wasn't surprised when they appeared in the doorway and Pa roared, "Angie! Angie! Come here, I want to talk to you!."
I could see he was in a good mood, so I got to him in a hurry.
"How old are you, Angie?! He was teasing me; of course he knew how old I was, but I'd play this gave with him. "I'm eleven, going on twelve."
"Do you think you're old enough to ride Lady Jane to Texas?"
If he'd asked me if I could jump over the moon, I couldn't have been any more flabbergasted. Me? Ride his best race mare all by myself! For once, I couldn't think of a word to say; then I heard Pa chuckling, and I looked up at his smiling face. "Speak up, girl!"
I glanced at Ruth, who was all smiles as she nodded her head to encourage me to find my voice. " I can ride her, Pa!" I finally got it out and ran to Ruth, who knelt with open arms to brag and hug me hard, hard! Pa turned to press then and said, "You'll ride Polly Hopkins."
Most of Pa's horses could be worked to wagons or driven in a herd but no Lady Jane and Polly Hopkins. They would have to be ridden every step of the way to Texas; they couldn't even be led back of a wagon, because they would break the gait of any good race horse.
Pa was especially proud of these pares, for they were of the famous Steeldust strain--colts of a proud purebred Arabian mare and the famed steel colored bastard stallion named Steeldust. Though he was never listed in the "Who's Who" of the horse world, he became very famous because he bequeathed to his sons and daughters not only fine conformation, but very often beautiful coats flecked with shiny steel.
No wonder the whole family gasped when Pa gave me the privilege of riding his most prized possession. They were just as uneasy as I was, and the minute Pa got off to Webster County, Ruth and press started giving me instructions. Ruth said at the start, "Now, Angie, you know you can ride her, but you have to be calm about it. She feels you take a breath, and if you're nervous, she'll be nervous."
Pres admitted he was all in a sweat. "I sure wish you could ride astride; Lady Jane would do better for you that way, but then, Ruthie's ridden her enough that she is used to a woman. I guess it will be all right."
I just up and asked then why I couldn't ride astride. There'd be no harm in it. Pres grinned sympathetically, knowing ruth would give all the explanation necessary. "Angie, young ladies ride sideways. You know that as well as I do." Then she smiled and softened the blow, as she always did. "You can sit several ways in a side saddle if you get tired, but wait until Lady Jane settles down, and don't try it the first day out."
Preston told me later that Pa had instructed Marion to get out of Missouri as fast as he could. It seemed he wanted as many state lines between Ma Sallie and him as he could manage. By noon the following day, Marion had the caravan ready. He would be in the lead wagon, followed by Geriah, then Ruth. Pres and I would rive the rest of the horses.
I was holding James's hand when Marion came up to tell him Goodbye. I felt my throat tighten when my two big brothers were shaking hands, and Marion said, "We sure do need you, Bud, but I'm glad you stood up to Pa. Do you remember what Allen told all of us? When we were ready to--just go. I guess he meant for us to stay, too--if that's what we wanted."
We all turned to see Pres leading Lady Jane and Polly Hopkins to the roadway. As we walked toward the mares, Pres mounted quickly and calmly like the experienced jockey he was. Marion lifted me into the saddle while Pres talked to me in a quiet voice. "Keep your hand still, Angie, so she won't start pawin' in the air."
Then Ruth called out from her wagon, "Ride her around a little, Angie, so she'll know you know what you're doing."
It was just as easy as that, but I was several miles down that road before I could take a good, deep breath to the fullest another big thrill of my life.
Two days later our caravan waited for Pa at Elm Springs. He rode up at sundown driving three more beautiful horses. None of us could ever remember seeing Pa in such high spirits. It was wonderful to see him laughing and teasing everybody. He sat at the camp-fire and explained to the boys all the fine points of these horses he had just added to the herd. He teased Geriah about a new poke bonnet which she had so carefully hung on a tree nearby.
"You'll be leavin' it tomorrow morning, and poor Marion will have to walk miles back to get it!" Gentle Geriah was pleased attention and smiling made her so pretty.
Pa looked at everybody but me and remarked in a sad tone, "There's no doubt about it, but Angie has ruined my finest race mare by this time."
This was no joking matter to me, and Preston saw me stiffen up. Maybe he was going to defend me, but he didn't get to open his mouth, for ruth intervened with, "Too true! Too true! Angie's that heavy that poor lady Jane is a sway-back already!" Since I was nearing about eighty pounds, this brought a good laugh from all. I was so grateful for Ruth's remark. Even I could see something funny about that.
A little later Pa swung his youngest, Melvin, over his shoulder and put him down on his bed in the wagon; then he yelled at Warwick, "Come on Trail-Blazer. Up to bed with you. We got a long trail ahead." But Pa was smiling all the while.
I lay on my pallet in the wagon bed, along with Melvin and Warwick and listened to the camp fold up for the night. I could hear Marion and Geriah laughing over something as they made their bed down on the ground near their wagon. When they were quiet, I could hear Ruth and Pa talking softly as they lay on the ground not far from our wagon. Everything was so peaceful and the night so calm, but I was a little restless. I was thinking, "I'm glad I've had two days to get used to Lady Jane. The first day I got awfully tired, but I was better the next day. I'll be better every day from now on. I'll show Pa how well I can ride tomorrow......... I wish tomorrow was over, though!"
Early the next morning Pa broke camp and took the lead wagon, while Geriah and then Marion would follow. Ruth sat in Pa's wagon waiting for him to take the lines. I had a feeling she and Pres were watching me like a hawk as Pa lifted me into the saddle. I was trying to be as cool as a cucumber, but my heart was beating a little fast. Lady Jane was helping me out today; she seemed glad to have me near. She was all right, she was! I smiled at Ruth and Pres to let them know Lady Jane and I were learning to know each other real well.
Only one incident marred our first week of travel. The wagons had stopped at a blacksmith shop while Pa went into inquire the best roads south. While he ws gone, three dirty looking loungers sauntered over to look at our horses. I had ridden Lady Jane close to Ruth's wagon and was chatting with her, so I didn't see the men approach. They were within ten feet of Lady Jane when they started talking. "I'd sure like to have that animal."
The other one drawled, "I'd like that gun tied on that saddle, myself."
The last man sniggered and looked up into my face and said, "You-all take the horse, saddle and the gun. I'll take the gal!"
I don't know what came over me, but I wheeled Lady Jane directly toward the men and flashed around to the other side f the wagon. The men scattered in all directions, then gathered near the blacksmith shop to lean on each other and slap their thighs as they roared with laughter.
Pa had turned to see the men running and rushed out to see what was wrong. "What's happened here?" He demanded.
The men took one look at my giant Pa and sobered up plenty fast, but before they could speak Ruth called out, "Lady Jane got a little nervous when the men came close, Thomas. She's all right now!"
Later that day, when Pa had saddled a horse and ridden ahead a little to look over the wagon roads, I rode close to Ruth to talk over that nasty incident at the shop.
"Ruthie, I was so mad, I thought I would die! I could just tell them men were just plain scum, and I didn't want then near Lady Jane."
"I want to tell you something, young lady. You did wrong to lose your temper that way. You could have ridden the men down and killed one of them. You should have paid them no mind at all. A lady never sees a strange man, and she never hears anything they say. Besides, do you want to see your Pa grind them into the ground with his bare hands? Watch yourself after this. You're gettin' old enough to save your temper for something useful. We don't want any low- down, trashy fights on this trip!"
The next day was exciting because the wagons had traveled just a short distance out of Washington County, Arkansas, when Pa thought he spied fresh wagon tracks ahead. He yelled at me to ride in the wagon a spell and let him see what was ahead. He changed saddles in a hurry and told all the drivers to whip u the teams a bit. It would be good to travel with another caravan even for a few days.
We made good time until sundown; then we could see smoke and light of a campfire ahead. Pa told Marion to camp where we were; he meant to ride over and see if the people wanted new comers in their caravan.
All of us waited hopefully. Ruth and Geriah would welcome the change to talk to other women. I was so in hopes there would be a few "young ladies" my age maybe some little boys for Melvin and Warwick.
Pa came back in a short time, we could feel the smile in his voice. He must have a happy surprise for us. Leave it to Pa to keep us in a stew until every member gathered; then he acted and talked like this was all as ordinary as night coming on.
We're going to travel as far as Van Buren with a caravan of Mormons."
Ruth looked disappointed and Marion looked worried. He came up with, "How many wagons have they, Pa?"
"Seven, I think."
"How many people in the bunch?"
"I didn't count 'em, but I'd say about forty with the women and children."
"Were there more women than men?" ventured Geriah timidly.
Pa shouted with laughter. "Holy Goshens! I didn't count 'em! I didn't talk to a single woman. The men made me welcome and asked us to travel with them, and that we'll be glad to do." Pa was using his most empathic tone now.
"How did you know they wuz Mormons, Pa?" Preston was frankly puzzled.
"They told me. Let's eat." That settled that. Pa had the last word, as usual, but I wanted my turn. I went to the campfire to remove a pot of smothered meat, and there I stood with a long fire-hook in my hand. Suddenly I just couldn't keep still any longer. I found myself waving that fire-hook and shouting, "Mormons! Mormons! What on earth are Mormons?"
Nobody thought that was funny but Pa. He grinned at me and looked over at Ruth. Then he teased her with, "Ask your Ruthie. She can tell you all about 'em. One was sweet on her, and she woulda gotten hitched up with him id I hadn't drug her away from him."
I was fascinated by this tale. "Did he, Ruthie? Did he take you away from a Mormon?"
"Angie! To think you'd believe such a yarn!." Then she turned on Pa, "Same on you, Thomas McCarty for spinnin' such a tale!" I could see Ruth was actually pleased and a little flattered, but she covered up with, "Let's dish up the food, Angie. Fill the boys's plates to the brim. They're half starved!" Then remembering that she hadn't answered my outburst, she came to me and said in her very sweet way, "I'll tell you all I know about Mormons after supper. I lived in a Mormon community for a few months, that's all. Let's eat, now"
Supper was over. Melvin and Warwick were gathering stick-horses which they would throw away come morning. Marion and Geriah wandered off to talk by themselves. Pa found a grassy spot hear his wagon, sat down and leaned against the wagon wheel. This was his first time of day to enjoy a peaceful pipe. Pres and I sat on the other side of the campfire so we could be near ruth. We were ready to hear all about these Mormons.
Ruth told us the story about Joseph Smith, his revelations, his discovery of plates of gold and stones of crystal. Pres spoke up then, "Sounds as good as some of the Bible stories Pa tells us. Do you believe that fellar Smith really found them things?"
Ruth shook her head, but conceded that it didn't make any difference what she believed. "You can bet your life the Mormons certainly do!"
"They say," offered Pres in an important air, "that they're the most hated people on the face of the earth."
"Do you hate 'em, Ruthie?" I asked worriedly.
"That I do not. They seemed a God-fearin' people to me, and if folks would leave them be, I reckon they'd do not harm. O' course, the Federal government did have to force the men to see they can't have more'n one wife."
I perked up my ears. This was interesting. "Is that wrong, Ruthie?" Pres was disgusted with me. "Angie, you ninny, o'course it is!"
"It is not so," I snapped at him, "Pa has had three wives, and all of them are nice women. There wasn't a thing wrong about it at all!"
"Listen to Miss Know-It-All! Honestly Angie! You do bet all! Pa has had his wives one at a time--not all to once. Some o' these Mormons had four or five wives, or maybe a hundred for all I know, but all at one time! See!"
Pa broke this one up be getting up and yelling, "Time to turn in! We got a long ways to go!"
I never could leave well enough alone, so when Ruth walked away from the camp. I took her hand. When we were out of hearing, I asked her a question that I had no business asking, but I wasn't being mean. I was just curious. "Ruthie, does it bother you because Pa had two other wives?"
"Angie, girl! Why don't you wait until you're grown up to ask such questions? But you're the kind that always has to have an answer. It bothered me a little at first, but I was pretty young. I always felt sorry for those Mormon women who had to live in the same community and share the same man."
"Whew! Suposin' Pa was livin' with three wives at the same time!" My head whirled at the though.
Ruth actually laughed when she said, "Right there is where the Mormon church would a lost a mighty fine member! But don't you spend much time worrying over all this. Just remember I'm your Ma now!" With that she started running toward camp, and it was up to me to beat her if I could.
I remember we really did enjoy our days with the Mormon caravan, and we said our goodbye regretfully some days later at Van Buran, Arkansas. Pa shook hands with every man in the group and thanked them heartily for being so kind to his family.
The women gathered around Ruth, Geriah and me and smiled their goodbyes with scarcely a word being spoken. What sweet, patient faces they had!
I got around to some of the older girls and begged them to deliver a message for me if they ever ran onto my brother Allen McCarty, who was still in California. "If you ever meet him, tell him I still have the side-combs and the knitting needles he gave me."
Then the Mormon caravan headed north and west, while we turned south and west. The days went by fast enough, and I wasn't even stiff anymore after a day's ride. We all noticed that Pa no longer crowded his wagons to top speed, just kept a steady pace, and before a month had passed we found we were well into Indian territory of Oklahoma.
Except for a few trading posts and fewer settlements and forts we saw no signs of civilization until we came to Boggy Depot deep in Indian territory. We would never forget this stop, for our men had hardly unhitched the horses when a swarm of horse flies swooped down from nowhere and covered our horses from head to foot. Pres and I were shocked to see blood spurting from lady Jane and Polly Hopkins each time a fly took a bite. All of us waved our arms and swung our hats and bonnets as fast as we could, but the minute we brushed one hungry swarm away, another came into start biting.
Pa took over with swift commands. "Ruth, Geriah! Bring all y our blankets and sheets. Boys! Lead your horses to the creek and get 'em in up to their necks if you can find water deep enough. Cover their backs with the blankets and sheets.
These were Geriah's best new bed sheets, but she was only to glad to have them ready in such an emergency. Pa turned to look at this strange sight all the horses decked out in strange horse blankets, with only their heads showing. Suddenly he was laughing right out loud. "The Egyptians weren't the only ones! We sure hit a plague ourselves!" That made us all feel better, if Pa could joke at a time like this, we weren't in too much trouble.
The flies nested in the trees at dark, and the family ate supper and rested a few hours, but Pa was not about to wait until daylight when these pesky pest would start eating again. He awoke camp with a shot and yelled in his loudest voice, "Up with you! We want out o' this land of depredation!"
There was a chill in the air when we crossed the Red River and Entered Texas at Fort Preston. Our Pres was so pleased and taunted us all about having a fort named after him, but he was the only one having any fun and teasing us a lot. Pa, Ruth and Marion were looking worried. They could see there was grass and water and plenty of game but they couldn't understand why there were but a few settlements and these were far between.
Pa and Marion stopped at the Fort to talk to an officer and some soldiers. When they came back to the wagons they were not joking and laughing. They learned that the had provided posts throughout Texas for the protection of the whites, but those posts were miles apart, and the Indians numbered in the thousands. The officer had spoken very plainly to Pa, "It is best for you and your family, Mr. McCarthy, to take up land near a fort, else these red devils will run you out in no time. We have forts at Bellnap, Camp Cooper, Cobb, Phantom and Cranbourne. I'd head close to one of these if I were you. Go a little to the west to. The Indians have not hit there for a long time."
Pa didn't need to hear any more. He and Marion got into their wagons and drove them faster and faster; we didn't even stop at the little village called Fort Worth. There seemed to be plenty of colony land, but still no sign of that great horde of colonists that we had heard about back home.
The night were getting colder now, and we heard Pa tell Marion that they must be picking out a place soon now, before winter was really upon us. We traveled due west to Buchanan county, which was later called Stephens. Right at the extreme western county line we crossed Hubbard's creek. There all wagons trails vanished' all tracks stopped. Pa jumped from his wagon, looked in all directions, waited for all of us to come to him. He sounded very cheerful when he finally spoke to us. "I guess were the first white people to bring a wagon here. Here's where we stop."
Footnote: 3. Outline from The Record of America, Adams and Vannest. Compromise of 1850 was passed, and my 1852 it seemed the question of slavery was settled. The Democrats in their convention in June of 1852 unqualifiedly approved.CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER FOUR
SO THIS IS TEXAS
We had no time to decide whether we liked this new country or not. We didn't have to be told that winter was hovering around the corner, and a shelter had to be built. Marion Pulled out his sharp axe and felled the first tree; Then he looked up to see a one-armed man walking up the creek.
"Halloo! Halloo! Are your neighbors come to stay?" We turned to smile at each other and wave at the stranger. This was a fine welcome to this new west.
Tom Blake had heard that axe chopping a good mile away, and he wasn't one to sit at home when his help was needed. He pitched right in, and that crude cabin was up in no time at all. Then the men went a quarter of a mile away and put up another cabin for Marion and Geriah. I heard Pa Tell Ruth tat was a pack of foolishness, but Ruth insisted and Pa was to busy to argue, I think.
This was the first time in my life that I could remember Pa fretting because he was running short of cold cash. He and Marion were talking about this lack when Pa looked up at the huge pecan tree to the right of our cabin. That was the way out. Fort Bellnap, just twenty miles away could like as not use two-foot boards.
The next thing we knew we had saddled a horse, ridden to Fort and gotten a contract. When he got home, he put all of us to work in earnest. First of all, it was necessary to start cutting from the butt of this giant tree if the crosscut saw was to remain unbroken. It took Pa and Marion one full day to fell the tree; then Preston and I and that good one-armed neighbor, Mr. Blake, were told we were to work that saw. Pres and I stood high platform and worked one side of the saw handle, while Mr. Blake made good use of his one arm on the other side of that saw handle. Let 'em tell you, your arms would get tired, but Pres knew when I was giving out and would yell for rest.
The men calculated that the first four cuts averaged a thousand boards a cut: then dwindled to eighteen cuts for the remaining eleven feet of the tree.
While we were sawing away, Pa and Marion were working feverishly with frow, drawknife and jack-plane to make good looking lumber' then they were at it again, riving and stacking boards. When they had a wagon-load Pa hurried to the Fort to fulfill his contract for a thousand boards for fifteen whole dollars.
Melvin and Warwick, in the meantime, had gathered four bushels of pecans from the great tree. Pa bragged to them about their part when he showed them the money they had brought to this household. Can you beat it. Four bushels at four dollars a bushel. The boys had no trouble with their multiplication tables here!
Pa and Marion were busy for days making odd pieces of furniture from the pecan scraps, and then just to be sure there was no waste, the little boys and I piled limbs and brush on the big stump and had a big fire. Ruth said no nicer piles of ashes could be found. She and Geriah ran lye by the buckets-ful, then mixed that with antelope fat and had a year's supply of soap.
Before we knew it, that was the first hard winter was over and things looked much brighter for this McCarty family. It was time for spring planting, and already the horses were getting slick fat on the new grass. We were all in good health and waiting around for Ruth and Geriah to have their new babies. Wouldn't you know they would both have big bouncing boys. Marion and Geriah named their new son James, which didn't surprise me, for I knew how much Marion thought of his younger brother, James. Ruth and Pa settled on William for their baby's name, and of course, he never knew any other name but "Bill."
The first thing we knew there was a new family settled one mile to the north of us and another to the west. You may know we made them all welcome, and Pa and they boys helped them build cabins and put in their crops. Ruth and Geriah put forth every effort to do neighborly acts for the new women. That's the way people were in those days. We really depended on each other.
About this time Ruth remarked to me one day, "I'm glad to see that strained expression leave your Pa's face." I was very pleased to hear him laugh and tell jokes again. I think the things that surprised me most was that he took to playing with Bill every time he came around the house. I know that made our Riyadh very happy.
Seems to me, when everything in our lives seemed to be on the "ups', we should have remembered that plenty of "downs" were just around the corner.
We had no way of knowing, though, until many days afterwards that over in Indian territory the Apaches, Kiowas, Tonkawas, and Lapans saw their Comanche brothers preparing for an extensive raid on some whites. All the tribes watched with much interest as white men's horses became more and more numerous. Comanches could start the raids, but Comanches must not get all the new horses.
One beautiful spring night we, the McCarty's of Hubbard's Creek, got the rudest awakening of our lives. I sat up in my bed and yelled at the top of my lungs, "Ruthie, Pa! What is that?" Surely all the horses in the county were running around our cabin. When Pa Grabbed his gun and ran to the door, a wild, weird yell greeted him; then we heard pounding of horses feet moving away fast--then just complete silence.
Pa and Preston stood just outside the door peering into darkness. Then I heard Pres's trembling voice ask, "Pa, was... that Injuns?"
There was no need for Pa to answer. He and Pres came in quickly and barred the door. Ruth, the boys and I hovered around them; I tell you, we knew real fear! We talked excitedly, nervously until Pa cautioned us, "Hush! They may come back, and we've got to be ready for 'em. You young'uns get back to bed. Ruth, you and Pres, take the guns for that side of the cabin. I'll stay at this door! Angie, you see that the boys are quiet! Not a word, yo' hear me!"
Daylight came at last, and the unfriendly visitors did not return. Pa ventured out of the house very captiously the minute the sun was up. From all directions he could hear his neighbors yelling at him. Evidently all of us had been cursed with the same callers.
Tom Blake was running towards Pa cursing at every breath, "Them devils took my work team!" Pa whirled and ran in the opposite direction. We knew his heart was in his throat. But there in the corral, hidden by the trees, Lady Jane and Polly Hopkins waited for their breakfast. Pa looked over a small pasture in back of the house, and he had reason to feel sick. Two of his best Steeldust horses were missing. He rushed to the house and yelled at Pres, "Get a move on you! Ride out away and see if there are any more horses gone. I headed them south last night, I sure hope they drifted that way!"
The neighbors gathered at our house very soon, and each man reported he had lost two horses. This was a profitable raid for the Comanches. One of the older settlers remarked sadly, "They've found us now, and if we stay, they'll not leave a single horse."
Pa was plainly shocked. "You mean you'd leave your crops and your new homes to these devils!"
I mean we ain't got a chance, McCarty. From the tracks around here, I'd say there was over fifty Indians here last night. We've got to get near a fort before we are all scalped. If these are Comanches, we're done for. They'll be back and back until there's nothing left to show of us but our scalps hangin' from their belts.
Pa looked at all the men around him. These men had fought Indians for years; l they knew what they were talking about. He turned tp Ruth and me and said, "Pack up! Let's go by and get Marion and Geriah. We're leavin' for Fort Bellnap!"
By nightfall the settlement on Hubbard's creek was no more. CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER FIVE
THE YOUNG LADY, ANGELINA
When our little colony arrive at Fort Bellnap, Pa had no more misgiving about allowing the redskins to bluff him out, for this was the time he met John R. Bailor, a prominent rancher from Camp Cooper Colony. Mr. Bailor took it on himself to make the situation clear to all new comers in that part of Texas.
He was talking to the men of our crowd, but we were all gathered around him to listen. "It's this way, folks. The Indians have started on you people again. We just finished our turn, and let me tell you they came thick and fast for quite a spell."
"You oughta know by this time these Indians don't intend to stay on the reservation put aside for them. We've tried and tried to get Uncle Sam to send enough soldiers so we can push 'em back where they belong. It looks like we got to do the job ourselves."
Our men questioned him a lot about how to get at this problem. Mr. Bailor should have been a general; he knew how to organize. He told the men that all the ranchers around Camp Cooper had turned soldiers, and the real soldiers at the at the Fort were only too glad to provide ammunition. He showed how they dug trenches all around that Fort and put cannons on mule back to meet the Indians head on. He said the Indians didn't like to face fire that shook the ground when it hit. He sounded like a good preacher when he said, "We want to be ready for their nest raid and the next, and we want you people to get organized. That's the only way we'll get these devils to stay out of Texas!
One old settler told us later, "No wonder Indians hated Ole John R. They swung around his big ranch like it had a curse on it. One thing sure, ole John hated the smell o' Indians, and he had a mighty keen nose."
Our group decided to camp near the Fort, but in ten days there was still no sign of Indians, so the men ventured out, one by one, to take up land, build cabins and start planting again. Marion and Geriah decided to stay within calling distance of the Fort, but not Pa; he was anxious to be on the move again. He told us he hard of a man in Johnson county who wanted to rent his far. That seemed a likely way to get ahead.
My folks were thankful to find a far where the crops were well advanced and the cabin was clean and comfortable. We would have been every happy enough if only there was some cash handy. I was past thirteen now, and I was certainly old enough to know that Pa and Ruth worried about this lack of Money. I knew Preston would have been glad to hire out, but Pa needed him on the farm. They were both working their heads off. It was up to me to make the move; so without saying a word to any of them I went down to talk to Mrs. Swank who lived on the farm next to us. It wasn't hard to talk to her. She had always spoken to me when she cam visiting, and offered to lend me any books she had, for she soon found out I was more than anxious to get some more schooling. I finally got around to asking her if I could hire out as a housekeeper's helper. She was delighted to have me, but I told her there was just one hitch-- I had to convince Pa that this was the proper thing to do. She understood perfectly and wished me all the luck in the world.
I was so excited I could hardly keep from loping my house all the way back home, but I knew I must act cool and calm and very grown-up. Wouldn't you know this would be the time Melvin and Warwick even stopped their wood-gathering to ply me with questions. "Where you been? Why didn't you tell us so's we could go along?"
"I been visiting with Mrs. Swank. You go on with your work. I'll tell you about it later." I didn't need them hanging around me then. They were getting nearly as tall as I, and right now I wanted my rive feet to look seven.
I waited until I could find Pa and Ruth together. I wouldn't have the never to tackle Pa alone. I told them I had a job helping Mrs. Swank. She was to pay me a whole dollar a month for just morning's work.
I could feel Ruth holding her breath, but I was looking Pa right in the eye. That's how I was showing I was grown up. If I looked at Ruth, that meant I was asking for help. Pa gazed at me a whole minute, and I was expecting him to blow the roof off, but he fooled me again when he answered in his sweetest voice, "That's a big girl, Angie; I reckon we can use all the money any of us can earn right now."
Ruth and I smiled at each other. We both knew Pa was actually pleased.
This was a happy three months of my life. Mrs. Swank was so good to me. Even on our busiest days, she always called for a rest mid-morning and that was when we had our reading lesson. Then I could always take the reader home to study for the next day's lesson. She was so kind when I came to tell her that Pa had found me a better paying job, and I would have to leave her. She smiled at me and said, "I would be the first, dear Angie, to encourage you to better yourself, but come visit me when you can." I'll never forget that kind lady.
Pa explained to me that Mr. Charles Bonnard had built a mill in the district and was looking around for someone to cook for the mill hands. Pa even told me that Mr. Bonnard had heard that I was a right good hand; he had come to ask Pa if I could try the job. I was pleased that Pa thought I could handle such a job.
I left our house early enough each morning to prepare breakfast for twenty-five hungry men. I don't know or care how hard the work was; I was cooking on my first real cook stove. I remember hurrying home that first day to tell Ruth about this wonderful invention. It had "Golden Hard" written across the top, and it did look like a little harp. I could cook on the top of the stove and on the inside too. To my surprise, it was as good as any Dutch oven I'd seen. I told Ruth that some day we would have one in our house. The nicest thing about it was that it didn't < blacken up all the pot-vessels.
I worked for Mr. Bonnard for seven months, and I received two whole dollars a month. About the time I was beginning to think I was a woman of wealth, Pa suggested I'd best stay home a while to help Ruth. I knew her time was near, but the very next morning I went in to greet my new baby brother. I asked Ruth and Pa if I could name him. They seemed pleased that I'd ask for such a privilege. I looked down at his little red face and played like I had a sword in my had. "I name you Sir Richard!" I chose that name because Mrs. Swank had read me a wonderful story about a knight with that name.
Ruth was on her feet again and Richard was filling out fast all over. Pa announced suddenly that it was time to get hold of some land of our own. Surely the Indians were under control now. It wasn't long until Pa came to tell us he had some land in Erath County. This was an important more for Melvin and Warwick. They were growing up like weeds, and it looked like they might be giant men like Pa. They were so pleased when Pa let them help him and Pres build the new cabin, and even get behind the plow to put in new crops.
Everybody seemed busy and happy but me, and it wasn't long until Ruth took me aside to have a good talk. I could tell her exactly what was wrong. I was so restless because we were doing the same things, going down the same road, and we weren't getting any money ahead. Mostly though, I wanted to be out again doing something for myself. I didn't want to just sit there and rot.
I know Ruth must have been relieved when Mr. McClellan, a sheepman from Bosque County, came by our place and asked Pa if he knew anyone who could and would come help the ailing Mrs. McClellan. I was so thankful when Pa said, "Angie here is good hand at such." Mr. McClellan looked at five feet two inches of me and probably guessed I weighed all of ninety pounds. "You're so little Sis. I want a husky hand to do some good hard cleaning."
I surprised myself by retorting, "I can do anything any other woman can do, and my name is Angelina!" Mr. McClellan took another good look at me and grinned. Then he spoke in a polite manner, "You're hired, Sis.... I mean Angelina."
I am very proud, even now, when I think how many times Mrs. McClellan told me she thanked the good Lord for sending me to her. I felt the same way about her, and Mr. McClellan would never get over it when I asked him one day to show me how to shear a sheep. His best story, which he repeated many times, gave his version on the trials he had when I decided I could learn to plow.
He and I were going down a row in dead earnest, when he looked up to find some soldiers finding up to the field. He recognized an old friend, Sergeant Lott; so he turned to me and said, "You plow on out, Angelina, and I'll go see what's on Lott's mind."
Mr. Mac's story was that he had hardly shaken with Sergeant when asked who I was, and before he had time to answer, one of the other soldiers butted in with, "I heard Mac call her Susan." Mr. Mac said he just smiled knowingly and said nothing. The smart guy said, "I'll come and plow for twenty-five cents a day if you'll let Susan drive."
Another volunteered with, "I'll plow for nothing if you will board me and let Susan drive."
"I'll do better than that, Mr. Mac. I'll pay you twenty-five cents a day if you'll let Susan drive."
"That's a bargain!" laughed Mr. Mac.
I plowed on out that row and went onto the house. For it was nearing supper time. I went to the spring for a bucket of water, and when I came back to the porch, I discovered that Mr. Mac had evidently issued an invitation to the soldiers to eat supper with us.
Sergeant Lott rushed to the porch steps, took the pail of water out of my hands and placed it on the bench outside the door. It just happened that neither Mr. Mac nor his wife were there that minute to introduce me to these strange men; so I thanked Sergeant Lott for his kindness, nodded and smiled at the other soldiers and got to the kitchen as fast as I could, and there I stayed.
I could tell that the men were ready to burst out laughing, and I knew it had something to do with me, but I didn't know what the joke was, and I didn't find out until a month later.
Mr. Mac came to tell us some very stirring news. T. C. Alexander was raising a company of volunteers for the Confederate Army, and the whole countryside was gathering at the village of Meridian to attend a fare well dance for these volunteers. Glory be! The McClellans were taking me to that dance. Mrs. Mac said I was to have a new dress. It was made of dainty white swiss, ankle length with a full hooped skirt. I got very extravagant and bought a long blue sash for the waist, and I got a pair of black kid slippers. I put a beautiful red rose in my hair, and when I went in for the McClellans to look me over, Mr. Mac bowed and said, "Miss Angelina, you're a sight for sore eyes!"
We hardly gotten in the door of the dance when Sergeant Lott rushed up to Mr. McClellan and begged to be introduced properly to Susan. Mr. McClelland promptly turned to his wife and said, "This is my wife, Susan, Sergeant Lott."
The poor Sergeant was horror stricken, but recovered himself enough to bow courteously to Mrs. McClellan, who was enjoying herself immensely.
"May I have the honor for the next dance?" stammered the Sergeant.
"If you will excuse me, Sergeant, my husband has already asked for it."
Sergeant Lott escaped to the cool breezes of the outside and demanded of the first soldier he spotted in his group, "Who in the hell is that girl who stays at the McClellans?"
"Why, Sergeant, don't you know? That's Thomas McCarty's daughter. That's Miss Angelina."
"Thomas McCarty's daughter! I didn't know he had a daughter. You get in there and introduce me quick!"
The Sergeant hardly finished his bow to me when he started explaining what a blunder he had committed and how very sorry he was.
"I wish I knew what you are talking about, Sergeant. I am really very puzzled." I guess he could tell I wasn't fooling.
"Don't tell me Mr. Mac hasn't tole you about Susan! Wait until I get me hand on that man. I mean to make him suffer. He's been enjoying himself quite long enough."
This joke served it's purpose, though, for all the soldiers gathered around to have another laugh at their Sergeant, and, of course, I had to dance with each one of them. That's one way to get to be the belle of the ball. No girl in the whole world could have been more excited and happy for the whole evening.
I was very thankful I had been nice to all of them, for two weeks later they were all called to war, and I had no idea that I would ever see them again. This is how the Civil War that everybody was discussing became a reality to me.
As you know, this war between the north and the south barely touched Texas as far as battles were concerned, but these people of the far west begged for news from the battle front. Once a month the newspapers, Austin Courier and Galveston News, both printed on light brown paper, came to our isolated districts. That was when my reading came in handy. I read every word of those papers, and if any body asked me, I read them to those who couldn't read them for themselves.
In 1862, in the midst of the Civil War, the Homestead Act was passed. That meant that each new settler would be allowed one hundred and sixty acres at a dollar and twenty-five cents an acre. It wasn't long until our people were talking about all the new easterners coming in to take up farm land. They made it plain that they couldn't find work in the mills and factories, and they had no yet to get mixed up in this awful war. These were people who brought the latest news from the battle fields.
Once in a while Confederate soldiers came into the fields for corn. Pa was one who always willing to let down the gate for them, but he always warned them not to waste one ear of corn. These soldiers took cattle for beef when they needed it, but there were two brands they never touched. One was the Texas(a cross with a T on the top an S off the left end and an E facing down on the right end and an A at the bottom) the other was the MES brand. The first, spelled Texas, as you see, was the war widows grand started by the cowmen in the state. There were many unbranded cattle at this time, and when roundup time came, these strays were branded this famous Texas brand. After the war the increase in cattle wearing this brand was sold and the money divided among the war widows.
The MES brand was started in honor of Brother Mel Fleming, a Methodist preacher, who rode all of west Texas and brought the word of God to the settlers. The cattle bearing the MES brand finally provided the first church in Young County, just after the war was ended.
The war was to come closer to me than all this. It just happened that McClellans decided to move to Waco, and they begged me to go with them. Mrs. Mac explained that they had a very good female seminary there, and she knew I wanted schooling more than anything else. She knew she wouldn't have to use any other argument. Ruth and Pa thought it was a wonderful opportunity. Imagine how bitterly disappointed we all were when we arrived in Waco to find everybody upset by the war, and the seminary had been closed. That was one of bitterest pills I ever had to swallow. I just felt like sitting down in the road and crying my eyes out, but the McClellans looked sad and sick, and there was no use making them feel worse.
It was a good thing for all of us that Mr. Mac came in one day to inform us that his young cousin Sam was coming to visit before he was called to war. If ever there was a fair-haired Prince Charming, that twenty-one year old soldier was it. It wasn't many days until Mrs. Mac Noticed he was casting sheep's eyes at me, and she accused me on not discouraging him a bit. It was so romantic to be sending a handsome soldier boy off to war.
It was the rule then that each soldier was required to make his own tent, which must be eight feet, squared and stretched. Each evening soldiers and girls of Waco gathered to work on those tents. The men held the candles while the eager and thrilled girls plied needles to the course canvas. We were actually in a feverish contest to see which couple would finish their tent first. I was so proud when Sam and I finished first, and the others were gracious enough to admire my even stitches. (All thanks to Ruth, Mrs. Swank and Mrs. Mac, who allowed no sloppiness in needlework.)
In a few weeks the word came that these new recruits were to be shipped to Galveston. Sam, the McClellans and I were preparing to eat that farewell breakfast. Same was having trouble parting his hair and was grumbling about it so much that the Macs started laughing at him.
Mrs. Mac turned to me with, "Here, Angelina, you do it."
Not this girl! I'd been taught better than that by my Ruth. I laughed it off and kept on setting the table, but the truth was, I didn't want them to know my knees were shaking.
"Susan, you come do it. Miss Angelina is to lazy." Sam was using his most injured tone. Mrs. Mac frowned at me and said, "Don't be silly, child! Part his hair and let's get to breakfast."
While I was trying to control my trembling fingers, I was thinking, "I hope Ruth never hears about this. She had nothing but contemp for a forward girl."
Later in the day Sam said goodbye to everyone, and I hoped nobody say him plant a hasty kiss on my cheek. It was just a peck that hit some where on my right cheek, but I knew it must be blazing red.
In February the report came to McClellans that Sam had been killed in action. These dear friends were so grief-stricken; they didn't know whether they were coming or going, and for the first time that I could remember I was homesick. I wanted to talk to Ruth; I wanted to see Pa and the boys. I was also very curious about the new place my folks had acquired on the Brazos River in Johnson County.
As soon as I saw that McClellans were getting over the shock and strain of losing poor Sam, I asked Mr. Mac if he would take me home. I guess it dawned on them that I had been grieving too, for they helped me get packed in a hurry and wished me good luck all the days of my life.
It was good to be with my folks again, good to see fair-sized house and fine crops growing. Best of all, it was good to talk to Ruth by the hour. When I wasn't talking an arm off her, I was following the boys and Pa so I could know every square foot of my new home. That is why I wasn't very long in discovering that our house was in a poor location. It shouldn't have been built a half mile back into the field. I couldn't wait to tell Pa that I had found a spring close to the front pasture. It was perfect spot for the house.
Pa was just half listening to me, but he did answer, "Yes, yes Angie. I've thought of that myself, and as soon as we catch up a little we'll move the house."
The days went by, and I could see Pa and the boys were just as busy as bees, but I did have the good sense not to grind Pa about moving the house. It just so happened, though that Pa and Pres had to be gone a while week to haul salt from a salt lake. I watched them out of sight then turned to Ruth to announce, "I am going to move the house!"
"Jeanetta Angelina McCarty! It ain't enough for me to live in the midst of a cyclone most of the time. Here you go starting one all on your own!" Ruth actually threw up her hands and let me know she was washing her hands of the whole matter.
Well, she didn't say "yes" and she didn't say "no"; so I took it she would help, l but her heart wouldn't be in it. When I talked to Melvin and Fawick, they were really excited. If a little squirt like Angie could tackle that job, two big hulks could certainly do their share. What's more, a great big neighbor boy evidently dropped by to see what I looked like, and my brothers enlisted him before he knew what hit him.
Now remember, we studied this job some hours before we made the first move. It contained two sixteen-foot rooms. Our first problem was to take off the roof, which was made of boards three feet long, which were laid on weight poles of logs. Each board, each log was placed carefully, for, of course, there was not a nail in the whole house.
I marked every board and log with indigo just as we took it off. I knew I must not make any mistake there. I had a real problem coming up, though. This house must be level, and it must be square. I went to talk to Ruth.
"When you're weaving, Ruthie, you lay twine strings of the same length diagonally across each other; then the sides are even. Why can't I do the same thing on this house using ropes." Ruth nodded her approval and came to help me.
Now for the leveling! It was a disgrace to have a slanting floor. We placed beer bottles nearly full of water at each corner of the house. We poured a drop of water in each bottle. If the bubble stayed in the center, that floor was level!
It took us four whole days to get this house up again. Ruth was nervous as a cat having kittens. I wasn't sleeping to well myself, but the boys were having the time of their lives.
The day was at hand when Pa and Pres would be coming in. We could see the wagon approaching very slowly, and we were all going to meet it. I made the boys promise to keep their mouths shut. I wanted to bread this news to Pa in my own way. Ruth sat in the doorway and watched us run down the road.
The minute we got to the wagon, Pa lifted me to the seat and gave me a peck on the cheek. He was all smiles until he looked up the road; then he roared in his loudest voice, "What's happened around here? Where's the house? Who did this?"
"I did it, Pa." I could hardly get it out; I was that nervous. Pa drive the horses as fast as he could breathing hard and bellowing in harshest tones what he thought about interfering women. He jumped from the wagon without greeting Ruth. He examined the house throughly as he roared, "Who plumbed it? Who squared it?"
I explained in a very meek voice just how I had done these. Pa turned then to put an arm around Ruth, and all of us about dropped dead when he said, "Angie, you're a wonderful girl!"
I ran around the other side of the house so nobody could see me bawling my eyes out. Pa had actually given me an out and out compliment and the shock was more than I could take.
I was soon to learn that we were in a district where there were the best kind of neighbors. In the very next field lived Mrs. Lucy Jackson. She came to see us, so she said, to meet this daughter of the house. I loved her on sight, and she begged me to come see her when I had a few spare hours. I was inclined to think that the Good Lord had a hand in this meeting, for I was still upset about not getting to go to the seminary at Waco. Mrs. Lucy was just the kind of teacher I needed.
I found that she had just lost her husband in a flash flood, and of course I had to tell her all about my Sam. I felt we had much in common, and it was oh, so romantic! But Mrs. Lucy wasn't about to dwell on the loss of a loved one. She had so many things to show me. There was a real silver thimble, a whole set of china dishes, beautiful embroidered, pieces of tapestry, and rolls of silk and lace. I was in wonderland; I had never seen such beautiful things.
You may know I went down to Mrs. Lucy every day if I could, and she always had things for me to learn. She taught me to read the Psalms' she saw to it that I memorized the Ten Commandments, the Lord's Prayer and the Beatitudes. I heard her read many Bible stories and interpret them in a way which might have pained the preachers of our time, and my Pa, Thomas McCarty, would have denounce them as femalish and new-fangled.
One day after Mrs. Lucy was fully convinced that I was one eager student, she suggested that it might be well if she corrected my speech and taught me to write. She also thought it would be profitable if we were to take up one point on etiquette daily.
I couldn't get home fast enough to tell Ruth of my daily lessons, and it was Ruth who absorbed everything like a sponge. She tole me when I was really grown up some years later, that she had to keep up with me or she would have lost all control over me. She could smile about it in later years, but she wasn't smiling now. I hope I made her job easier when I suddenly "got religion."
Brother Fleming was one of the circuit riders who traveled many weary miles on horseback to bring the word of God to our isolated settlements. On one of his visits through Johnson County, Pa decided to take the whole family to hear this preacher. It was an all-day meeting and was held under a grove of trees near Squaw Creek.
Brother Fleming read the story of Peter and Cornelius. "Then Peter opened his mouth and said, 'of truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons' but in every nation he that feareth Him and worketh righteousness is accepted with him'"
The preacher was at the pleading stage of the service when he was asking people to come up front and declare themselves. "All those believing in God, all those wanting to feel His great love must confess their sins and be baptized."
I was sure I believed in God, but I didn't think I had big enough sins worth telling folks about. I wasn't objecting to a little water sprinkled on my head, but I didn't want to go up front all by myself. If somebody else would start, I'd be right behind them. Not another soul was in the mood that day. Then I listened to the preacher as he was getting wound up. "It's up to you, my brethren, whether you spend eternity in the bottomless pit of living fire, called Hell, or in the celestial real, called Heaven."
That made me defiant, and I was thinking to myself, "You are not going to scare me into this, Mister! Mrs. Lucy says that hell-fire, brimstone stuff is the wrong way to think about religion." Then the preacher looked saint-like as he raised his arms and sang out joyfully, "What a day that will be when His children gather around His golden throne. Don't you want to be one of that number?"
"Well, I certainly don't want to miss anything." I was really wrestling with myself, now. I was actually surprised when I found myself walking hurriedly up the way, and before I could turn and run, I was a new member of the Methodist Church, South. I've had no cause to regret that step, but Ruth said I really surprised my whole family.
It must have been just a few months after this camp meeting that tragedy hit the whole settlement. The Indians swooped down one night and left but a few horses in the whole district. Pa and Pres came in to tell us they had lot twenty head, but the bitter pill was that both Lady Jane and Polly Hopkins were in the herd that had been taken. Our people couldn't feel to sorry for themselves, though when the news came that the next settlement had worse disaster.
The Rangers had found the Indians, and there was a bloody battle costing the lives of five Rangers, but that wasn't all. Susan Dugan, her three children and her mother had been kidnaped by the marauders. The next report came in that Nancy Britt, a negro woman and her four children had been taken.
Word came in from friendly Indians that the Britts were being held for ransom. Jake Britt followed Comanches to fort Sill in Oklahoma, where he was told what ransom the Indians were asking. The white people in two settlements helped him gather the demands made by Indians. These included ten ponies, ten sacks of flour, ten yards of calico and ten sacks of sugar.
Britt's family came home, but Susan Dugan didn't see her people for four years. You can bet Pa didn't have to be persuaded this time to get to the fort. Of course, the corn in our field was just ready for harvest; so Pa called all of us out to the field, and soon neighbors were out there helping, too.
Pa had to use oxen to draw the wagons, for the Indians had stolen all the work teams. When we came to the Brazos River, we found it a raging torrent due to rains up above. All the settlers waited nervously for the water to lower. In two days and a half, Pa and the men could tell that the water had lowered belly deep to a horses; so it was worth taking a chance.
Our big wagon was driven by Ruth. She took little Richard, Melvin, and Warwick in with her. That wagon held our household goods. We waited nervously, while Ruth went into the river and across to the other side without any trouble at all. Then Pa nodded to me. I was to drive five yoke of Oxen hitched to the wagon of precious corn. Pa and Pres, on horseback, tied roped at each side of the wagon and rode along pulling at the ropes to prevent the heavy wagon from sinking in the quicksand.
I slowed the oxen into that now sluggish stream and all went well until we were about half-way across. One of the "wheelers" balked and was being dragged by the rest of the oxen. I had to do something in one hurry to make that sullen oxen move. I reached back of the seat for the ramrod of Pa's gun, and I really punched that stubborn animal. He jumped like he's been shot, and in a moment we were safe on the other bank.
The next job was to get our little herd of cattle across. Pa and Pres had driven them mid-stream when a large pile of brush came floating down the river. That was all that was needed to make these nervous cattle start milling around in the water. We all knew they could all be drowned before our very eyes. I started unyoking one team of oxen, and Pres knew exactly what to do. He brought his pony to me and drove the oxen toward the cattle. Pres and I both yelling our heads off to attract the attention of the cattle. When Pres came along side the cattle, he wheeled the oxen slowly toward my wagon, and the crazy cattle, obedient to any leader in such a crisis, followed the oxen to safety. When Pres came up to me, he grinned and said, "You're sure a help, Sis." There is nothing like a big brother who appreciated you and it's nice enough to inform you of the fact. CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER SIX
A KNIGHT COME RIDING
When we McCartys arrived at Fort Davis, we found that several other families had already found cabins in or near the fort walls, and of course there was a shortage of houses. Pa and Pres, with plenty of help from all of us had a crude cabin up very quickly, giving us a feeling of security because it stood just outside the fort wall.
I had the nicest surprise when I found my newest and best girl friend, Deborah Kane, was to be my next door neighbor. She was just my age, sweet sixteen, and we had the best times together. Ruth approved of this friendship, because she said Mrs. Kane and Deborah acted like perfect ladies.
While the women around the fort were trying to get their new homes in order, our men had a far harder task, for all their cattle and houses were turned out to range, and the had to watch over them constantly. They knew the Indians would come near the fort and even creep in at night to nibble at the edges of the herds, but Mr. Indian suddenly turned very cautious for riding into the fort came members of the Home guard, who were to take over the defense problem.
You don't have to convince early settlers that this Texas Home Guard wrote indelible pages in history of the Lone Star State. We were and are grateful to these men, on the outposts of civilization, who took solemn oaths to protect and defend their people from Indians and outlaws. They kept these oaths at the sacrifice of many hundreds of their members.
You must remember that during the Civil War, all Confederate soldiers were taken out of Texas; then when the war was over, it was years before Union men were sent to man the forts. If it had not been for the Texas Home guard, the Indians would have finished off the settlers in one hurry.
These guards or "rangers" as we called them, were pleased and excited to see settlers rushing toward Fort Davis, for it meant that the Indians were closing in, and that would mean some action for them. When things quieted down, there would be time for get-togethers such as big picnics and dances.
Deborah and I were al atwitter, for we had noticed that Ellie Clark 's band or rangers were all good looking and mostly unmarried. No wonder the prospect of the first dance had us floating on air. The big night was at hand, and Deborah and I spent hours primping and giggling. Ruth tried to be patient with us, but finally had to come in and warn us, "Hurry up girls. Thomas is ready to go and, and you know he can't wait for nobody. You're both pretty as pictures, and you can't improve it none by messin' with your hair."
Soon we were whirling from one partner to another to the strains of two fiddles and a guitar. It so happened that my partner of the moment finished our dance just in front of the musicians. I glanced over at them and clapped my hands, along with all the dancers. To show appreciation for the very good dance music and the excellent caller.
One fiddler, tall, dark and really handsome, smiled back at me as I stood within ten feet of him. I lower my eyelids discreetly; after all this man was a perfect stranger. I did notice out of the corner of my eye that the fiddler suddenly handed his fiddle to a new volunteer. Before the next set was ready, one of Pa's friend came up to be and said, "Miss Angelina this is Joe Browning. He's been pesterin' the life out o' me to be introduced to you, but I feel it me duty to warn you; he has hearts hanin' to his belt from girls all over west Texas!"
The heartbreaker bowed deeply and laughed heartily. Then he spoke in that warm southern drawl, "Don't you mind him, Miss McCarty; he's just jealous. I had to bribe him somethin' awful to get this introduction. Will you honor me with the next set?"
The next set happened to be a waltz, and I knew that fiddler had left instructions with the musicians before he came over to me. Joe Browning was a fast worker; he didn't intend to share this dance with anybody else.
We waltzed around the room once; then Joe said, "My! My! Miss McCarty, you're the best waltzer I ever danced with!"
"Have all the girls in the west heart that, Mr. Browning?"
I could see Joe blink, and then he burst out laughing. "Now, Miss McCarty, don't you listen to that skunk. He was just trying to plague me. I don't really know many girls in these parts, honest! Besides, you do dance very well."
I smiled up at him in my most lady lie manner. "You are a nice dancer yourself."
I knew this was going to be an usually long waltz because I had seen Joe wink at the musicians as we passed by. He did know all the tricks. When we walked back to where Deborah was sitting, that southern drawl caused my heart to skip a beat. "Thank you for this dance, Miss... Angelina."
My eyes blazed up at this daring young man, but I cooled down immediately. I could see he was begging permission.
"You're quite welcome..."
"Joe," he prompted, but I just smiled, for Ruth had warned me often about these "forward" girls.
It wasn't very long after the dance until Pres came in to tell Ruth that the whole fort neighborhood was gossiping about Joe Browning sparking Miss Angelina McCarty. Pres and the Rangers were betting high stakes among themselves that Joe would or would not win out. There were those who said Thomas McCarty would hang Joe's scalp to his belt if he ever got on to the fact that Joe was hanging around.
Pres was having the best time bringing in all this gossip, and I had a feeling he was adding a lot of stories on his own just to tease me, but Ruth shut him up good; she knew I wasn't laughing. I was plain worried that Pa might take a dislike to Joe and tell me to send him scooting.
Joe was just twenty-two then, and I must say he was smart enough to play his hand carefully. It doesn't seem possible, but two whole years, when Joe could find time from cow-works and Indian fighting, he managed to come by to our house to visit. I was relieved when he made many of these calls when Pa wasn't home.
Ruth, bless her heart, watched this romance flower; so she had the good sense to welcome Joe and get to know him very well. I could see they were getting to be very good friends, and that made me enjoy Joe all the more.
It took him no time at all to win over Pres and the younger brothers, but when Pa found him around, Joe was a perfect stranger. Pa was polite to him, but never friendly.
One day Joe came by to find I had gone visiting; l so he waited for my return. This was his chance to beg a little sympathy from Ruth. She told me later that he was mighty blue and discouraged, and he spoke some very plain words. "How much longer do you think I'm gonna to have to hang around here, Mrs. McCarty? Seems to me I'm making no headway at all!"
"Now Joe! Haven't I told you! Don't crowd her and don't bed her either. She's a McCarty, you know. They're a strange breed."
"What's really wrong, Mrs. McCarty? Sometimes I'm just as sure as Angie love me, but she won't admit it."
"The truth is... she's afraid of what her Pa will do."
"You mean....she's really afraid of him?"
"Not real fear, like you men mean, but afraid of his opinion... whether you'll live up to his proud ways, or maybe what he'd say if he took a dislike to you. Thomas makes a lot of to-do about family stock."
"Well! Hell! I ask your pardon, ma'am, I forgot, but who does he think he is? My family can match his anytime, and I can prove it!"
"I know, Joe, it's just that Thomas, like any other father, doesn't think there is a man alive who is good enough to marry his daughter." Well, I'm havin' it out with Angie tonight. Either we get married this month or not at all! I've fooled around all I'm going to. She's eighteen in a couple of weeks, and she's old enough to make up her own mind. It's me or her Pa. She can decide that. I offered to go talk to her Pa a long time ago, but she made me promise I wouldn't approach him. Now, she can do it!"
Ruth said Joe dashed out the door, got on his horse and was out of sight in a minute. She could tell by the set of his straight back that he was seething. Something was going to pop.
He came back to our house just after supper and asked me to go for a walk outside the fort wall. It didn't take him very long to tell me, in no uncertain terms, what he thought of this one-sided romance. I just stared at him, and all of a sudden tears were rolling down my face, and I was rushing into his arms. "Joe, oh Joe! I thought you were never going to ask me again!"
"Well I'll be damned!" Said my flabbergasted southern gentleman as he leaned weakly against the fort wall for support.
The next morning I bustled around the house singing at the top of my voice. Ruth didn't have to be told that Joe and I had an understanding. Near noon when Pa was due for dinner, I quit singing and started worrying. I thought Pa would never come in sight.
Wasn't it strange that I was suddenly thinking of what one of my brothers said to the other, those many years ago, "When you're ready to go... go!" I was also remembering that Pa raised Cain when they left home, but they went on just the same. I was talking to myself now, "Maybe they were just as afraid as I am now, but they spoke their mind... just like I'm going to!"
I met Pa quite away from the house and asked him to rest under the shade of a tree for a minute, for I wanted to tell him something. I had made up my mind and I was going to get everything said before he could start talking or arguing. Yes, I remember very well exactly what I said. After all, I'd been rehearsing most of the morning.
"Pa, I want to tell you that Joe and I want to get married. He wanted to come to you to ask for my hand, but I asked him not to, for I wanted to tell you in my own way."
"I know you don't know much of anything about Joe's people, but old man Anderson at Waco has known the Brownings all his life. You go see him and find out about Joe... and Pa, if he hasn't the right kind of family I .... I promise I won't marry him."
I looked Pa right in the eye, and He looked right through me for the longest minute; then he said, "I'll go tomorrow. Is dinner ready?"
Pa was up and on his way to Waco by day break that next morning, but he wasn't out of sight until I was moaning to Ruth, "I'm sorry I made that promise to Pa. What if Joe's folks are trash? I's not marry them; I'm marrying Joe!"
"Now, Angie. That's no way to talk. You've no cause to worry; Joe's folks are all right. I can tell you that. Goodness knows, I oughta know about them; I've plied him with questions for over two years!"
I found out from Ruth later when Pa arrived at Waco and hunted up Mr. Anderson, it didn't take him long to realize he had come to the right man. Not only did Mr. Anderson know all the Brownings, but he was mighty proud of the opportunity to talk about these old friends.
Pa found out that my Joe, was really Joseph Alansing, was the son of Frederick Browning, a wealthy plantation owner of North Carolina. His mother was Mary Lucas Burke of a distinguished family of Georgia.
Joe's father died some years before the Civil War, but there were four sons to carry on the Browning name. Some years later, Joe's mother married a Mr. Stegall. Joe was fifteen at the time and he decided it was about time for him to be moving out. It just happened that an aunt and uncle were moving west, and Joe asked to travel with them. He had one idea, and that was to become a real cowboy.
He got a job with Bob Sloan, and that paid him twenty dollars a month during that first summer. In the fall Mr. Anderson said he encouraged Joe to join the Texas Rangers, and that's when his salary raised to five more dollars a month. It was Sull Ross and his forty Rangers who needed a horse-wrangler; so young Joe started at the bottom job and was mighty glad to get it.
It was this Sull Ross and his men who finally killed the infamous Indian chief, Pete Nacoma. This was the chief who twenty-five years before had captured a little white girl, Cynthia Ann Parker. She was nine years old. When she was of suitable age, the chief made her his wife, and she bore him three children.
As Mr. Anderson explained to Pa, this didn't make white people very happy, and any Ranger would have given his eye teeth to get a shot at Pete Nacoma. It was Ross who killed him in one of the bloodiest battles in the war with the prairie Indians.
Joe told Mr. Anderson that when Ross and his Rangers rode into the Indian camp after battle, a squaw held her baby above her head and cried, "Don't shoot! Me Cynthia Ann Parker."
On the way home young Joe, the lowly horse wrangler, got to ride along and talk with Cynthia Ann. He said she looked like any other squaw, all brown from sun burn, but her eyes betrayed her. They were bluer that the sky above.
She was a real Indian mother, though. Her baby had been crying the whole trip, but when she and Joe came to a creek full of water, Cynthia Ann took her little papoose out of his bag and ducked him in the cold water. That baby quit bawling right now!
Joe stayed with Ross a few months, then asked to be transferred to Ellie Clark's band, and he had been riding the Texas range ever since.
Mr. Anderson concluded with his report with, "Joe's a good shot, good company and a good worker. Sometimes I think he's too good-natured for his own good. He'd give you his best horse and throw in the bridle to boot.
"Joe's accumulated a nice herd of cattle and some pretty good horses. I guess that's about all I can tell you except all my people were powerfully fond of Frederick Browning, and we sure like his son Joe a lot, maybe because he looked just like his father with that black hair and the honest- to-God green eyes."
Pa couldn't have been gone more than a couple of three days, but as far as I was concerned, it was months and months. When he did come in sight, Ruth suggested that we stay in the house and go on with our knitting and give him his own sweet time to tell us what he had leaned. We both knew there was no use trying to rush Pa' he'd keep us on a hot skillet as long as he could.
Pres and the boys came in from the field to greet Pa. He gave strict attention to each one, then led them into the house where he came over to Ruth to kiss her with unusual ardor, then turned to me as if he was asking the time of day and said casually, "When's the wedding, Angie."
On the twenty-fifth of January, 1865, the people of Fort Davis and the neighboring forts were invited to our wedding. Of course it was a glorious affair. Folks were glad enough for any excuse to get together, and a wedding was the best excuse in the world. What if we did have snow on the ground, and it was cold enough to freeze your bones solid! The men built a big brush fire in our yard, and those who couldn't get in the house could stand around the fire in perfect comfort.
There were thirty gallons of molasses boiling in a washtub so the children could have all the candy they could eat. There were cakes and pies all the coffee the grownups could want. My friend Deborah and a whole slew of young people served that crowd until daybreak.
We decided the last minute to have ceremony preformed in the yard so everybody could see. Just at eight o'clock Pa signaled for me to come out the door. I hope I was as pretty as I felt in my new white swiss dress with long, flowing sleeves, basque waist, and full skirt with tiny tucks from the waist to the knee. Joseph Alansing Browning was very handsome in homespun.
While firelight cast a rosy glow over the whole scene, Probate Judge Gadis E. Miller Pronounced us man and wife. Everybody rushed toward us to shake hands or hug and kiss us, but I remember one old with-looking granny, who wheezed as she cackled, "Land sakes, Angie, you she look purty tonight, but I hate to think what you'll look like a year from now! " CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER SEVEN
ENTER MRS. JAB
The old west that my people knew is gone, and with it are the old brands and earmarks. Once in a while I can find a son or a grandson of a west Texas pioneer who can identify or even draw these strange markings of ownership.
The most hated brand among cowmen is gone. That long arrow extending from shoulder to hip on a horse proved that the owner was an Indian. The slit ears, which infuriated any horseman, are also gone. A "four-eared" was positive proof that a redskin rode him.
Some beloved old grands are also gone, including John R. Bailor, the PEP of the great Pepper Ranch; the JS of the famous Sillman ranch, but the JAB brand and earmark still lives, though it is far removed from the Texas range where it was first coined from the initials of Joseph Alansing Browning.
Joe was just like a little boy showing me his toys when he took me out to show me his herd of cattle bearing his brand. He explained that there were only seven hundred head, which I gathered was a modest herd in his language, but it seemed to me that I had unknowingly married a man of means.
Always the tease, Joe explained that the reason he was so anxious to have me marry him so he wouldn't have to carry two brands, for we had the same initials. "Jeanetta Angelina Browning, you are Mrs. JAB now, and I hope I can plant that brand on a thousand head of cattle for you some of these days."
I felt that my new husband had just placed a mantle of purest gold around my shoulders and decked my coal-black hair with a crown of jewels, for nowhere in the whole world was there a more beautiful brand. This was placed on the left side of the cattle, not so large that it seemed showy, yet big enough to be identified with ease. The earmark was a little more difficult for me to master, but it wasn't long until a head bobbing out of a head with under crop the left ear and half crop the right told me that was Mrs. JAB's calf. I was so proud!
Now it was time for us to get settled in our own home. Joe had already looked over the newly evacuated fort, Camp Cooper. The surrounding range was in good condition, and there was plenty of water. That seemed Ideal for the seven hundred head of cattle and twelve horses. Joe asked me to inspect several of the small rock houses which were built around the large ammunition house. I thought the second one on the right was just the house for the Brownings.
While Joe was busy gathering his cattle and "throwing" them south to this new range, I had myself a good time putting my new home in order. Joe had bought a Seth Thomas clock, a bedstead with home made cords for slats, a four raw-bottomed chars of elm and pecan wood, but the prize was a little trunk. It was all of a yard long and maybe half a yard high, but such a pretty little thing to place near a window so everybody could admire it.
Pa and Ruth gave us six tin plates, six wooden-handled knives and forks, a skillet, four quilts, two blankets and a feather mattress.
I walked all over that fort gathering discarded canteens. They were just perfect to melt and shape into extra dishes. I was lucky enough to find at least a dozen quart beer bottles that hadn't been nicked or cracked. I got a whole set of glasses from these by breaking the neck off the bottles very carefully. You take a good stout string and dip it in turpentine; then you rub the string across the bottle where you want the top to be.
Now, mind, you have to rub hard, and every now and then you pour water on that hot string. Before you know it, the top of the bottle will fall off, and the glass will be left with a smooth even edge.
I was busy at this one day when Joe came in laughingly remarked, "You made me all tuckered out just watching you, Angie. Don't you ever stop working?"
He was teasing, as usual, but I was in dead earnest when I answered, "I have to keep busy, Joe; I'm the restless kind."
What my new husband didn't know was that I was heeding Ruth's advice given to me just a few days before I was a bride. You must remember in those days women, even women as close and congenial as Ruth and I talked little of marriage and less of marriage relations. After all, pure young maidens couldn't be told things they hadn't yet experienced. It wasn't decent for married women to talk to future brides; it just was not decent. But ever since I could remember, Ruth had always given me an answer when I asked her a question.
I guess I was bragging a little when I remarked to Ruth, "You know Ruthie, my marriage is going to be different. I am only going to have one, and I want to keep it as exciting and interesting as it seems to me right now!"
Ruth just smiled at me, and her face took on that patient look which was louder than any words. You could see she was saying. "Oh, I'll just let this scatter-brain rattle on. She'll run down sometime." That was all the encouragement I needed.
"Now that I'm grown and in love, I know a lot about you and Pa that I never realized before. I know now that you are the only woman Pa ever really loved, and I know why. It's because you understand him better than anybody else, just like Joe understands me."
"I want you to know, Ruth, that I don't have to be told that Pa has been hard to live with at time, but I know why... he's so restless, and I take after him; I'm restless too.... and if you want to know the truth, that's what worried me a little."
"Angie, girl, I been meanin' to have a talk with you for several days. This is as good a time as any. One thing you got to get straight in your head --- a woman can't live in this world like a man. Women can't act like men or think like æem, or the world would just blow up into little bits, and it wouldn't take long for it to happen."
"You and your Pa are a lot alike, Angie, more alike than you can ever imagine, but you can't do things the way he does. A man might get away with it but a woman would only destroy herself. I want you to remember that, Angie."
"You know yourself, and you think there is nothin' too big for you to tackle. I know you could do it and do it well, but Angie, women can't afford to be too smart. That's what you are, and it's going to cause you a heap of trouble if you don't watch out. You got to lean on your husband, to depend on him and let him know you're leaning and depending."
"You are right, Angie, you're both restless, and maybe there is no cure for it, but you can keep busy and pretty soon you do find more contentment. When you feel these spells comin' on, get up and so something. No use just settin'; get up and move!"
I was just setting drinking in every word my Ruthie was saying. Actually, she wasn't a very talkative woman, and I guess I was a little surprised to hear her actually preaching to me, pointing out things I had never even thought of. Then she really did turn preacher on me.
"Now, Angie, you joined the church, and I was right proud of you for doing it, but joining is a long ways from getting the religion a woman needs. You got to have it as a sort of guide or leaning post when the going gets tough, and you have to travel over some mighty rough roads. Maybe it's religion that makes a woman have such faith in her man. Anyway, it seems all kinda mixed up together, somehow or another. The thing I'm trying to say to you, Angie, is that I want you to keep your Bible handy and learn to read it as much as your Pa does. It's helped him a lot, and I know it can do the same for you."
Ruth had had her say and she was ready to get back to her weaving but I had some other things on my mind; so I plunged in.
"Ruthie, I guess I ought to be ashamed to mention it, but honest, I'm scared stiff of my first married night!"
I knew then, and I know now, if only a hole had opened in that nice clean cabin floor, Ruth would have thanked her God and disappeared willingly, but she was trapped. She turned a little white, but after a long minute she spoke very softly, "I'm sorry to hear you say that, Angie. There's nothin' to be afraid of. Just look at all the men and women who have been married, and they got through that first night all right. Don't let that fret you. Joe's a good boy, and that what counts."
I saw Ruth had recovered from one shock; so I thought I might as well try her out again. "Here's another thing, Ruthie. I don't want to start right off and have babies every year. I like babies, but I don't see any need to have a dozen to prove it. You know what I have a mind to do....I think I'll get some cotton or soft wool and stuff it æway inside of me' then maybe I could have my babies just when I want them."
Goodness gracious. I had really upset ruth. I couldn't tell whether she was just plain mad or scared pea green. Did she ever light into me!
"Angie McCarty, you listen to me and listen good. Don't you ever try a thing like that! You crazy young'un, you'd get cotton rammed clean to your stomach and it could kill you! If you don't want to have babies, you're not old enough to be married, and you better be tellin' Joe right now! Babies is part of this bargain..... whether you like it or not' so you better make up your mind!"
"Heavenly days, Ruthie! Don't get so het up! I want babies all right, all right, but I don't want twelve or thirteen.... and I'm gonna do something about it.... you just wait and see!"
"Well, I can't help you there. Seems the Lord is the only one that has any say, and I can't figure him out in this matter. Now come on, Angie let's get busy. When you start talking, you never seem to know when to stop."
I was determined to heed Ruth's warning about this restlessness. At first I could find dozens of things that had to be done to make our new home comfortable, but after a bit I found I was through with my housework by mid morning. That's when I begged Joe to let me ride with him as he rode among his herd. Joe was so pleased to have me around, and the days flew by. After supper I always took Joe's fiddle off its peg on the wall and asked him to play for me. Joe actually relieved to find I had a good ear for music and could stay on key. I heard him bragging while he chuckled, "When Angie really gets into a song, you can hear her a mile away, if the wind's blown' in the right direction."
We had been married just four short months when Joe and I looked out the door in the late afternoon to see a caravan approaching. It did not take us long to find we were going to have five families moving into Camp Cooper. There were the two Hitson families, Dalla Wilder, and joy of joys, my own Ruth and Pa and my five brothers, Pres, Melvin, Warwick, Bill and Dick. But the big surprise came when we found Marion and Geriah and their two little children brought up the rear wagon of the caravan.
Such back-slapping, hand shaking and hugging you never saw! You'd thought we hadn't seen each other for ten years. I just said it right out loud. "We're so glad to see all of you!"
Ruth hugged me hard and turned laughingly to Pa with "See! She's tired of Joe already!"
Joe felt just like I did. Our honeymoon had been perfect, and all you couples should have æem so they can get used to each other, but women need women folks and men need men folks; then you couples can appreciate each other that much more.
Now that the Civil War was over, we took for granted that the forts would be manned in a short time, but here was Camp Cooper without a single soldier. However, Camp David wasn't so far away, and it was getting to look like a strong hold-- not that we were expecting to need help from these soldiers. After all, it had been many months since we had seen or heard of an Indian. Why can't people smell trouble coming?
We had just settled down to a peaceful little community, and one month went by; then our men in camp arose early as usual to wrangle horses to find they had visitors during the night. Many of the horses were gone. My Joe rounded up his herd to find he had just four horses left. He was the leader of the men who went out to hunt the Indians.
As the men traveled north, they came to a deserted freight wagon and discovered the freighter, Phil Randall, had been killed by the Indians. Joe and Bill Hitson buried the freighter by the side of the road; then Joe took a kitchen knife from the wagon and scratched "Randall" on a sand stone and placed it at the head of the grave. We have been told that the stone remains there today, and though worn and faded by weather, it is still plain to read.
Our men rode on until late afternoon; then Joe realized the Indians had too good a start to ever catch up so he persuaded the other to come on in home. There wasn't any laughing or teasing around our hose that day.
The very next day John and Bill Hitson and John's little son Jess, who was just ten years old, Jim Wilson, a fourteen year old negro boy who had attached himself to Hitsons, and my brother Preston decided to round up part of their herds and brand calves. When noontime came they found a shady spot under some huckleberry bushes and decided they would eat a bite and then stretch out for a little rest. The Hitsons had dozed off for a minute, but Pres and the negro boy looked up to find a band of Indians closing in on them. The negro boy's yell brought everybody to their feet, and John Hitson took one look and gave a quick order to Preston, "Quick, Pres! Get to your horse and hit for camp. You can outrun any Indian you ever saw. We'll shoot æem off until you get goin', and you hurry back with all the men you can gather. We are goin' to need æem bad!"
My Pres never hesitated a minute, but ran his horse through the only opening in the slowly closing circle of redskins. The men said later, as Pres dashed through, five Indians turned to follow him, while arrows darted all around him. Pres never looked back once.
He raced towards the clear forks on the Brazos to find the heavy rains above had again filled the river from Bank to bank. There was no time to wait; Pres guided his horse carefully, letting him swim with the current. Two Indians plunged after Pres, but they saw their horses were being washed to far downstream; so they got back in a hurry to the companions waiting on the bank.
Pres knew he was safe now, but he had a mile and a half to race to the fort. Nobody had to tell him that he had to win this race.
I happened to be standing in the door of Ruth's house when I saw Pres dash though the fort gate. He was yelling his head off, "Where's the men, Angie? Indian! John and Bill can't hold æem off long."
I told him as fast as I could that Pa was the only man left in the fort; the other were out hunting.
"Go find Pa!" Bad news does spread fast, and in just a few minutes Pa and all the women were gathered around Pres to hear this dreadful news. Pres said that the last glance he had told him the negro boy had been killed while he tried to mount his horse. We found out later that the poor boy tried to pick up his straw hat that had blown off his head. That all hurt us because w all knew how proud he was of that hat.
Pres said he was afraid young Jess's horse had been killed and that John Hitson was trying to get the boy up behind him. His voice trembled when he said, "I guess the Injuns got them all by this time. There wuz just to many Injuns."
"How many Indians are there, Son?" asked Pa.
"About seventy-five, I guess."
Pa turned to the group and calmly, "Come, folks. We must prepare for an attack. These Indians are going to be awful brave with that many of them. Gather all the pitchforks and guns you have and bring them to the ammunition house. Fill all you buckets and pans with water and bring æem in a hurry."
We were all working feverishly, and in an hour we were gathered in the large center house and had bolted the door. We were ready. We had plenty of pitchforks to throw off burning shingles if the Indians set fire to the roof. Every gun was loaded. All we had to do is wait for the attack.
About five o'clock Pa saw Joe, Marion and the boys riding leisurely into the fort gate, absolutely unconscious of the excitement all around them. I ran past Pa and stood waiting for Joe to get off his horse. I must have been white-faced, for he rushed over to me with, "What's happened, Angie?"
"I thought you had run into Indians, too."
"Indian! Whata you mean, Indians?" But for once in my life I couldn't get my tongue untangled, and it took Pa to tell my men what had happened.
Joe didn't hesitate a minute. "Come on Marion, we've got to get to fort Davis and get some soldiers. The Indians won't cross that high water yet." We just stood there watching them go until Pa said sternly, "Let's get back inside."
Now we were to wait the hours out wondering how soon the Brazos would run down so the Indians would cross it.
In meantime Bill Hitson, with a muzzle-loading rifle, and John Hitson, with a cap and ball six- shooter, were attempting to defend themselves. They dared not shoot their guns in open range since dozen of arrows would find them before they could re-load. They had to get to a nearby bluff for protection; so John yelled, "Get to that bluff while I hold them off for a minute."
He raised his gun and took aim, and the Indians, knowing these shooting-fire weapons, rode slowly and cautiously while the gun was raised. The next minute John turned to follow his companions, and arrows rained down on all sides. It was at this time that young Jess's horse was arrowed from under him and the poor negro boy, trying to recover his hat, killed.
John Hitson saw Jess was in serious trouble and rushed to drag him back of his saddle. An arrow grazed John's leg just above the ankle, but he had no time to think about that. Bill Hitson paused for a moment to see if his brother and nephew were going to make it to the bluff when an arrow landed in his thigh and pinned him to his saddle. He did manage to get to the bluff, and in a moment John and Jess ran to him. John stood guard while Bill cut the feathered end of the arrow as near to his leg as possible then raised himself up and eased the leg off the arrow, leaving the poisoned dart standing upright in his saddle.
The Indians would not draw closer than fifty yards from the face of the bluff, but clambered quickly above and rolled rocks and threw spears at the horses until one pony fell dead and the other was pitifully wounded. One rock bounced on John's gun, causing it to fire. Those were anxious moments until he could get that clumsy weapon re-loaded.
An hour passed, and both wounded men complained of being thirsty. Little Jess lay on the ground and listened carefully. He believed he could hear water trickling in the gully to the right. This little ten-year-old took a cap box (about the size of a modern vanity case) and crawled on his stomach toward that pleasant sound. Sure enough, a small spring flowed from the bank. Jess filled his cap box and crept to his father with the precious water. He repeated this trip at least a down times so his father and uncle could quench agonizing thirst.
Finally the sun did go down, and kindly darkness hovered over them. The Indians pulled away headed south. They must have figured out that Pres would bring men as soon as he could, and their mood for battle was over. Indians never fought after dark if they could help it.
The moon came out just as the last wounded horse lay down quietly and breathed his last. The hours drugged on, and at four o'clock the moon went down. That's when Bill Hitson decided they'd better try to get to the fort. Jess could help them, and the fort was only three miles away. Within the fort I sat by Pa and strained my ears to hear any strange sound. Once I heard a faint call, and I grabbed Pa's arm and whispered, "Listen, Pa! I hear Indians!"
Pa strained to listen. After a long pause we heard that call again, and Pa jumped to his feet shouting, "That's not Indians! That's the Hitson s!"
The women screamed and ran to the door. There stood their men--wounded to be sure, but very much alive. Mary Hitson fell into her husband's arms, and I grabbed him around the knees. Everybody was covered with blood, but the blood would wash off.
"You're yelling like a bunch of crazy people," laughed Pa. "Wait a minute. I think I hear soldiers comin'." Sure enough, Joe and Marion and sixty soldiers raced into the gate. Now, you never saw a better celebration.
When daylight came, the mounted soldiers spent the morning going over the ground that the three Hitson s had traveled so painfully on foot the few hours before. None of them nor any of us had to be told how brave these Hitson s were. It was no surprise, after Bill had moved to Colorado sometime later, to hear that he was a famous pioneer of those parts. A number of us, well up in years, visited the museum in Denver where Bill Hitson's picture greeted us. It was good to look at a likeness of a dear old friend.
When the soldiers had finished their inspection, the Captain called all our men together and suggested that the whole camp move back to Fort David, where soldiers would be stationed for an indefinite time.
There was no argument from anyone after this trying experience.CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER EIGHT
MRS JAB, THE MOTHER
It was lucky for us this time that Fort Davis afforded enough houses for this group from Camp Cooper, and in a short time we were settled in our respective homes and the horrors of the Indian attack were soon forgotten.
Pa and Ruth lingered with us for a few days, then told us they were on their way to Fort Worth to make a new home. It was about five months later that Joe suggested we pay them a visit. I was so thankful that he suggested this, for I needed to visit with my Ruth. I knew it would be about four months until my baby was due, and I needed advice and comfort from my very good friend. You know, I wouldn't have dreamed of saying anything to my men folks. Gracious, no! Bother them with such trifles! Besides, it would embarrassed them to death.
It was nice, though, to be the center of attention on this visit. Of course Pa and the boys would never have mentioned that they knew I was pregnant, but they were just more attentive, and did little things to please me. I was mighty glad, though, that I had Ruth as a solid rock to lean on. I told her so.
"Honestly, Ruthie! You must be one woman in a thousand. Here I've had my wits scared out of me by all the talk the women give me at the first, and now you come along and make havin' a baby as easy as walking down the road."
We visited for a month; then Joe announced that it was time to go home, as Marion was probably worked down taking care of two bunches of cattle. When I started to get into the wagon, to my horror and disgust I burst out crying. "Oh, please excuse me! I'm such a little fool. I didn't mean to cry."
Joe came over and put his arm around me. "You're just nervous, Honey. I know I am, my self, a little. Don't you think it would be nice for Pa and Ruth to go home with us for a visit?" I looked over at Pa to find him gazing far out in the fields. He was having no part of this discussion. Ruth winked at Joe and went in to start packing. Pa went to the corral to hitch up his team, when were in our wagon, Joe started chuckling to himself, and then he let forth with, "That Ruth! She sure knows your Pa!"
On our way home we stopped at Weatherford, where I bought the necessary things for our new baby. There was white Canton flannel to make shirts and gowns, red flannel for petticoats, and calico for dresses especially calico with tiny blue dot in it.
As soon as we were home, ruth and I spent every sparing minute knitting woolen shawls and stockings. When my time was at hand, Joe went after the best midwife at the fort, who charged us thirty dollars in wool. She delivered a little baby girl who was named Diame.
I would have been up on the third day, but ruth demanded that I stay a bed a whole week. Naturally, all the Camp flocked in to see this new baby. They thought she was the prettiest baby around, but one elderly grandmother had to take us known a notch or two when she peered at little Diame and commented, "She looks normal to me--maybe a mite to little, but I guess you warn't so big yourself, were you, Angie?"
Since there were several women around, this old blatherskite felt she had to deep the center of the state. "One's nice, Honey, and you'd love a dozen, but women oughter not have to bear them all. I guess you-all have heard the story my Ma said her Ma told her. She said if men had to bear half the young'uns in the world, there'd be just three in every family. The man, te be perlite, would allow woman to have the first one; then he'd have the second; then it would be the woman's turn again, and that would settle it. No man on earth would go through such a thing twice."
Old granny laughed the loudest at her story, and the rest of the women laughed politely at this old saw which most of them had heard a hundred times. I grinned with the rest, but I was really thinking, "Crazy old goose! Makin' so much to-do about havin' babies. Why, babies are nice....actually the nicest creatures in the world!"
When Diame was nine months old, Joe and Pa decided that Indians had quieted down enough for them to try their luck in Miller valley which lay west of Fort Griffin.
I wasn't paying to much attention to their plans these days for I had some news of my own that I could only share with Ruth.
"Ruthie, I'm in a family way again."
"Well, Angie, you can have your family close together, and then the young'us will be up and out of the way in a little while."
"Oh, Ruthie! I'd have o more back bone than a rope if you didn't give me courage. What'll I ever do without you!"
"Well, I'm right here, Honey. Now, let's get ourselves moved and settled so you can rest a lot before this next baby is due."
About the time my second baby was due, Joe received word that his mother and stepfather, Mr. Stegall, had moved into Cooke County, Texas. This was the first time I saw Joe really restless, and he talked constantly about his boyhood days. One day I asked just as innocently as I could, "How far is Cooke County from here, Joe?"
"About a hundred and fifty miles, straight through."
"How long would it take you to ride that?"
"Silver could make it in sixteen hours, I reckon."
"Pa and Ruth are coming over tomorrow; why don't you go see your mother?"
Joe's green eyes said plain enough, "I love you for that," but a minuted later he remarked, "Suppose you have my boy before I get back?"
"Gracious sakes! I don't expect you to be gone all winter! You better get started right away and you do hurry back. I keep thinking how anxious your Ma must be to see you after all these years."
Don't you think, sometimes, all women enjoy being martyrs? I was certainly feeling noble until I saw Joe ride out of sight; then I could have bawled my eyes out, but I wasn't going to let Ruth and Pa see any red eyes on me, and what's more, when they came, I made it very plain that I had forced Joe to go see his mother, and he would be back in less than a week.
I remember Ruth's impish grin when she said, "That's fine, Angie. You're going to have company for a week. How do you like that?"
When Joe returned home, he brought his seventeen year old brother, Jim Browning, with him. Jim told me later that Joe talked about his Angie all the way home. He vowed his wife was the prettiest gal in west Texas, and all that stuff and nonsense. Just think how Jim felt when he saw me the first time, heavy with child and weary of waiting. But I looked at this tall, rawboned farmer boy and thought he was no bargain himself. His pants were much too short and were held up by one suspender. He did have a nice smile, though.
I wasn't permitted to peer into the future and know that the time would come when I would be so very proud of this country hick who lived with us for seven years.
Jim Browning became one of the fine lawyers of Texas, a member of the state legislature, Judge of Forty-seventh Judicial District, a Regent of the state university, and Lieutenant Governor for two terms.
Just at this moment, though, he was trying to cover his embarrassment at meeting all these strangers, while I was gritting my teeth and trying to look pleasant, fully aware that the first pains has started.
When the second girl was born, our little Della, I felt a little put out. After all, I had asked for a boy, and if you went to all this trouble to have them, seemed to me you out to get your choice. To Joe's undying credit, he never showed the least disappointment, and Ruth and I could have hugged him for that. Little Della was one of his favorites all the days of her father's life. CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER NINE
TWO GOOD MEN WITH GUNS
Joe and I were so pleased when Marion and his Geriah built a large hose a mile from us and invited Pa and Ruth to share this comfortable home with them. It was good to see my folks settled down and ready to enjoy old age. We all noticed how much more gentle and patient Pa was. That constant restlessness wasn't driving him to ends of the earth any more. I had to admit that old age was mot becoming to Pa. I was so proud that he was actually a very good husband to my Ruth, though one old harpy we had all known for years clipped my wings a little when she remarked, "Yeah! Thomas McCarty is a good enough man, but he had to wear out three good women to make him that!"
It was good to have our families with in visiting distance, and I was so thankful that my brothers and my husband were all good friends. It seemed to me that brother Marion and Joe were special pals. They both enjoyed good stories, good jokes, good music and plenty of company. Both however, were quick tempered, but as Geriah put it, "They didn't fly off the handle at the same time; so the storms soon blew over."
One day my Joe rode in home at noon from a hard drive. I noticed that he was not his usual merry, teasing self, but I thought he must be very tired and hungry as a whole; so I was hurrying to get the meal on. He ate very little and said nothing. That did bother me; so I was watching him carefully. He got up suddenly and started for the door; then he turned to look at me with his eyes so sad, and he said in a very hurt tone, "I found a JAB calf with Marion's brand on it."
"Oh, Joe! You must be mistaken! You know Marion wouldn't do a thing like that on purpose. You just know he wouldn't" Even the thought of it made me sick all over.
"Maybe not. I'm goin' over to see him about it...... now!"
I had read of people walking with fear as a constant companion, and of the tight bands settled around your heart because of fright. Now I knew what these high-flown words meant. It seemed like hours, but in a very short while I saw Pa riding toward our house with his horse in a high lope. I ran to the gate to meet him, and one look at his white face told me the story.
"Come with me, Angie! Joe's shot and he's killed Marion!"
"Why did I let him go?" That was all I could say, over and over as we rushed back to Marion and Geriah's house. My precious sister-in-law helped me from the horse and we were in each other's arms crying bitterly, "Why couldn't we have kept them apart?"
Nobody could give me the particulars of shooting. We surmised that both men went of their guns at the same time. Joe's shot hit the heart; Marion's struck the hip. As for the calf that caused the tragedy, no one knows to this day whether it belonged to Joe or Marion.
Right that minute we were to busy examining the awful wound in Joe's hip, and we knew we had to get him to Fort Griffin to the army doctor. The fort was twenty-five miles away.
It was Pa, of course, who gathered four neighbor men to carry Joe on a rawhide little, held by oak shafts. The men mounted their horses and rode two on each side of the litter. I took Diame and Della on my horse and we followed the litter.
When I started to ride away, I looked back at all my people standing together. I don't know how many were crying, because I couldn't see to well through my tears. I learned then what that part of the wedding ceremony meant which says, "Forsaking all other, until death do your part."
When the littler bearers finally crept into Fort Griffin, there was not one house available for us. Nobody could even find a tent, but one good soul let us borrow a bedstead, and another found two wagon bows which they slipped over each end of the bed. Some body else found a wagon sheet and stretched it over the bows.
At least Joe had a makeshift tent over him, but that cord bottom bed sagged in the middle and was far from comfortable, especially at night when Joe had to lie cat-a-cornered across the bed so the little birls could each have a corner to sleep. I had a char to sleep in and I could always rest my head on the edge of the bed. We were lucky that the weather was, mild and the girls could play in the open all day.
The army doctor came each day, and didn't look to pleased with Joe's progress. Finally, one evening the doctor found this awful wound had abscessed. It had to be lanced at once; so the doctor ordered me to hold the tallow lamp high over his head while he operated.
In a few days bilious fever set in and poor Joe was delirious for several days. He raved and begged me to get inside the fort. He thought the friendly Tonkowas, who passed by his tent each day, were wild Comanches on a raid.
We would have been in more of a strain if that kindly doctor had not arranged for us to draw rations from Uncle Sam. While we were there, we were issued five rations of bacon, pickled pork, tea, condensed potatoes and condensed eggs. Our big problem was to get milk and light bread for the little girls.
During all this trouble Jim Browning was off co-works for other ranchers, and had not even heard that Joe had been shot. He rode in home a month later to find only a yoke of oxen, a few hogs and nine shoats roaming around our place. Only two old hens remained of my large flock of chickens.
Of course, the minute Jim discovered what had happened, he rushed to the fort, and maybe you think we weren't glad to see him! He was just in time to help us move back to our ranch. Before we got in sight he stammered around a bit and said, "Angie, I hat to tell you this, but somebody came by and camped at the ranch for a spell.... just long enough to mess it all up. They stole everything that could be moved except that box of soap you had just finished making."
He didn't have to tell me anything more. I knew what kind of trash had been there. If they'd leave that nice soap. My gracious! There was a whole year's supply there!
The news that hurt me most, but I didn't let Joe and Jim know it, was that all my people had moved far out on the other side of Fort Griffin.
Joe seemed to worry; the Indians had driven off all his horses. Jim and I didn't remind him that it would be made months before he would be able to straddle a horse again. That hip pained him for months and months, and he walked with a limp the rest of his life.
Jim and I had no time to fret over anything. Spring had come and there was much work to be done. Jim rode hard during the day gathering Joe's cattle that wondered in all directions. I got busy planting a garden with one hoe that was left on the place. A good neighbor loaned me a loom and we bought enough wool to make thirty yards of material. Right then and there I decided that my men needed new suits. They were both proud of them and years later, when Jim was Lieutenant Governor, he let the whole state know that he never had anything before or since that made him feel bigger or better.
We did get to sell one cow for twelve dollars; and then as the cornfield began to yield we sold roasting ears to the fort to add a little more money to our skimpy pile. We found, though, the best source of income at the moment was butter. So we milked ten had of cows to get that precious better.
When fall came, there was a demand for beef; so we sold some steers and all of us breathed a little easier. I was determined, though to hold back four steers to trade for a horse, for I knew Joe was feeling well enough to ride again. Sure enough, we got the horse, and the minute that cowboy could ride without pain, he let out for Fort Picketville (Brekenridge now) for more horses.
Jim, at this particular time, was far out on the range working that drifting heard. That meant I was going to be alone for a few days. Before Joe left, he persuaded Old Henry Somebody to come help me with the chores. I laughed a bit scornfully and remarked, "That's fine, Joe. Ole Henry's not much on work, and less on brains, but at least he'll be some one to talk to."
When Joe was gone, I slowed down for the first time in over a year to take stock of myself. The last remark I had made to Joe was not kind, and I noticed the strange look Joe gave me. It bothered me more than I wanted to admit. When I thought things over, I had to smile at myself. The real truth of the matter was that a neighbor had brought the news that my brother, Preston, was going to be married to the sister of my dearest friend, Deborah Kane. I wanted to go to that wedding! I felt cheated. Such a wave of homesickness for Ruth and Pa and the whole shebang hit me right in the face, but I didn't have time to feel sorry for myself too long, for old Henry had to be told to come in out of the rain, of it there was a job to do, I had to go show him how I would be right on had to help him.
One night I had gone to bed early, for I was tired, as usual. I had pulled my bed close to the front door to get a cool breeze. I had just dozed off when a strange noise brought me upright in a minute. Then something jumped across my bed and ran out the back door. Believe me, I let out a yell and screamed for Old Henry. I ran to get a box of parlor matches that had been given me that very day. Now, you know, I had never used any but sulphur matches, so I wasn't prepared for the sudden pop that came. It scared the daylights out of me, but after three trials, I finally struck a light and held it.
I could hear hogs grunting and squealing in their pens near the corral. Something was rasing Cain out there--could be Indians!
"Henry! Do you hear me? Get up!"
"Whata ya want?" grunted Henry from the next room.
"Get up and see what is causing all this noise!"
"If you make me get up, I'll go to the bottom." (He meant the brush near the creek bottom.)
"If you start, Buddy, I'll shoot you before you get very far. You take this gun and get out there and see what's wrong!"
"It's Injuns, woman, and they're after difficulty."
"Well, give me time to put on my pants."
"I don't care whether you have pants on or not. Just take this gun and set under that castor bean in the yard, and shoot anything that comes by except a cow or a hog."
I was over my first fright now and went to the well on the right side of the house to draw fresh water for a drink. I heard Henry's gun snap, but no shot fired. "What is it, Henry?"
"The biggest c-c-cat you ever saw!" stuttered Henry.
I couldn't help laughing. "It's not a cat, Henry. It's wolves! Don't let them kill the calves. I'll put a tallow lamp on the gate post, and that will keep them away from the house." When the lamp cast its feeble blow, we could see wolf eyes peering at us in all directions. Old Henry, braver now, promptly climbed the yard fence and fired that gun.
"Did you get one, Henry?"
"N-n-n-no, he passed before the gun fired."
Poor Old Henry tried again and again to steady his gun, but he couldn't get a single wolf. I grabbed a bucket and started pounding on it as I yelled at the top of my lungs. The wolves were to startled to attack the stock, and by daylight they were gone as suddenly as they came.
Henry and I went to see what damage had been done. Several calves had been bitten, but with care, we knew that they would live. Two wolves lay dead in the corner of the corral where the angry mother cows had horned them to death.
Late that afternoon Joe rode into sight with a few horses and a small bunch of goats. Henry and I could hardly wait for him to get off his horse so we could tell him of the excitement the night before. To our disgust, he nearly split his sides laughing and kept saying, "Yeah? I'll bet there were all of six wolves."
An hour later the dogs ran a rabbit into a hollow near the house. Henry and I hurried over to smoke out some fine meat for supper. Joe was on the opposite side of the house admiring his new horses. Suddenly we were all startled by a great clamor at the back of the house. We all ran quickly to see the new goats coming over a little knoll followed by seventy or eighty wolves. Joe yelled at the top of his lungs, "Get my gun, Angie! Get my gun!" While he limped awkwardly toward the gate.
I was really running to get that gun at the house and to beat him to the bate. Breathless as ai was I handed him his gun, I gasped "All of six wolves."
Old Henry and I grabbed our buckets and started yelling like drunk Indians. The wolves wanted none of this and disappeared down the hollow in a cloud of dust before Joe could get near enough to shoot.
We didn't see any more of that pack, but we learned to expect wolves when the buffaloes came our way. I learned to put strychnine on fresh meat, and that made short work of the wolves. I remember counting as many as eighteen dead ones on our place. That could ruin a calf crop on just one visit.
Winter had barely set in when Indians began their raids again, and one night they drove off all of Joe's horses. It was a sad sight to see Joe trade his six shooter for a horse, then turn it over to Jim to ride after the cattle.
Food wasn't as scarce that winter. Joe and I killed nine hogs which we had fattened on wild pecans; then we used the small entrails from a steer to make stuffed pork sausage. Loading this in a wagon drawn by oxen, Joe gathered another hundred pounds of pecans and headed to Fort Griffin on a selling trip. He sold the sausage for sixty cents a pound and the pecans for four dollars a bushel.
Right then and there I went on a buying spree and purchased material for a dress--the first new dress I had since the Civil War, now four years past. Such a beautiful dress it was! Plaid gingham with plenty of red in it. Both Joe and Jim said it made my eyes shine.
The Indians were still bothersome; so Jim persuaded us to move near Fort Griffin. You may know we took some of our precious port with us as we moved. Old Henry was still with, us and he was told to put the pork in the bottom of the wagon.
When evening came, we camped out just in time for a sudden sower to descend on us, but that was no worry. All the grownups and the two little girls crawled under the wagon for a peaceful night's sleep. I awoke in the night to find rain pouring in my face, but it was a queer rain--as salty as the ocean's water. I was so disgusted that I awake the whole bunch by declaring in a loud voice, "I can stand pure rain water, but now water dripping off port. I'm getting up!"
Bless Old Henry's heart! He sat up and mumbled disgustedly, "Ain't rainin' no place but under this wagon. I'm building a fire." And with that he was up and had a good fire of mesquite, and he and I saw enjoying in lady comfort. Soon sleep overcame poor henry, and he toppled face forward into the fire. He was up and out of it before I could be of any help. "Confound it! No sleep! Never no sleep!"
While I was looking him over to be sure he hadn't burned himself, Joe and Jim were having fits trying to keep from laughing aloud. In a shot while peace was restored, and Old Henry had settled down for another nap. My Joe simply could not contain himself; this was to good to let go by. He started singing at the top of his lungs, "Old Dan Tucker, he got drunk. Fell in the fire and kicked out a chunk."
Old Henry was through, finished, done! He couldn't get any sleep; he'd see that nobody else did. He built up his fire, started banging skillets and the coffee pot while preparing breakfast. Yes, it was all of four o'clock in the morning, but Joe and Jim didn't mind; they were willing to pay for that good laugh.
We found a pleasant spot about two miles from Fort Griffin, and the men started a large log house, but I secretly fretting because the logs were not going up fast enough. June was just around the corner, and I wanted the bright new home ready to welcome our third child. I needn't have worried; we were in good order when little Bob arrived. He was such a fine baby and so good, but that was the way he was always, a blessing to us all his life.
Nobody could touch Joe Browning with a ten foot pole; he was that proud. Jim remarked one day that Joe acted like he was the only man in the whole world who ever begot a son. I noticed Uncle Jim was mighty proud of this new nephew, and it should have been a very happy time for all of us, but I didn't seem to get my strength back as fast as I should. I had never felt so tired and listless in my whole life. I kept telling myself that it was just because the excitement was all over and I wasn't ready for the humdrum of everyday living. I wasn't fooling myself at all. I knew exactly what was wrong. I wanted Ruth and Pa to see my son. What was the use of having him if I couldn't show him off a bit!
I should have been up on the fifth day, but I didn't hurry. I stayed in bed a week and two days and listened for horse hoofs to come up the road. One morning I had dozed off for a moment when I "came to" to find ruth and Pa standing in the doorway smiling at me. " I knew you would come!"
Ruth and I grabbed each other, and we were both crying. Pa was a little shaken himself. "Imagine Angie with a boy!" And he gazed down at little Bob as if he had never see a boy-child before.
Joe heard all the commotion from the back of the house, and he rushed in to see what was happening. He just stood there motionless, taking in the whole scene; then he moved toward Pa, holding out his hand in welcome. "How are you, Pa? Mighty glad to see you."
Pa shook Joe's hand hard and said, "You're lookin' fine." Then Ruth rushed over and put her arms around Joe's neck and kissed him soundly.
You can't imagine what this meant to me. There would be no McCarty-Browning feud that might have lasted through a generation, with senseless deaths and heartaches. My Pa and my husband were acting like civilized men, and I appreciated it. They could be friends again and talk man talk, while my Ruth and I could get back to our woman talks.
I was up and bustling around in a hurry, but I noticed that my Ruth was not well at all, and it came as a shock that she had suddenly become a very old lady, yet she was quiet. But don't get it that she was falling apart; she still did far more than her share of the work, and I was scolding her half the time to ease up and spare herself.
Those were the happy afternoons when we would get the baby and two lively little girls down for naps; then we would catch up on our visiting.
It was one of those afternoons that Ruth spoke her mind and gave me a priceless gift. "You know, Angie, you are finding plenty of work for your body, but you've got a mind too. I hope you'll start reading more. I've subscribed to a new magazine called "Literary Companion." I think you would enjoy it; I brought along all my copies for you. Here's the premium I got one month. They do send the prettiest pictures for special gifts."
I looked at this lovely picture of an old man and a little boy rowing a boat. That made me catch my breath, but the poem at the bottom of the picture has never left me. I read it aloud for Ruth.
"Manhood looks forth with careful glance, Time steadily plies the oar,While old age calmly waits to bear The Keel upon the shore."
I might have known that Ruth was warning me that she wouldn't be with us long. Not to many nights later, Pa came to call Joe and me to Ruth's bedside, I heard Ruth whisper, "Take care of your Pa: he sure needs you now."
Joe and I were in each other's arms crying bitterly. I didn't have to be told that I had lost my best friend. When I said as much, Joe replied, "She was my friend too, Honey."
We both knelt at Pa's side, but there were no words from any of us. That broke old man, hunched over in his chair, had no words for any of us for days and days. Finally I got so worried I begged Joe to go after Preston, and when he came, he took one look at Pa and decided then and there to take him on a visit back to Missouri.
Pa did the nicest thing that day they were to leave. He came over to me and put his arm over my shoulder and handed me a package wrapped in cloth. I didn't have to open it; I knew it was Ruth's Bible she had cherished since she was a little girl. Pa and I didn't have to talk; we understood each other.
I didn't see him for three years, and we had plenty to talk about by that time.CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER TEN
THE JAB RANCH
It is well to mention here that after 1872 the Indians were even more dangerous because they had acquired guns and were fast becoming crack shots. This meant that my men had to be more cautious about going out alone, and that settlers had to live closer together and be on the constant guard against raids. By 1874, however, the government had taken a firm stand and was really working to control the Indians. That was the signal for our cattlemen, particularly, to forget the danger and rush out in all directions, anxious to spread their fast growing herds over more and more land.
My Joe and Jim Browning were to join the ranks of roving cowboys by a most unexpected change in our lives. It was just after the birth of our second son, a rolly-poly baby called Jack, that my Joe heard that his mother and stepfather had moved to Shackleford County. The minute little Jack and I could travel, Joe and Jim took us on a visit. That was the luckiest trip we had for many years.
This was a real family reunion for the Brownings. The oldest brother, Bud, had come west to be with his kin. Bud had money, and it didn't take him long to realize that Joe and Jim had good herds, but most of all, plenty of experience. Anybody could see that this would be a fine partnership.
In no time at all these Browning brothers were looking over every ranch in the county, but they couldn't find one any better than the old John R. Bailor Ranch. I was actually thrilled when they came back to report to us that we must hurry to Fort Griffin and get moved. The men helped me pack the household goods, and I was on my way, while Joe and Jim drove the JAB cattle to their new range.
The Bailor Ranch became, there and then, the JAB Ranch, and Joe and I were known as Mr and Mrs JAB. Joe's dream had at last come true. Mrs JAB would have her thousand head of cattle.
It was very heart-warming when old timers start talking about that JAB Ranch such a spacious, rambling log house, with large rooms and winding halls. The big house was surrounded by feathery mesquite and sturdy scrub oak trees. To the side of the main dwelling I was to discover two long bunk-houses which would be the home for our cowboys.
The Borwnings hired Lon Neal as foreman of the main ranch and soon provided fourteen cowboys to work under him. These men received thrity-five dollars a month, with food and horses provided.
One cold morning Joe looked up from his work to find a pink cheeked boy asking, "Who's boss around here?"
Lon Neal, standing nearby, answered, "You're looking right at him. That's Mr. JAB." "My name is Will Kelley, and I'd like a job."
Joe knew a green horn the minute he saw him; so he turned to Lon with, "You got all the men you need, haven't you, Lon?"
"Yes, I have, Mr. JAB."
"I don't mind whether it's cow-works or not. I ken do odd jobs or anything to start with."
Joe had a hunch this boy was hungry; so he turned to call me in the kitchen, "Angie, here's a boy wants work. Can you use him?"
What a question to ask me! Nobody can get kitchen help for love nor money. Maybe a negro woman would come for a short spell, but it was to lonely and monotonous for them; so it was up to me to cook for the for the hands where they were near the home ranch.
Did I ever need help? I came right out that door to smile at this seventeen year old boy. He might not be a tough cow hand, but I could keep him busy. I must tell you that boy applied himself well, and he was such a good-natured kid that our cowboys took the pains to teach him to ride and rope. He turned out to be just as good a cowboying as cooking, and we learned to love him as our own. Joe was so grateful for his help that he started a brand for Will, and in due time increased furnished him a comfortable living.
There was another morning when Joe and Lon hired one Lee Somebody (never mind his real name). He had the earmarks of a good cowpuncher, but our men didn't know that Lee had his own ideas about impressing new people. In a day or two the old hands were sneaking into the kitchen to tell will Kelley and me the latest remark for the newcomer.
It was Ben Lewis who bought in this one. "Honest, Mrs. JAB, you oughta hear the big words he tries to say. I nearly smother when I hear him. This very morning we was to run some cattle to the south range, and this Lee rode up to the pointer (That's the man who directs the path the herd will take) and I reckon he wanted to say, æPoint, and that will tell me the way to go,' but that ain't the way he got it out. He said, æPint! And that will tell me which way I'm pursuing!' I tell you, he beats all."
When will and I saw the cowhands gathering in a huddle before supper, we knew Lee had added another of his list of bright sayings. Joe and Lon brought in the campion of the week. Lee was riding out with three other hands when they decided to scatter and round up later that morning. To Joe and Lon's amazement, this male magpie left them with some words which that had to translate for me. Lee yelled at them, "Boys, if you see me on a distant mounting (mountain) ye must come a caming, for you know I am pursuing a gender (cow) at a proper distance." This was one story that went the round of cow camps for many years, but I happened to collect the winning story myself.
I had just heard the news that President Garfield had been assassinated, and I rushed into tell Joe and Will Kelley just as Lee came in the back door of the kitchen. Joe and Will were expressing themselves in no uncertain terms about any skunk that would do such a thing to as fine a man as Garfield.
The all-wise Lee could stand it no longer; so he butted in with, "Garfield? Garfield? What outfit does he work for?"
Joe and will went out the door with their shoulders shaking, but I had to control myself enough to explain that the President of the United Stated had been shot.
All the activity around the ranch, and all the yarns and jokes made life interesting and happier for grownups, but the JAB Ranch was a child's paradise. Diame, Della and Bob, with Jack trailing along as soon as he could walk, prowled around the bunk houses and corrals, climbed high trees and shot make-believe Indians by the dozens.
The cowboys were always busy whittling out toys for the children, and often after super, had regular rooms with them. There were a short time, though, when the Browning children fell from grace and were completely ignored by one cowboy for several days.
It was just after noon when the cowboys stretched out in front yard for a little snooze before Lon called them to work again. All of a sudden, Bob, playing the big Indian chief and Della and Diame as bold Texas Rangers, came from the back yard yelling at the top of their lungs.
Frank Hyde, good-natured puncher and particular friend of our children came out of a sound sleep and called to the men in dead earnest, "Injuns boys! Git your guns!"
Every man scrambled to the bunk-house for his gun while the poor youngsters stood watching them with opened mouths, wonder what on earth was wrong. George Girvin, one of the cowboys, realized as soon as he cleared his sleepy head, that John Hyde had mistaken the children's yells for real Indian yells. He pointed to the children, and the cowboys fell apart. Then yelled and roared and fell on the ground with helpless laughter, but John Hyde was not laughing. He walked over to the children, who still stood looking bewildered, and commanded them, "You young'uns get in that back yard to play, and for cripes sake stay there!"
Joe and I had been watching this whole performance from the kitchen window, and we were to burst our sides laughing. But it still wasn't funny to Frank, and that evening and several days there after, the little Brownings missed their usual frolic with their good friend, Frank Hyde.
Travelers going east or west stopped at the JAB Ranch for a meal, a night's lodging or a week's rest. The latch string did really hang on the outside of that house door. It was always nice for me if women traveled with their men. Nobody thought of being resentful of unexpected guests. The women came right on out to the kitchen and pitched in to get meals ready. The best bits of gossip or exciting news came out of the kitchen while we prepared all that food.
We found out that it wasn't always best to be to curious about any wandering stranger. I remember very well one time when I happened to be alone, and a big rough-looking man stopped to ask for a drink. He didn't even get off his horse, but leaned down from the saddle to take the dipper from my hand. This certainly did surprise me, but naturally, I made no comment. The man did thank me most graciously and left in a high lope. Imagine how I felt when about two hours later, a posse rode up to inform me that I had given a drink to Sam Bass, the noted Texas outlaw!
Another day the Stockton family came by on their way to east Texas. They spent a day at the ranch, resting, washing and ironing before they went on their way. Mrs. Etta Stockton had hung her feather bed on the fence to air. Just at dusk she looked out to see an Indian dodged behind a stump outside the fence. Indian or no Indian, Etta was getting her feather bed. She yelled as she ran toward it, and everybody in the house rushed out the doors, knowing full well that Indians must be about. Mr. Indian didn't linger long; he jumped on his horse and slid down the thirty- foot bank into the Brazos before our men could get a shot at him. The next morning our cowboys went across the river to find Indian tracts all up and down the banks. Etta not only saved her feather bed, but all of our horses, and possibly our lives.
When branding time came, our cowhands knew what hard work meant. There were thousands of cattle to brand for these Browning brothers. This meant that Joe and Lon Neal had to take the chuck wagon out on the range for weeks at a time. This was the chance young Will Kelley was waiting for; he would prove that he had learned his cooking lessons well. He had to bake dozens of sourdough biscuits in Dutch ovens, had to make smooth gravy to mix with jerky, measure rice and beans so they could bet well done without swelling over the kettles and flooding the whole camp. It wasn't long until men were bragging that there wasn't a better man cook in the country. Ask any cowhand who ever rode up to the JAB chuck wagon.
At branding time the children and I were most often left alone, but this particular time Will Metley, the bookkeeper , was trying to catch up on his work, and don't think there was plenty of figuring to do in a lay out like this.
The chuck wagon had only been out one night, and the homebodies decided to get to bed early. Metley and the children were soon in the land of dreams, but I felt nervous and restless; seemed I could hear horse's feet. I went to the window straining my eyes to peer into the darkness. Surely I was just dreaming! I thought I could see the outline of a horse drawing closer to the front yard. In a minute I could see the outline bulged on one side. That was the giveaway, and I ran across the hall and called Metley, "Will, Will, quick! There's an Indian out there!"
Metley, his mind still befogged by sleep, grabbed a gun and ran to the door. The horse kept coming slowly to the very gate, and I screamed, "Soot, Will, shoot!"
When the Indian heard me yelling, he wheeled quickly and vanished into the night. You can bet we kept guard until dawn, but the excitement wasn't over. Poor Will had to run a wild race with the stork and get a midwife at Fort Griffin. My fifth child was arriving a month early. When Metley arrived at the fort, he found the whole place in an uproar. The Indians had stolen the stage horses out of the stables and driven off most of the horses in the district. Poor Will was having one awful time finding a horse for the midwife. In meantime I was trying to act calm and collected so the children wouldn't know I was having my troubles. I got their breakfast and sent them out to play, explaining to Diame that I needed sleep and she must keep the children away from the house. I know what people mean when they say "The hours crept by." It was nearing noon when I saw two horses and riders. That was a silly time to start crying, but I was tankful to see them.
That afternoon a tiny little girl was born, but I could see from the kind face of the midwife that we were in trouble. The little baby died the next night, and I was thinking she looked so peaceful that I wouldn't mind going off to sleep with her. What difference would it make? Joe was on cow-works; Ruth was gone forever; and my Pa was so far away, he wouldn't hear I had a baby. All of a sudden, though, I knew I couldn't give way like that. There were four little youngsters right here by me who needed my care.
The strangest thing happened as I law dozing. My own mother Sallie was telling me to take my little brothers to the barn so they wouldn't see her ride away from them. I never wanted any child of mine to suffer from the loneliness as I had that day. I was ready to get up and go on.
Will Metley made the nicest coffin for the baby, and the neighbors brought wild flowers for the grave. The midwife wouldn't let me up for the services, but she said that Mrs. Stallings, a good neighbor, did as well as any preacher.
The hard part was to come when Joe came into learn the sad news. It's hard to see a happy-go- lucky, supposedly tough cowboy bowed down with grief. It's a good thing, though, that we had so much work to do we couldn't hug grief to our bosoms.
Seems to me I was hardly out of bed until one of our men broke a leg, and I had to set it. Another fell ill with some kind of fever, and he had to be nursed. And always Will Kelley and I had work to do that kitchen.
I noticed that when we had damp weather my legs and arms were achy, but nobody stopped for a little touch of rheumatism. Right at our busiest time, though, one leg became infected and was so swollen I was forced to set in a rocking chair with my leg propped up in the straight chair. I could manage to push myself from room to room and tell Will Kelley what had to be done. Even, this leg grew no better, and to my horror the kneecap became so inflamed that the flesh broke. I had never known such pain.
One look at this knee and Joe lit out for Fort Griffin for the Army doctor. When he finally came, the doctor examined that knee very carefully, then laid powered morphine on the broken flesh, hoping that would stop this awful pain. It had no effect at all. Then the doctor pried open my rigged jaws and forced a small quantity of a dampened powder in my mouth and begged me to swallow it. I managed to get it down, and in a short while, the pain lessened, my muscles relaxed and I went into a peaceful slumber that lasted for hours.
The minute I was awake I called to Will Kelley, "Will, Will come here. What's happened? I feel like I've been asleep for a month."
"Well, Mrs. JAB, I don't know whether you remember, but the doctor from the fort has been here, and he gave you some power that really put you to sleep. He said if the pain came back, use the medicine he left here for you to take."
My! But was I ever glad to hear that. I would have hated to be without that powder any more.
I was able to walk again in about a week, but Joe and Will would not let me get up for another week. I was fussing and fuming a bit over this, but Joe, ever the teaser, said, "You stay put, young lady. After all, it pays us to keep the hardest working cowhand on this ranch in good physical condition."
In less than a year that "cowhand" had given birth to her sixth child. We named her Lily, and we loved her in a very special way, for she was the image of the little Angel we had buried. CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE ONLY WAY IS UP
Our Bud, Jim and Joe Browning were rich and growing richer from the sales of their cattle. They, like other cattle kings of Texas, realized that the scrawny Texas longhorns were the best travelers over long trails, but they would bring in small returns when weighed out as beef steaks and the north and east were clamoring for beefsteaks.
It was But who figured that they could drive a big herd into Colorado and let them fatten for a year, then put them on the market and realize a big profit. Later, our men relieved of the chore of fattening cattle, for the eastern buyers soon established ranches toward the west and asked the Texas cowman to deliver his cattle to ranches in Colorado, Wyoming or Nebraska. These new owners could fatten their own cattle and ship them to Chicago, or Kansas city.
I well remember that in 1872 Will Metley recorded the branding of ten thousand calves with the JAB brand. In a year there were eleven thousand calves. Yes, you can say the Borwning Brothers Cattle Company was doing all right, but the brothers hadn't listened to the rumors coming from the east. Nobody convinced us that there was a creeping paralysis traveling westward. We didn't know it yet, but the east had already encountered the Panic of 1873.
Newspapers brought belated news of political strife, but the government and their officials were not like next door neighbors' so we didn't take politics to seriously. I can't remember women ever talking about such things. We did listen to our men folks, and of course we all knew that things would have been better had the Democrats been running affairs.
The federal mismanagement that our men growled about suddenly meant something to all the Texas cattlemen. There was no market for our cattle. The northern and eastern buyers were not interested in the thousands of calves owned by the Browning Brothers.
My Joe, ever the cheerful one, kept saying this slump would soon be over; we could hold over for a spell. After all, people had to have beef to eat.
There came a day when Bud, Jim and Joe saw their cattle kingdom crumble. I could have cried for all of them, but they had no time for tears. Joe came to me after his brothers were gone and said calmly enough, "Well, Angie, I guess we're in for some tough times again. We simply can't sell our cattle; so we decided to divide the herds and hit for better range."
If Joe could be calm about this, so could I. "Don't mind it, Joe. We'll make out. You know yourself; this being prosperous meant to much work for both of us. We can get along on a lot less."
I was saying all this just to help Joe, but all of a sudden I had convinced myself. This was good; Joe and I were closer than we had been in years. Now, he was talking to me; I was his one and only partner again.
That tired look left Joe's face as we began making plans. Joe had looked over to Bufford Creek, about ten miles away, and he said he never tasted better water. That was good enough for me; so we headed there as fast as we could. I didn't know what surprise awaited me. My Preston and Pa had come back from Missouri and were moving with in a mile of us. Maybe you thinking there wasn't some hugging and shouting going on around there.
"Look who I have here! This is Jack Browning, your new grandson.
Pa booted the curly headed Jack up on his shoulder and then said, "Come on over to my wagon. I have a surprise for you." When we got to the wagon, Pa said, "Angie, this is your new Ma, Sarah."
"Angie! Angie! Don't you remember me? I was your neighbor on Finley Creek!"
Of course! Sarah Banty! A nice comfortable woman who made the best biscuits in the county. She was just the person to be with my Pa in his old age. She had been a widow for years. She had one son, who was grown and out on his own. How nice for everybody!
When I think back over the years, the next two were very peaceful and happy ones for us, although our herd was getting smaller and smaller. Joe couldn't keep up with so many head of cattle, and we had no money to hire help. We knew the cattle were drifting out of range; calves were left unbranded; outlaws were getting bolder and bolder. That third year a drouth hit west Texas and ended the cattle business for my Joe and everybody else.
Joe decided he'd better sell out to a Mr. Yocum. There was no use trying to hold on any more. We knew bud and Jim were already in east Texas, and neither had received a cent for their last steers.
Joe had already gathered the two hundred head of cattle, all that he had retained after his sale to Mr. Yocum, and he was ready to pull out for Motley County. I had to hold him up a bit, for my seventh baby was due any time now. I was so thankful that Pa's Sarah was near; there wasn't a better midwife in the county. She was such a comfort to have around.
Little George was born, and Sarah and I both thought he was a little frail looking. He was a month old before we could feel easy about him. Even then I waited another two weeks before I told Joe I thought we could move.
The frail baby wasn't the only thing that bothering me. I could see Pa was breaking fast, I wanted to be near him. I also wanted kindly Sarah around for comfort and help.
About a week before we were to leave, I got Sarah off by herself and asked very cautiously, "Would you and Pa think about going to Motley County with us? Joe says it is right pretty country."
Sarah laughed her big hearty laugh and replied, "Gracious sakes, child! You ougta know we won't be very far from long long at a time. Thomas would go wall-eyed crazy!"
Ballard Springs was our next home, and it is on the very ground where Matador City now stands. When we came to it, we found it was an old buffalo camp, where hunters came to stretch and dry hides and make ammunition for their guns.
We bought an old dug out from a buffalo trader and filed on the land surrounding it. I remember thinking, "Well, we've hit bottom; the only way, now, is up!" But I thank the good Lord and I didn't say this aloud to Joe.
My new house was simply a big hole dug out of a dirt bank, making a room about thirty feet long. Joe and I promptly divided it into two rooms. There were no widow panes, but greased paper was a fair substitute.
We hadn't even gotten settled when a tramp, who called himself Old Pat, decided to linger with us for a while. He was such a good handyman Joe didn't have the heart to send him on his way. He won my heart by making a dam three feet high across Ballard spring to form a beautiful little lake. Later Pat made a water wheel and fixed it so I could use it to do my churning.
It just a little while Pa and Sarah moved a mile from us, and in a few months Joe's step father, Mr. Stegall, came to visit us. I loved having all these around me, but I was not satisfied with my home or myself.
"When you feel restless, do something about it. Don't just sit!" Ruth's words came back to me clearly as he day she had spoken them. I wanted a school for my children. Yes, I had taught them to read and write, but Diame and Della were fourteen and twelve, and they had never been in a school.
I admit I inveigled Joe and Pat into digging out another room twenty feet long and nine feet side. When Joe got the idea that this was to be a classroom, he caught fire and was so enthusiastic that he set out for Abilene, a hundred miles away, to get doors and windows. He and Pat made benches of split logs and a table of beautiful walnut stump. This table was the only three feet square, but somebody had told us that teachers desks nowadays, and Joe intended that our first teacher would not be lacking.
I told Joe that if he would gather children in a radius of, say, twenty miles, I would board and keep them for a reasonable sum, and their parents could help pay for the teacher.
Joe gathered six Degraftenread children, three McCommis, and with four Brownings, he thought that was a good start. Before school opened, there was another McCarty in school. He was Preston's and Mary's boy, Tommy. They had moved on the other side of Pa and Sarah.
A young man, Dick Lane, was hired to instruct the children for six months. He taught every day except Friday and Sunday. I had to have help with all the washing on Friday, but Sunday with a holiday except one hour when we had Sunday School.
McGuffey's Reader and the Blueback speller were good enough school books for anybody. I managed to have "sit-down" work as much as possible so I could set at the door of the schoolroom and hear all the recitations. I had to admit to Joe that I certainly got my money's worth during the six months' term of school.
When that school was over, Joe and I decided to send Diame and Della to their grandmother Stegall in Palo Pinto County, where there was a school for young girls. When I received my first letter from them, I couldn't wait to tell Pa and Sarah. The girls admitted they were home sick, all right. Della mentioned she imagined that she could hear the cows bawling at the mild pen every evening, but they were going to stick it out, no matter what. Joe and all of us were so pleased and proud.
One thing that made life so pleasant at Ballard Springs was that we were no longer bothered by Indian raids. Mind you, we still feared the Indians, but the government had actually corralled them on their reservations, and they were forbidden to travel without passes.
We had always been told that the Tonkowas were our friends, and now we were beginning to get acquainted with them. If Joe happened to be home, he always went out to greet the men and shake hands with them, and if the day was warm, he would offer them cool water to drink . One winter evening Joe was still out on cow-works, but it so happened that Grandpa Stegall was still visiting. He and I looked up about the same time to find a big group of Indians getting off their horses and entering our yard. Grandpa turned to me with, "There's a lot of æem, but I think they are Tonkowas. Let's go meet æem."
I walked right out to the gate and singled out the leader of this group. My heart was beating a little fast, if you must know. Something tole me this Indian was no friendly Tonkowa. It seemed to me that he resembled an Indian chief that Joe had pointed out to me once. Maybe this was Andy, chief of a Comanche tribe. I could se he had on much paint, but it was not war paint. I had a feeling he was trying to cover up that ugly mug. I just tried bluffing a little with, "Hello, Andy. You're a long way from home."
The Indian merely grunted his greeting, and I knew it was Andy. "Let me see your pass, Andy."
But he wasn't letting any woman order him around; he promptly handed his pass to Grandpa Stegall, who took a look and gasped, "Angie, this pass is two years old" What are we going to do?"
By this time all the children were gathered around me, and to make matter worse, Bob let out with, "They'll kill us, Ma!" I hushed him up in one hurry and told all of them to stand very still.
I saw one Indian come over to Jack and pull at his ear, but Jack was the one child who was not to be trifled with, and he promptly kicked the Indian in the shin. That's when I felt a real chill come over me, and I held my breath. I guess that was the language that Indian could understand for he burst out laughing, then made signs and grunted something to let me know I had quite a boy there.
Chief Andy asked in sign language, some English, but mostly grunts, if they could sleep in the rock corral that night to keep warm. Grandpa looked at me, and I nodded my head. I turned then to find Indians all over my house. They had come in from the back and had simply taken over the whole place. They were like curious children; they examined everything in every corner. One brazen, dirty buck stretched himself out on my nicest feather bed. That I could not take, and I found myself shouting, "You lousy devil! Get up from there before I bust you wide open with this spade!"
And don't think I wasn't going to hit him with the spade I'd picked up at the door, but Grandpa Stegall rushed over to me and grabbed the spade from my hand as he said, "Angie, Angie! You must be careful! You'll get us all killed!"
The dirty buck crawled from the bed and roared with laughter. How he enjoyed upsetting me. He joined with the other as they wandered all over the yard and the corrals. Then Andy came over to tell Grandpa Stegall that they were hungry, and that they wanted milk to drink. Just as I was trying to figure out how to manage all this, two cowboys, Hyde and Barber, rode up and asked if they could stay for the night. They didn't have to be told that we needed help.
I fed everybody, including the Indians, but Hyde insisted that I place the table outside and let the Indians come sit a few at a time. They seemed perfectly amiable as long as they had a chance to fill their bellies.
The next day these unwelcome visitors found a cave near the house and camped there until the following morning. When they left they took all the tools from Grandpa's blacksmith shop and gathered all the horseshoes on the place. Nobody regretted it when these Comanches, trying to hide under Tonkowas paint, drifted out of sight. This was the only discomforting experience we had at this place, and actually, we had gained some very good friends, slowly but surely.
This reminds me of the time, some weeks later, when a crowd of Lapan Indians rode up to the gate. I was glad to see them for I recognized one squaw whose name was Frances. She wanted me to meet two other squaws of her tribe. She pointed to one and called her "Canteen"; the other she pointed to and called her "Tin Cup." Our boys, Bob and Jack could hardly wait for Joe to get home so they could tell him of the new Indian names.
The Lapans had a very remarkable medicine man by the name of Jim McCord. This man could speak very good English, and Joe and I felt free to ask him many questions about his people. I remember he told us there had never been, now ever would be any deformed Lapans. He told us that the midwives saw to it that none but the perfect babies lived.
Jim McCord seemed to enjoy dwelling on the bitter feud between the Comanches and Tonkowas. He said that hatred was so great that when a Tonkowa killed a Comanche, he quartered, scalped and burned his enemy so that he would have no chance of ever arriving at his happy hunting ground. Joe and I asked what brought on this quarrel among the two tribes. Jim said the Comanches wanted whole hog or none; they never wanted to divide; they wanted all the horses and the grain. Joe told him there were many white men like that too.
It was Frances, the Lapan squaw, who told me when their men were wounded, they kept the wound covered with damp oak leaves and poured water on the leaves every few minutes to keep it moist. She vowed that seldom last a man if he had but one bad wound.
Later we were most curious about the Tonkowas who had been hired by the government as scouts. They began to appear in our district wearing black hats with yellow cords and sporting brilliant blue shirts. The first time I saw this garb, I asked the Tonkowa what he was.
"One time me no soldier; me citizen. Now, me citizen, no soldier." I looked at him a minuted trying to figure that one, but I finally had to admit wryly, "That makes it as plain as dirt to both of us." The new scout looked as puzzled as I, but one thing sure, he was very proud of his new uniform, even if he didn't quite understand his rating.
I was beginning to feel safe, even when I was left alone, if Indians stopped at our gate. I guess we were, all of us, getting civilized together.CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER TWELVE
WAYS AND MEANS
Times were hard and getting harder, and Joe and I had to do some planning to keep our heads above water. We had to take care of our own. We needed money for food and clothing. Joe decided he would yoke up two teems of oxen and h it for the Matador Cattle Company to see if he could do some freighting for them. This company, which carried the MSO brand, joined Joe's range and actually spread out over one hundred square miles.
You can be the manager of this cow outfit was very pleased to hire Joe, for supplies were hard to get and freighters were often irresponsible. Joe got another wagon for Ole Pat, who still stuck to us and they started to bring in supplies from Fort Griffin, Abilene and Fort Worth. Their trips usually took three weeks.
After Grandpa Stegall had gone back home an dour big girls returned to us, the children and I were left alone for these long three-week trips. It seemed to me that when the weather was good, there would be no hard in taking the children on some of these trips. Joe was delighted with the idea. Nobody enjoyed company better than my Joe.
The first trip to Fort Griffin in the early fall was a wonderful tonic for all of us. One thing we never forgot, for on our return trip home we came upon a great herd of buffalo, and we had to stop the wagons and let them cross the road in front of us. None of us dreamed then that the day would come when we would have to go to a circus or visit a park to see a real buffalo.
Then next trip we took was one we would remember for far different reasons. It was mid-summer before we got to go again, and everything was pleasant on our way to the fort. We were on our way home in proper time, and to break the monotony, I suggested that Pat ride Joe's saddle horse, which always trailed behind his wagon, and I would walk beside Pat's ox team and urge them along this Indian trail, now made wide enough for a wagon.
This was such a pleasant break for everybody. Some of the older children took turns walking beside me, while others tended the little children in the wagon. Joe let Bob and Jack spell him, now and then, and that kept everybody happy.
As we neared home, we discovered that the familiar water holes the trail were dried up. We didn't worry, however, as Joe had filled one large canteen so the children could have drinks between stopping places.
It was late afternoon, two men rode up and asked if we had any water, they were awfully thirsty. Joe handed them the canteen, but warned them to go easy, as the children might need water before we reached the next camping spot. When the men were out of sight, Joe remarked that the men certainly gulped down more water than was necessary.
When night came on, the wagons halted at their old camping place, and I walked over to find there was no water in sight. To make it worse, the children had emptied the canteen, and the little ones were crying for a drink. I looked at Joe, and he said quietly, "We got to go on, Angie."
In a while the oxen grew tired and thirsty and finally lay down every half a mile. During one of the rest periods, Joe decided to ride out on horse back in a mile square and see if he could discover a water hole. He returned to us very tired and very thirsty. Old Pat said he would take a water keg and head for Croton Springs. He knew there was water there, and he could bring back water to the children. That seemed like a good idea.
Hours passed, and Old Pat did not return. Joe coaxed the oxen to their feet and urged them up the weary road. I was getting nervous, now. Little Lily, who wasn't much more than a baby, really started crying, and baby George joined right in. I nursed George and put him on a bed in the wagon; then I issued order to my children.
"Bob, you drive these oxen. Della, you come with me. We're going to walk ahead of the wagon and meet Pat that much faster; I'm carrying Lily with me; she's really thirsty, and we've got to get to water fast."
Joe knew better than to argue with me, and besides he had no better plan. When we had waled about twelve miles, taking turns carrying little Lilly, we came upon Old Pat lying in the road fast asleep, with the deserted water keg there beside him. Joe's horse stood patiently tied to a bush.
"You old devil! To do a thing like this to children. I honestly could kill you if I had a gun!"
"I jest got to sleepy, Mrs. JAB."
"Here, Della, get up in this saddle and take Lily. We've got to get to Croton Springs."
Old Pat and I walked behind the horse, but there was no conversation between us. It was four o'clock in the morning. We couldn't believe our eyes! Surely we had taken the wrong trail and missed the springs entirely. But no! There was some water left, but what a mess! I ran toward what had been a beautiful flow of water to find a huge hog climbing out of the loblolly that seeped to slowly from the ground. But water was water and I waited for the water to seep in again and skimmed off enough in a tin cup to give little Lily a drink. Poor little tike feel asleep then, and I just rid myself of a petticoat, and Della made a pallet for her.
It took an hour to skim enough water to fill a gallon of water keg: then I told Old Pat to get on that horse and hurry back to those wagons. At sun up I looked down the road to see but one wagon approaching. I ran as fast as I could to see what had happened. Ne look at Joe and I gasped. He looked like he had been through a war.
"We've lost Old Paddy. She just laid down and died from thirst. Old Pete was so worn out he was down beside her. I guess he's dead by now."
Our favorite ox team gone! I could see all the children wanted to cry with me, but we had more important things to do. Old Pat had delivered water to the children, but the poor dumb brutes were still suffering, for there was no way to water them.
Joe turned to us and said, "If we can only keep them going for seven more miles, we'll hit Big Springs, and they can have all the water they want." Then he called to the tired oxen, "Come on, Bill, Come on Dun! Let's keep movin'."
All the children kept talking to the animals to encourage them. After all, they now knew what it was to be really and truly thirsty.
I handed everybody some cold biscuits; then I said to Joe, "Did you say Old Pete was just three miles back?"
Joe nodded miserably. "I'm goin' back, Joe. It won't take me long and I can't stand it just to let that old thing die without trying to do something for him. I'll catch up with you in a little while."
I found Old Pete lying by his mate, but I knew he was to exhausted to attempt trying to get him on his feet again; so I gathered mesquite beans and put them before him, just hoping he might eat a little. I patted his head and then set out in a hurry to catch up with the very slow-moving wagon.
In the meantime Old Pat had ridden Joe's horses to Big Springs just to be sure there would be water there. When he came in sight, we could see the grin on his face, and everybody knew there was water ahead. We arrived at Big Springs at a snail's pace, but we made, it and when we had watered Bill and Dun and given them a good rest, Joe went back with them to pick up the other wagon before darkness set in again.
The children ran down the road to meet Joe to discover Old Pete was tagging along behind the wagon. You never saw young'uns dance and prance like these. Della said, "I could cry for joy. I's so glad to see that old red devil!" That said it for all of us.
Joe left Old Pat with the big wagon at Big Springs, and he hurried us on home. The next day he brought fresh Oxen to Pat, and in a week's time this painful experience was forgotten.
The next few weeks the men were busy plowing fire guards, which meant that they plowed furrows twenty or thirty feet apart and burned the grass between the furrows as protection against prairie fires. Grass was never so plentiful that cowmen wanted to see miles of it go up in smoke.
There were no more trips for the children and me for some time, and there were days when we felt a little lonely, but all kinds of things happened around us. Joe said we were as good as newspaper when he came in from trips. It seemed we could gather up more news staying home than he could on his journeys.
Once a cowboy came by to spend the night, and I saw we had a very sick boy on our hands. I recognized typhoid fever, and we nursed him through that siege. Wouldn't you know at the time like this, Della would fall off a horse and break her arm. I had to set it, and thank the Good Lord, it turned out to be a very good arm.
We had plenty to tell Joe about one of our visitors. He turned out to be Billy the Kid, the noted outlaw of Texas and New Mexico; I wished up from the descriptions I had heard from all sides. I must say Bob and Dalla behaved very well, for we all three knew who our guest was. He asked for a meal, and we hurried to get it for him with out any questions asked. When he was gone, I found two dollars under his plate, which was breaking all the rules of etiquette of the west, but I forgave him, since he acted like he hadn't eaten for days, and he was more grateful for the meal.
Another year was gone before we could catch our breath, and Joe said it was time for expectants to be near a doctor at Fort Griffin. Preston and his family were near there again; so we had a good visit with them before young Tod Browning made his appearance into the world. Joe couldn't return for us for six weeks, and you must know our children had a Roman holiday with Pres, his Mary and their three children. It was good to be with my brother again. He had turned out to be one of the finest fathers I have ever known. I give Mary due credit. Pres was a happy man; he looked it and acted it every day we were there.
Joe had come for us, and now he had four wagons trailed together, and it took five span of oxen to carry the freight. Old Pat wandered off when we were gone: so the whole job was up to Joe.
We were out just one day when I noticed Joe looked very feverish, and as the hours went on, he was a very sick man. We got him settled in one of the wagons, and we traveled on as fast as we dared. The only problem we had was that young Bob, now thirteen and very slight, couldn't lift the yokes of the oxen by himself. It was times like this that I wished I had been born six feet tall and plenty fleshy to match. Bob and I did the job every morning, and even though I was only five feet two, and our weights together wouldn't make a giant of a man. We both walked every step of the way for several days. I was might proud of Bob; that he was getting so dependable.
Joe's fever went down before we came in sight of home, and he was up and on the go in just a few days. vIn 1879 the Matador Cattle Company offered Joe a good price for our land and water. We would have been foolish not to take this offer. Joe had his eye on Duck Creek in Dickens County, and it didn't take him long to take up another claim. There were still one hundred and fifty-five head of JAB cattle, and Joe brought forty-five head of Heart X cattle. Right at this time he started brands for his two oldest sons, Bob and Jack. Bob's W Cross and Jack's J Circle Cross made them feel they were really grown men.
It seemed such a little while after that Diame and Della were receiving gentleman callers, and before Joe and I could catch our breath, two suitors had come to Joe asking for his daughters' hands. I simply could not get it through my head that the girls were ready to leave our home: they weren't old enough; they weren't ready to tackle all these marriage problems. It took Joe about two minutes to tell me I was acting exactly like Thomas McCarty.
When Diame became Mrs. McBride and Della Mrs. McCommis, I was still stunned, but I was resigned to their marriage as long as they were to live near us.
I remember that joe the life of the party at the girls' weddings. He was the one who kept everybody laughing and talking. I made myself believe I was so busy in the kitchen, waiting on everybody, that I didn't have time for all that palaver. Thinking back now, I guess maybe I was sulking a little, but it could have been I was afraid for my girls, for three months after the weddings I had my ninth child-- our little Mettie.
While I was still in bed after Mettie's birth, I remembered and smiled wryly at myself. I had bragged to Pa's Ruth that wouldn't be having a dozen children. I was getting close, but I couldn't spare a one of mine, yet I though Diame and Della out not to have more than two. That was a nice number for girls so young and frail.
[Mettie (Jamettie Belle Browning) was born 7 July 1882 in Dickens County, Texas]CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DON'T FENCE ME IN
Our Joe Browning, usually the good-natured and cheerful one, was finding plenty to grumble about these days. First of all, he took the new baby and me on a trip to Fort Worth, and there we saw our fist passenger train. I was so excited I got as close as I could and examined it all over, but Joe was plain disgusted. It was just another means of bringing in more settlers, and honestly, as he put it, it ws getting so you couldn't have elbow room any more.
Then from 1881 to 1884 our Texas had a private war of its own, called the Fence Cutter's War, and don't take it that it was a polite little tussle. New settlers and the large cow out fits finding it a strain to live side by side in a peaceable manner. There were a few large cattle companies that had weathered the Panic. Now, they were losing their patience when new people crowded into their rangeland.
These squatters often found a good spring of water, acquired a branding iron, and in a little while, collected a good heard of mavericks. Now, as you no doubt know, mavericks, in any cow country signifies that calves straying for their mothers can no longer be identified as belonging to this or that cow. In other words, they were orphans. One Jim Maverick put his brand on a group of lost calves and started a questionable tradition which bears his name today. I've heard followers of Mr. Maverick excuse themselves in this manner. "This is a maverick; he needs a brand on him, and nobody can say I stole him. Nobody can prove which cow is his mother. I've got as much right to him as anybody." The trouble was that men couldn't stop there; they drove calves far away from the mother cows, and after a while it wasn't hard to believe they really were mavericks.
The squatters, following the cowboy's lead, acquired calves, but there was no place to graze them, for the cattle companies, in defense, promptly fenced in their large ranges, and before they knew it, the squatters were hemmed in from all sides. Naturally, folks had the right to get in or out of their land, regardless of how small it was. That's how it came about that little men began cutting the big men's fences. In not time at all, the feud. was on, and bitter enemies loaded their guns, resulting in a great number of deaths. So great was this conflict that the Governor of Texas called a special session and passed a ruling that the cattlemen had to leave public roads open and were ordered to place gates in their fences every three miles.
My Joe was not a squatter, nor was he any longer a cattle king, but he hated wire fences like wild animals hate a cage. I began to notice that he was getting very interested in some talk he had heard from this one and that one, about some old neighbors of ours from Motley County. It seemed that they had moved on over to New Mexico and were doing right well.
On our way home we stopped at Albany and went in to visit Mr. Guy Manning, one of Joe's good friends. Guy was a storekeeper who enjoyed regular customers and was as good as a newspaper if you wanted to find out all the happenings.
He talked a lot about caravans of people who had just recently come by on their way to New Mexico.
"I'm thinking some of going there myself," said Joe.
"You don't say so, Joe' I'm real sorry to hear this. You're getting such a good start again. Seems a pity to move." Mr Manning looked very concerned and looked over at me to see how I stood in the matter.
I just laughed and said, "It's wire fences botherin' Joe, Mr. Manning. I'd be afraid to stretch a clothes line if we get to a new country." I still wasn't taking Joe seriously.
Mr. Manning then invited me over to his home so I could see his wife's new piano. Mrs. Manning played it very well, but secretly I thought it sounded a little tinny-- not nearly as sweet as an organ. While I was there, I watched Mrs. Manning use a telephone! Gracious! What would they have next? There were certainly many changes by 1883.
When I got ready to get in the wagon to head for home, Joe said sweetly, "why don't we backtrack a little and go onto Weatherford. Won't be much out of our way."
"Joe Alansing Browning, you aren't fooling me a minute! You want to go tell your Ma and Grandpa Stegall and Jim and Bud goodbye. I know the signs. Why don't you just say plain out that we're leaving for New Mexico?"
Joe gave the happiest laugh, then said gleefully, "I'm sure glad that you said æwe' are going!" With that, Joe acted like he'd been let out of prison.
He sang and joked all the way to Weatherford and had such a good time with his folks. I didn't begrudge him that, but I was doing some tall thinking when I had a minuted to myself. There were several things bothering me.
First of all, there was Pa to consider; he was past eighty, and I knew he had done all the traveling he was going to do. Then there were Diame and Della. I felt sick when I though about going off and leaving them. Maybe I could talk Joe into persuading the McBride and McCommis families to come with us. There was one more worry, and it was making me a bit of a coward. This inflammatory rheumatism, as the doctor called it (it's called arthritis now) hounded me still. About once a month I took that white-powdered medicine, and that kept the pain down.
The thought tormenting me now was that I might run out of that white powder, and the doctors might be thousands of miles from us in this new country.
I decided to bring up my problems to Joe on our way home. When I talked about Pa, he agreed that my father was to old to travel and more, but he reminded me that Pres was right on hand to look after Pa and Sarah.
A little later I asked cautious-like, "You think the girls husbands might be interested in New Mexico country?"
Joe looked like the cat with the canary in his mouth, "Oh, there the ones been eggin' me on." My, was that ever a relief!
When I asked if he thought there would be doctors around, he just didn't know about that, but my Joe, ever the optimist, said, "You know, Angie, you just might be free of this rheumatism when we hit the new country. They say climate can make a heap o' difference. Anyway, you be sure to take along a good supply of that rheumatism medicine."
We hurried home just as the leaves were beginning to turn yellow and red as the fall winds blew. Joe and I knew we must get on our way before winter was upon us. Joe thought that if we all pitched in it wouldn't take more than a week to get packed up.
I sent word for Pa and Sarah to come spend that last week with us and with all the excitement and confusion, Sarah and I had many good talks while Pa sat and listened to us. Seems strange to me, now, that we didn't say a dozen words to each other, but I never felt any closer to my Pa.
Joe planned to head the caravan to New Mexico with an ox wagon. Jim and Diame McBride would follow next, also in an ox wagon, but Della and Wayne McCommis would bring up the read with a wagon drawn by horses.
Our big boys, Bob and Jack, now fifteen and eleven, were to drive one hundred and sixty head of the JAB cattle into new territory. They were also privileged to drive thirty head each of W. Cross and J Circle Cross cattle in that herd. They were the proud ones, for not many young men at their age could boast of such a good start in the cow business.
That last morning when we had everything packed and the children were in our wagon, I went back to tell Pa goodbye. That was heartbreaking for me, for this was the only time I ever saw my Pa with tears in his eyes. How very old he was getting! He and Sarah stood at the gate and waved the children out of sight. Not me! I looked straight ahead and let the tears come. When I dried my eyes, Joe called to me as he walked beside the oxen, "Mrs. JAB, do you know you're on your way to New Mexico?"
[New Mexico was then a territory. Congress admitted New Mexico as the 47th state in the Union on January 6, 1912.------Then there is the country of Mexico that does not belong to the United states but is a country of its own. People tend to confuse these two.] CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MRS. JAB IN NEW MEXICO
Children are such a blessings at a time like this. Here we were starting into No Man's Land or maybe the Promised Land--how did we know? But our older boys were so curious and enthusiastic about everything, we found ourselves looking and learning right along with them.
It was like meeting old friends again to hear the names of some of the places and people. We had lived in the neighboring county when Colonel Goodnight was known to all of us. We had heard of the Goodnight Trail for years. Now we were actually traveling over it.
It seemed to me we were heading due west, but Joe said we were hitting Fort Sumner, and that would eventually take us a little north. As we went along, we all took turns walking. Diame and Della looked after the little ones if I wanted to stroll along. When we made camp at night, there was nothing new in that, for our children knew all the tricks of the trade, but we did have something special. Joe's family were singing people, and our older girls sang real well together. Now they sang a lot, particularly around the campfire. Diame and Della Taught the younger ones every song they knew. Of course Joe's fiddle came right along with us, and the big girls saw to it that their Pa's fingers were kept nimble.
The men picked up good stories along the way as we stopped at a little settlement to pick up supplies or ask the best way out. Joe was the one who did so love good stories and good jokes. The children never forgot the one he brought about the Pecos River. Joe had picked up the story for a polite Mexican.
"It is thees way, Senor." The leetle Pecos grew tired of being ruled over by the beeg river, El Rio Grande; so the leetle river said he would become a beeg river all by himself. He ran very well through the New Country and well down into Texas. The Pecos was showing the Rio Grande he was not so important after all. But that beeg river just laughed and laughed and stretched out his beeg arm and dragged the leetle Pecos back into it. You will see; that's the way the rivers are, Senor. Both start as separate mountain streams, but the Pecos meets the Rio Grande again in Texas. It was a pretty story, verdad?"
When we finally came to the Pecos, it seemed more like our little Brozos River. Our children made friends with it immediately and made claim to it because of the Mexican story.
When we came to Fort Sumner, Joe hunted up our old friends, the DeGraftenreads we had know so well at Big Springs. We visited there five days, and this is when we learned about the Lincoln County War, and even visited the grave of Billy the Kid.
This wars had been over three years, but people like to review it. We never did get the straight of it, but Joe said if you subtract a little and divide a little and cut about half what everybody tells you, it's possible to get a pretty good picture.
Mr. Degraftenread, who had no axe to grind at all, since he had no part in it, told us the whole trouble started when John Chisum and a Mr. Murphy got into an argument about who had stolen cattle from whom, and soon they were two cow outfits turned bitter enemies, and everybody in the county was taking sided.
We heard that Billy the Kid wouldn't have ben concerned at all if some of his friends hadn't been killed in the feud. It seemed that Billy just wanted to kill the man who killed his friend.
Then we were told that the whole mess had boiled down to a private fight between Billy the Kid and Pat Garrett, the sheriff of Lincoln county. Some we talked to made a real hero out of Pat Garrett and told us he wanted to establish peace and justice in Lincoln County. Then we'd meet somebody else who made a hero out of Billy the Kid and stated flatly that Pat wanted to get the Kid because the sheriff was deathly afraid of this young gun man.
We don't know any more than we ever did, but I had to smile when an old gossip told me "for sure" that she knew the Kid was never killed, that a Mexican was buried in his grave and that Billy escaped to Mexico. Do you wonder we were confused?
When Joe and I stood at Billy's grave, I thought of that nice looking, nice mannered boy who left money at our table for his meal. It was sad to think of him here; he was much to young to die, but of course, there was only one way to rid the state of desperados.
One thing sure, Brownings and their in-laws were certainly mighty glad the whole bloody war was over and we could rice over the battlegrounds without worry. It just proved to me that folks, even men, can get tired of fussing and fighting sometimes.
The son-in-laws and my Joe noticed that everybody took pains to tell them that New Mexico wasn't welcoming any more large cow outfits. Folks seemed relieved when Joe explained that we had all our cattle right with us. Mr. DeGraftenread suggested that it might be a good idea for Joe to strike out in a southwesterly direction to find good cattle country. He knew that Colonel Joel Curtis, one of Joe's friends during Ranger days in Texas, was some where in the Sacramento Mountains, and if Joe could find Colonel Curtis, he would certainly know where to settle.
Our caravan had been traveling for two months, and you may well believe we wanted to get settled in a hurry. The weather wasn't getting any warmer, as we traveled, we could see snow- capped mountains on all sides. We all spoke about the wonderful air, and we could easily believe what old timers told us that this air would cure meat without salt, and that wood never decayed, and that dead folks' bones didn't crumble but just turned to mummies. The thing you can hear as you go along!
Our wagons came to Fort Stanton, another government post, then on to Dollins Sawmill on the Rates River. After a while we passed through the Indian Reservation, which was called Apache, but later changed to Mescalera Apache. Joe and I simply astounded when we saw some of the tribe. These were mighty meek and sick looking Indians comparison to those we had seen and fought with. Made us feel a little sad.
The men wore G strings and moccasins with leggings of muslin strips. There were to be no beautiful deerskin foot leg wear. The women wore loose kimono-like Jackets with knee skirts and leggings like their men's. The children had G strings with a little shirt to complete their dress. Right then and there we decided Uncle Same was having a hard time putting white men's clothes on the Indians.
After we left the reservation, we traveled up one mountain and down the other until we were very weary. We had to cross Silver Spring Canyon (Trough Canyon then) and James Canyon to find the mouth of the Penasco River. There our men scraped the snow away and made camp. It was time to build corrals and brand calves.
In the midst of all this somebody rode up to tell Joe that the very next canyon was Curtis Canyon, named after his old friend. In a few days Joe was riding all over the mountains in search of Uncle Joel. In a week both of them road up, and I could tell that Joe was really one pleased man. "Honest, Angie, Uncle Joel has just pointed out a cowman's heaven--plenty of range, plenty of grass and water, and not to many settlers."
The whole family sat around roaring fire that evening and listened to Uncle Joel tell all about this new country. Somebody complained, "It sure is a country of canyons!"
Uncle Joel roared at that. "You're just started on canyons. The farther you travel, the more you'll see of 'em."
McBride said, "Tell us about the cow outfits in these parts."
"You'll soon know them. There's the J MIL and CA Bar's on lower Penasco, the Circle Diamond and the Circle A on the Riodoso; the Fly V at Tularosa, and the Flying H on the Feliz River."
Uncle Joel mentioned again that the big cattle companies were not wanted in the mountains. We got the drift, right then and there, that oldtimers selected whom they wanted among the newcomers. We were to learn later that it was a good thing Uncle Joel was on the reception committee, or it might have been hard to live in the mountains.
We were told that sometimes newcomers would find a notice stuck by their spring of water. It gave them warning that they weren't needed and to move out in a hurry. If they didn't ... well, strange things happened to people who couldn't listen to friendly warning. Some would come in with good herds of fine breeds, and after the first winter there wouldn't be a cow left. Not that anybody stole or killed them; it was just that folks weren't neighborly enough to tell new people that cattle people always drove their herds across the summit on the sunnyside called the Rincon. There the cattle would stay until spring, when they could be driven home again. Cattle don't do so well when the snow is piled too high around them.
Spring was at hand, and the McBrides, the McCommis's and the JABS had settled in Curtis Canyon. Our men built a log cabin among the tall pine trees and a field of new, beautiful wild flowers. We planted crops in the blackest, richest soil I had ever put my hand in. I loved the feel of it.
True, we were a little cramped for money, but the girls and I made plenty of butter for market. Once we sent two hundred and thirty pounds on one trip. Some of our supplies came from La Luz, on the other side of the summit. It was always a pleasure to trade with Uncle Charles Myers, but his supplied were limited; so Joe was forced to freight supplies for El Paso, Texas, and that was a long trip away.
As time went on, Joe find it necessary to take this long trip twice a year. You should have seen the girls and me making out a list for him to bring back to us: a thousand pounds of flour, none but the 'Pride of Denver', if you please; three sacks of sugar (a hundred pounds to a sack); three cases of salt; one hundred pounds of Arbuckle coffee in one pound packages (be sure to save the signatures to get your prizes); cases of dried fruit; canned goods enough to fill in the load. There were five gallon cans of kerosene ordered, and these would ride on the outside of the wagon--yes, the outside. Did you ever taste bacon with kerosene flavor? Don't forget the store-bought soap and a side of bacon, twenty-five pounds of raisins and rice, and nicest of all, shoes for the whole family.
If you'd been listening about this time you might have heard, "Look, Ma! Would you mind making the drawing of my foot a little smaller? The last shoes I got just swallowed my foot."
"Don't let her fool you, Ma. She's trying to make you think her foot is smaller than yours."
"Ma, let's get yard and yards of calico. I need some new dresses. Don't you think the calico wore better then the gingham?"
"Do you suppose we'll be able to get some wool material, Ma?" Then if time were better, somebody dared remark, "Don't you think we could afford one silk dress, Ma? We could go a little sparing on the material don't you think?"
"Maybe, maybe, maybe! But I haven't put down forty yards of bleached and unbleached muslin. That's more important than silk."
Joe was just the person to send on a buying spree. He had more fun that a barrel of monkeys. I can't remember knowing any other man who, at forty years of age, still had the enthusiasm of a kid. There were old grannies who called him "that harum-scarum Joe Browning," but I noticed that they all liked to be around him, for there was where the fun and excitement started. On this first trip to El Paso, Joe brought back the wildest tale about long stretches of pure white sand that he had traveled through.
"Honest, Angie, it's as what as snow and not one bit gritty. I put some in my mouth to make sure. But say! I tasted some water in this stretch, and bitter! Now I know what they mean by 'bitter as gall'! Even stock won't drink it."
Joe was such a joker that none of us really took him seriously on this one, but we learned one fine day that he had hit the gypsum beds near Alamogordo, but of course there wasn't an Alamogordo there yet. Joe also told us that the mountains around were tar black and had fine holes in the rock like wasps nests. He was right; Joe has seen his first malapai rock.
That first winter was over, and when spring came, we could say that the McBrides, the McCommis and Browning families had fared very well.
Now summer was upon us and the children and I simply could not stay in the house. Never was there such a climate on the face of the earth! How lucky to be were you could plant flowers and vegetables and have everything grow. Before we knew it, frost was in the air, and it was time for Joe's second trip to El Paso. I wanted to go with him so badly I could taste it, but I had suspicious pains and symptoms. I told Joe I thought I'd better wait until his next trip, but I was like a little kid who missed the circus. Joe was hardly off the summit before I knew my tenth child was clamoring to enter the world.
I had already learned that there was no doctor closer than the Indian Reservation, and there was not a midwife in the whole country, but I had prepared for this emergency by buying The Doctor's Book of Knowledge. I had decided I could be my own midwife with a little assistance from Diame. When the labor pains started, I called her to my bedside and told her to bring the scissors, thread and the clean cloth I had prepared a head of time.
Poor Diame, her face as white as the sheets she brought me. Just begged me to let her stay with me, but I couldn't see exposing a young woman to birthing before she had children of her own. She would have plenty experience in her time.
I had pains all through that night, and Diame came to the door every fifteen minutes to see how I was making out. Just at dawn she rushed in to find her new baby brother was squalling his head off. She watched me cut and tie the cord; then she dress young Bert Browning.
You never saw any body as proud as Diame. She made me feel like I was Mother Eve herself. The oldest daughter of mine was waiting most impatiently for her Pa to get home so she could really pull a surprise on him. "Just wait until he gets here. I want to see his face when I tell him what all has happened around here while he was gallavantin'!"
But her Pa Joe was a complete disappointment. "Why, Ma, he did act like you'd done anything out of the ordinary. I'm kinds mad at him. Really, he didn't act to interested." I had to hush her up in a hurry; si I just teased her with, "Now, now, Diame, don't get worked up over this. I guess men havin' babies is like shootin' Indians... After the first four or five, you just take 'em for granted."
When little Bert was a month old, I got word that my Pa had died. The news was two months old by the time it reached me. I remember reading good Sarah's letter in which she tried to console me with the thought that Pa had died peacefully in his sleep, but I wasn't thinking straight, and I knew I had to get out in the open and start walking. I called to Diame to look after the baby while I went for a walk. Diame came to the door quickly and said worriedly, "Don't you want some of us to go with you, Ma?"
"No...I'll be back in a little while." I set out to walk as fast as I could through those tall pine trees. When my knees gave out, I just flung myself down under the nearest tree and began talking to myself. I felt like apart of me had died, that the whole world had stopped. As long as Pa was alive, I wanted to keep a stiff upper lip; I was ashamed to let him see me falter. Here I was just past thirty six years old now, and I felt old and all dragged out.
But I still had my pride. Nobody was going to know how hard I was grieving. Nobody was going to feel sorry for me--not even my husband. The very next day I had the severest attack of rheumatism I could remember and had to take two doses of my precious supply of powdered morphine.
When I was out of bed again, I knew Joe was just waiting to tell me something. It was simply that he discovered that our claim was on a school section, and we would have to move. I just played poker face but I was really grinding my teeth as I though, "Move! Move! Let's keep on moving; then maybe I can wear myself out faster and die quicker."
Because I was so quiet, Joe knew I was really upset about moving from this very pretty home, and Joe did want approval from me, his children and his friends. Evidently, he thought, it was time to justify some other moves he had made in the past. I got a real surprise when he started talking about his shooting scrape with my brother, Marion. That was the first time we had ever brought it up. Joe said very seriously, "Angie, I've never said anything before, but the real reason I wanted to get out of Texas was to keep out of trouble. I wanted to be sure I didn't get mixed up in any kind of feud. I think you know that I've had all the shootin' I want. I'm not anxious to point a gun at any man again. I'm not afraid of anybody, but I'm going a long way around before I start quarreling." Then he gave me something to ponder over.
"It's best for us to move out of Curtis Canyon entirely. Uncle Joel and Keene, his partner, are quarreling, and I don't want to take sides, and I don't want my boys to take side in this quarrel. Uncle Joel would expect us to be with him and his men, and before we knew it, we could be in another Lincoln County war. But I'm having no part in it. I'm done with shooting, I tell you!"
I wasn't actually listening to Joe's talk, for all of a sudden I knew that Diame and Della would be leaving me, and that I could not take that just now.
I thought it was my time to talk plain; so I said right out to Joe, "Did you ask Jim and Wayne to strike out for themselves? Did you tell them they had to leave us?"
"Angie, for cripes sake! I didn't, and you well know it. I was just goin' to tell you the girls' men have just told me that they'd be leavin' us here. "
"Why didn't the girls tell me?"
"Because I asked them not to. I wanted to tell you myself and save them any quarreling. It's times like this that you sure act like your Pa, Angie. Diame and Della are married, and they're goin' with their husbands whether you want them to or not. Diame's Jim has been offered a good job with Three L's outfit, and Wayne is goin' to be foreman for the J MIL's. Seems to me you'd be proud of the boys and say nothing to interfere with them."
I was on the wrong track; so I switched just a little. "I'm not simin' to say anything. They can go if they want to. I just wish the girls had told me beforehand, that's all." I knew Joe would feel like a whipped pup, if I put on a sorrowful tone.
"I'm ashamed of myself, Angie, for scolding you so hard. I know that damnable rheumatism has taken a lot out of you. I hope you're done with it now."
This was the spring of 1885 when Joe decided to go south east of Curtis Canyon, where there wasn't a sign of wagon tracks. He and our boys built roads as they went, over the mountain, down the canyon, on and on. It was worth all the work, for we finally came to a spot not far from where the town of Cloudcroft now stands. Let me tell you the pine trees were taller, the grass greener and the water sweeter than we had ever known. There Joe said we would stop.
The boys and Joe built a large log house on the side of the canyon and cleared off enough pine trees so we could see far down the canyon. We had never in all our lives seen and felt such good black soil. I just ached to get my hands down deep into that dirt and pour out all the pain from my mind and body.
Folks said I had a green thumb, and I really did outdo myself at this place. Mountain people bragged that I had the biggest zinnias, ragged robins, French pinks, marigolds and moss pansies they had ever seen.
Then another blessing came our way; the Windsor s came to call. These people lived three miles straight across the mountain from us. Naturally, we were very curious about them, for we heard the mountain people tell many interesting stories about them. Of course, everybody recognized that these Windsors were a different breed of cat from most mountain folks. They spoke, acted and dressed differently. Somebody started a rumor that they had fled their native England in shame and disgrace because their daughter had married a common butcher. Now I don't suppose there was a grain of truth to this yarn, but it was a juicy story to pass around.
When the Windsors were leaving our house after the first call, the scholarly looking Mr. Windsor asked, "Mrs. Browning, would you be interested in having a tutor for your children?"
I couldn't get it out fast enough. "We certainly would appreciate it if you would come to teach the children all this winter." That was the happiest news I'd had in a long, long time, but there were some brighter happenings just around the corner. I went to return the Windsor's call, and when I walked into their house, I found the walls were actually lined with books. Here I was, nearing forty, and I had at last found Heaven on earth.
How thankful I am that the Windsors saw I was starved for books and made it known at once that I could read any and all if I found the time. Mrs. Windsor said as I was leaving, "Take any book you want Mrs. Browning, but just take one, because I want you to come again very soon to exchange it for another."
With Mrs. Windsor to guide me, I read the classics, devoured such magazines as Ladies Home Journal and Farm and Fireside, and even kept up with news of the day through such papers as San Francisco Examiner and El Paso Herald. All this reading made me more determined than ever that my children would not grow up in crippling ignorance.
It pleases me now to report that Mr. Windsor tutored our, Jack, George, Ted, and Lily; then for the next three years the children went to the Fite school house, five miles up Cox Canyon. Professor Robart, who was a fine teacher, came by each morning in his little spring wagon, drawn by two pretty black horses. The Browning children were always ready and waiting for him to take them to school. I saw to that.
In 1888 the families in lower Cox Canyon decided to build their own school house. My Joe and twelve other men dragged logs off the mountains and put up a fair sized room. There was no floor, of course, but there were nice benches of split logs for the children to set on.
It plagued me very much that Professor Robart and Mr. Deedie Moore were only privileged to teach three months out of a year, and I know it must have been hard work for them, for their pupils' ages ranged from five to seventeen years. Graded system? There were no such thing. You took as much reading, writing, spelling and arithmetic as you could absorb in three months, and then the next term came around, you started where you left off.
The mountain folks really appreciated their teachers, but they were a mite partial to Mr. Nations, who not only came for the school term, but settled in the mountains to raise his children among the mountain people. There were those who hinted that he was a little stern and unyielding, but it was only that he was a little impatient, sometimes, at the colossal ignorance of some people.
The next winter I had a real treat. Joe thought it was time for me to make the trip to El Paso with him. Nothing could have pleased me more. This time there were four other wagons going for supplies, driven by our good friends in our district--Freeman Bass, Hance Newman, Tom Godwin and Hardy Bryant.
We had barely started when we could see snow beginning to fly, and the nearer we got to the summit (where Cloudcroft now stands) the deeper the snow became. It wasn't long until the men realize that the wagon wheels would not go through the big drifts; so there was nothing to do but take all five teams and pull the wagons through one at a time.
We made the summit in due time, but we still faced a problem. Snow was a bother going down hill as well as going up. Wagons had a way of skidding so fast that they might go right over the horses' backs if there wasn't some way to hold the vehicles back. That was easy for these men to figure out. They just tied big trees to the rear of the wagons, and that held them.
It's hard to believe now, but it took us eight days to reach el Paso and I must be honest and tell you it was a dirty little town of adobe houses, some with tough looking hombres sauntering down the dirt streets. I saw saloons by the dozens and "fancy houses" on every corner. Who would believe that forty years this would be a thriving city of beautiful parks, great church buildings and lovely homes? Somebody knew what he was doing when that town ws named El Paso--the way, the pass, the gateway to the south.
I have ever reason to remember the following spring. I was already having trouble with shooting pains all over my body. I was very uneasy, for instead of the pains hitting my arms and limbs, they seem to be settling in my back and shoulders. The awful thought came that maybe this rheumatism was spreading over my whole body.
One particular night I lay beside Joe trying my best to go to sleep. Suddenly a pain hit my back and then another. These were so quick and sharp that I cried out, and Joe awoke immediately, "What is it, Angie?"
My teeth were really chattering, and I could hardly talk, but I did finally tell Joe I felt like my whole insides were coming out. Then that next pain hit and I really yelled. "Joe, Joe! I feel like I'm having a baby. I couldn't, could I? I'm too old, but this sure feels like it."
"My God, Angie, of course you aren't having a baby! How do you feel now?"
"You better get some scissors boiled... and some twine... and clean sheets. These are mighty familiar pains."
So the birth of our eleventh child, my Joe served as midwife. As he held his son in his arms he said, "Holy Christ, Angie, I never went through such a night in my life. Do women always suffer like this?"
I looked up at his worn, white face, and I couldn't help but laugh. But I wasn't laughing when I replied, "Joe Browning, this was an easy birth; you should have seen the other ten."
Our little Roddy only lived eight months, and somehow I knew that Joe was taking his death too hard. Maybe Joe felt this was actually the only child who really belonged to him, for he had helped bring him into the world. I couldn't console him; I was too tired and numb to do much thinking about anything.
I was just getting on my feet again when somebody brought word that there was to be church services at the school house the following Sunday. I told Joe I would like to go and take the children.
We traveled eight miles to hear a real hill-billy preacher whose text was "Behold the Lamb of God." He ranted and panted and flung his arms and yelled, "You can cuff and kick sheep all around all you want to, and he takes it without a squawk, but lay yer hands on a goat, and he'll blah! blah! blah!"
I took this as long as I could, but my nerves were shot, and here I had driven eight miles for words of comfort, and I didn't feel in the mood for entertainment. Before I thought how it looked, I got up from my seat and stalked out the door.
Of course the mountain folks were stunned, surprised, amused, and just a little offended that I had dared to do such a thing. Joe and the boys brought home the wildest yarns about this. Jack was grinning when he told me he heard two women talking at the picnic afterwards. One asked, "Who was that woman that stomped out of the place durin' the meeting?"
"Don't you know? That's Mrs. JAB, Mrs. Joe Browning. They say she's a smart woman, and don't take no foolishness."
"The preacher didn't mean no harm. I thought his sermon was kinda interesting, myself."
"I guess she didn't, and there was no law to make her stay, but I wouldn't a had the nerve to walk out like that."
"I guess she's got the nerve to do anything."
I was ashamed then, and I am now. My Ruth would have said, "Angie, nice ladies don't act that way."
I paid for the rudeness by going home to have another very severe attach of rheumatism, and then I made it worse by getting panicky because I had three more doses of white powder. These helped me through, but the minute I could ride in a wagon, I told Joe I had to be taken to the doctor at the Indian Agency. My Joe dropped everything and rushed me to the doctor as fast as he could. Joe hated to see anything, man or beast, suffer.
We found a very young doctor at the agency, and he listened to my case very intently, and then he pondered over the matter for a few minutes, then said, "Mrs. Browning, I don't have any morphine on hand, but I do have some gum opium. You will find that a pill about the size of a pea will be sufficient. This will wear off sooner than the morphine, but I ..... I'm sure it will deaden the pain better."
He handed me a package containing a roll that looked much like chewing gum, but it had the texture of putty. I rolled a little pill and swallowed it, and the doctor smiled and ushered us to the door.
It seemed to me that all my worries were over. I felt so gay and happy, and Joe, looking so relieved to see me better, started his constant teasing and joking as we rode along home. A freak snowstorm caught us this September, but we were not worried; this was a happy holiday for us. Joe decided, though, that we better not try to camp out; we watched for the next house to see if they would put us up for the night.
We were lucky that the next people were new comers and were very glad to have company. In fact we felt like the prodigal son coming home at last. These people begged for news from the outside plied us with questions until our heads were swimming. In the midst of the steady conversation the women of the house, a large, fat slattern yelled at her skinny little husband, "Ellie, put some wood on!"
"This her fire is hot enough, Mollie."
"Well, that ain't no sweat pourin' offen me." retorted Mollie.
Joe and I gazed into the fire and did not catch each other's eyes. There was to be no laughing to spoil the show.
We all bedded down on pallets spread on the floor--yes, all of us in the same room. All seemed settled for the night when Mollie let out a yell, "Ellie, thar's somethin' in my bed. I think it's a Santa Feed (centipede)!"
Then Ellie stormed, "If I waz as 'fraid a dyin' as you are, Mollie, I'd jin the church!" but he made no move to rescue Mollie, who crawled out of her pallet and examined the covers carefully, then sat down by the fireplace. She reached up for a corn-cob pipe and remarked to all concerned, "I'm gettin' up. I ain't had a good smoke tonight."
Of course Joe Browning was fast smothering with laughter, but I kept punching him so he wouldn't laugh aloud. He had the covers over his head but I could feel him shaking with laughter.
Peace was restored when a five year old boy set up a howl for a drink. Mollie lumbered up, groaning and fussing, and got the water, but the young man was enjoying all this attention, so he set up a howl for a biscuit and then another drink of water. Poor Ellie was getting sleepy and was fast losing his patience; so he yelled, "Mollie, why don't you whup that kid?"
"I'm skeered to, Ellie; he might hold his breath and die."
This tickled the boy so much that he shouted with laughter, and his poor pa yelled louder, "Looks to me like hi's going laugh his self to death."
That brought the other three children up, and the whole family rocked with laughter. They were so busy shouting that they didn't even notice that Joe and I were laughing just as hard.
Joe could have lingered for more laughs, but we both knew there was too much left at home to be done; so we were off early. Joe said as we traveled along, "I can't remember enjoying a trip as much as this for a long, long time." I agreed, for I felt no pain.CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SOME HAPPY TIMES AND SOME NOT SO HAPPY
These browning children were growing up and demanding something more than this hum- drum, wok-every-day life of the mountain people. They let us know that there must be time for music and dancing in the company of other young people. Joe was the one to encourage them, for that meant he could get out his fiddle.
John Richey and Stewart York soon found out that joe could play that fiddle; so about once a week they would ride up with their instruments for a good practice. It wasn't long until both Jack and Tod were fingering their Pa's fiddle. Soon, they to mastered "The Blue Danube, "Maverick in the Canebrake," "Sally Johnson" and dozens of others.
It wasn't long until folks were begging these musicians to play for dances, and naturally our children were mighty pleased that folks seemed to enjoy themselves at our house. It was nothing for people to ride thirty or forty miles to come to a dance. They would put up their horses in the JAB corral and join the dancers around eight o'clock and dance until dawn. We had a hearty midnight supper, but you could go back to the table any time for pie, cake and coffee.
It got so we had dances as often as once a month in somebody's house. Usually a bunch of young fellows would get up a dance. Maybe one would stop to stay all night with another. They would go get permission to have the dance at somebody's house; then they'd send word all over the countryside. When everybody arrived, the boys getting up the dance would pass the hat around and take up a collection to pay the fiddlers. Sometimes they gave the lady of the house something for all her trouble of fixing supper. Later on there was a fixed price for supper and dance, but it never did go any higher than a dollar per man; so many folks attended.
The young folks dance quadrilles mostly, though a few had learned to waltz, schottische, or polka. In the quadrilles four couples danced together, or many eight couples, if the room was large enough. Sometimes the fiddlers sat at the door between two rooms and played for dancers in each room. The floor manager kept a record of the numbers. Each man had a number which corresponded to the number of four men. When the manager called that number, those four men arose, chose their partners, and went through a quadrille. Then those men sat out until their number was called again.
If somebody chose a round dance (waltzes and the like) for part of the time, that was all right. Somebody else could take their place at the quadrille. There was no confusion. Dancers listened to the prompter, and, if the couples did get mixed up, the prompter took the man by the arm and helped him through the number. There were a few good prompters. George and Bob Browning were especially good.
Some of the figures called in the quadrilles were: "Grand Right and Left," "Courtesy Four," "The Girl I left behind me," "Cage the Bird," "Form a star," "For a Basket," and many others I don't recall now.
When a dance was going on, a drunk man never entered the house if the men could get to the door first, and if he did get in, they quietly removed him. No man drinking would have dared ask a girl to dance. That would have been a real scandal.
That reminds me of Jim Jones, our one real bad man of the Sacramento Mountains. Jim stood six feet and weighed about two hundred pounds. Nobody seemed to know where he haled from. He just appeared and got jobs with some of the cow outfits. When he was sober, he was as nice as anybody.
But when he smelled a cork, he really got mean. It got so he was a nuisance at dances, kept so many men outside trying to keep him where the women wouldn't see him, and of course he came to every dance. He got such a reputation as a drunk that even when he was sober, no decent girl could afford to dance with him. So he grew bitter and hateful and meaner, as folks will when they think everybody is against them.
We heard it whispered that some of our two-gun men were getting afraid of Jim Jones and were aching for a chance to get rid of him. So we weren't very surprised when our boys came home from a dance at Charley Arthur æs and said Jim Jones had been killed. Our boys said they didn't see the shooting, but the man how killed Jim shot in self-defense. That's all water under the bridge, and there's no use repeating all the gossip we heard at the time. It's just another story to show you that the men in New Mexico were still their own law and that sheriffs had little or no control over them.
Any old-timer in the mountains can tell you about the winter of 1889. It happened that Falconer, a nephew of Starnes ( Half owner of V MIL Co.) Started to the Penasco River to visit his uncle. On his way down he stopped over night at Luke Kennedy æs ranch on the Agua Chiquita River. The next morning Mr. Kennedy found his guest ill, and when he examined him, he saw that Falconer had broken out with small pox. The mountain folks were panic-stricken. A cowboy rushed to the Mescalero Indian Agency and brought back all the vaccine a young doctor had on hand. This supply was soon exhausted; so people took pine paddles and squeezed pus from someone's vaccination, scratched their arms with a number five or six steel sewing needle and laid that paddle of pus on the tiny scratches. Yes, everybody's vaccination took.
Bob Browning was vaccinated from Henry York, and Bob's arm swelled up to twice its size. Sweet Clayton, one of our friends, vaccinated himself on a split thumb nail that had been hurt and had never grown out straight. Sweet figured he'd get a good nail out of a vaccination. He nearly lost his thumb in the bargain.
What happened to Falconer? Poor fellow! He was nursed by Mrs. Marsh, a Mexican woman, and Buck Powell, who had both had small pox; but Falconer died in spite of good care. Luke Kennedy was the only other one who took small pox, but he recovered. Folks were so care ful that the epidemic didn't get a chance to spread. If anybody rode up to your house, this was one time when folks didn't yell, "Light, and come on in." We went to the door and asked where they had come from and if they had been near Kennedy's.
Branding time had come in New Mexico. The big roundup was already planned. Joe and I were mighty pleased that our Jack was the representative of the mountain people, Cattle were to be gathered from the summit to the Pecos River; so this round up was no small local affair; there would be representatives from all companies in the localities. The calves would be branded; drifting cattle would be shoved back to their home range; and the scrawny steers would be weeded out from those to be sent up the trail.
This particular year our Jack started gathering steers from market about the first of March. By May fifteenth he would arrive in Roswell on flat country, and from there he would go up the trail to Clayton, New Mexico where he would deliver steers by August first.
We always gathered around when Jack came home, for he had some exciting experiences to relate to us. He told of driving cattle across the Pecos river and fighting to keep them from bogging down in the quicksand.
He said that they made about three miles a day--never over six miles--and once found their favorite watering places had dried up so the cattle had to go for three days and two nights before they came to water. To the men's horror, the cattle were so crazed by that time that the men had to stick the animals' heads down under the water so they could feel the dampness on their noses before they would start drinking.
But all that was changed by 1893 when the railroad come to Roswell. Then mountain people could bring their cattle to this point and ship from there by rail. Old-timers can tell you it was some sight to see forty or fifty thousand head of cattle spread all over the flats at Roswell.
These cattle had been brought there in "trail herds" of two or three thousand, driven to ten to fourteen men. There were usually ten or fifteen herds going toward Roswell at the same time. It was up to the herd bosses to pick different trails to travel so there would be grass. To "graze the cattle through" to Roswell.
In spite of the stories and movies, there weren't many stampedes. Joe and our boys had only seen one which was caused by a sudden hail storm. The hail pelting on the back startled the cattle, and they started to run, but played out in just a little while. Stampeded among "remudas" [horse herd] were fairly common, for horses are more excitable. The boys said a poor horse wrangler sometimes hunted his animals for two or three days after a stampede.
All cow outfits tried to get back to the home ranches by Fourth of July so all the cowhands could take their girls to the Fourth of July celebration.
The older Browning boys had their special girls now and rode horseback with them to the Fourth of July picnic. Joe and I were home the biggest part of the time, but we managed to take the younger children to this celebration, for it was the biggest event of the year for them.
Two or three cowmen would furnish a beef for the barbecue; then the women folks would bring big picnic baskets to add to that. The picnic committee saw to it that a large plank platform was put up so the young folks could dance.
Sometimes there were patriotic speeches if some good orator happened through the country at the time. There could be horse-racing, but most often people just visited and watched the young people dance.
There was always plenty of lemonade near the platform, or a kettle of coffee, if you wanted it. All the money you needed was a little to put in the kitty to pay the fiddlers.
Nobody wanted to miss the Fourth of July picnic. You'd see people you hadn't seen for a year, and it was the finest place to do some courting if you had a certain girl on your mind.
Everybody liked the JAB ranch, but Jim Page could not be happy without it; so he begged Joe to trade him the ranch for his SP-brand of cattle. In 1890 he finally broke down Joe's resistance, and we were ranch hunting again.
"Where are you going to light now, Joe?" I really tried to be amiable about this move, but guess I sounded a little cross. Joe was happy as a lark planning a new nest.
"We've got such good cattle now, and times are changing so, I reckon we might as well go back to Texas and ranch like new-fangled cow-men. We don't need to be in a hurry, though. We can send Jack on ahead with some cattle, and he can find good grazing for them and wait for us to catch up with him.
I wasn't worried this time, for I knew how jack loved these mountains, and he would never leave them if he could help it. He'd find good grazing all right, but he'd have a spot picked out for a house, too.
Sure enough, we found him camped on Elk Canyon, just at the line of the Indian Reservation. Jack had dug out the Elk Springs so that the water was already running down the canyon, and right there by that spring he pitched a tent where he wanted our new house built.
Did Joe fuss and fume and say his son was getting mighty uppity and bossy? Not my Joe! He turned to Bob and Tod and said, "Whata you think, Boys?"
One said, "That is it, Pa."
The other said, "Couldn't be better, Pa." Then Joe turned to look at me, but he didn't have to ask me. I just grinned at him and started lifting children out of the wagon.
I was so relieved that I didn't have to go back to Texas. What was there for me now? My Preston and all the other in my family had moved back to Missouri and Arkansas. The boys and Joe hauled lumber from Dollin's mill and erected a four-room lumber house. If I do say so, as shouldn't, there wasn't anything nicer in the whole country. Each room was sixteen feet long, and two bedrooms were cut off from the rest of the house by a long hallway. There were two huge fireplaces at each end of the house to keep comfortable during the winter months.
Then just to please me Joe built a smoke house for the meat and a rockhouse for my butter and canned fruit. On his next trip to El Paso my Joe went on a spending spree again. He bought a "Home Comfort Range," a real dresser, and some new iron pots, granite bowls and milk crocks. He even bought stand tables for each bedroom, a White sewing machine and three rocking chairs.
You should have been Lily, Mettie and me fixing up boxes with pretty calico curtains around them for dressing tables. We got busy and had enough rag rugs to cover nearly all the floor space. The boys, not to be outdone, made a dining room table longer than any of us had ever seen. I tell you, people could say that these Brownings were really prosperous.
Since we were very near the Indian Reservation, we learned much about them. By this time the government had apportioned a patch of ground to the head of every Indian family. The head could choose the patch of ground he wished. Then Uncle Sam built a log cabin on each family's land and installed a stove in each cabin. Next, the government decided to make the Indian look like a whit man by insisting that he shingle his hair and put on white men's clothes. Now they would be self-supporting, self-respecting wards of the government. But Uncle Sam didn't know the Indian.
He promptly moved out of his log house and stabled his horses in it; then Mr. Indian went back to his tepee. These tepees were made by standing six twelve-foot poles in the ground, then tying them at the top with rawhide. Then the Indian took the yards and yards of muslin that had been allocated to him and started wrapping from the bottom of the poles to the top. The muslin was stretched so tightly that the tepee didn't lead, and a hole at the tope of the tepee let out all the smoke when a fire was started on the center floor. They put down hides on the floor if they had them to spare, and made beds of pine boughs covered with hides and blankets. Who could prove to an Indian that anything was more comfortable than all this?
The government asked that the Indians plant oats, which grew so well in the mountain country. The Indians planted the oats, but they saw no sense in harvesting them. When their horses were hungry, they just turned them out in the oat fields for a good meal.
The government brand for the Indian stock was a bow and arrow on the left shoulder and ID (Indian Department) on the hip. Each Indian also branded a letter of his own so he could tell his cattle from others. There wasn't much point in worrying over their cattle, though they ate the increase as fast as they could. Uncle Same tried to get them to raise sheep, for sheep were good eating also.
I don't mean to say all Indians were careless like this, for people like Jim Miller and Andy Little took good care of their flocks and left many sheep for their sons.
We learned to know a great many Indians, we had many good friends among them. The JAB ranch was directly on their path as they rode to Elk settlement to trade at Cleeve's store. Our Children never tired of watching them ride by, and very often would come running into the house to get me. "Here they come, Ma. They must be moving again."
Here they came on a poor little inbred pony carrying all their household goods on the little horse's back. On top of the household goods sat a squaw with a child in front of her, another in the back of her, and perhaps a papoose strapped on her shoulders. The buck led the procession unencumbered unless there were to many children in his family; then he would let a couple ride with him.
Our boys played with the Indians whenever they had a chance. You could tell they admired our boys, especially George, who could run like a deer and didn't mind racing them. I remember very well coming to the door one time to see George win a race, and to my surprise, saw an Indian boy come up and pat George on the shoulder and act so pleased with him.
This all did seem very strange to me when I remember the awful battles we had with them in Texas, and now my sons were right neighborly with them. I never expected Joe to be very friendly with them, but my Joe never held a grudge against any people. It wasn't long until the Indians were flocking around every time Joe came in from a hunt. They knew he was a good hunter, and he brought many deer. This was their chance to bargain for hides. They would take four hides and tan them if Joe would let them keep two for themselves.
I was doing a little trading myself. The Indian women would trade baskets, blankets or anything else for butter and sugar. When they learned to drink coffee, they would have sold a horse for that.
The only time we ever felt uneasy around the Indians was when they started drinking tiswin. It was a concoction made of white corn that had been put in jugs with water and allowed to sour for a month, which cased it to turn into a white liquid resembling buttermilk. When the Indians went on a spree and drank a new supply of tiswin, their faces became so swollen that you would have sworn that they had encountered a swarm of bees. Their eyes seemed to be blotted out of their faces. It made you shudder to look at them. It was tiswin time when quarrels were started and fights encouraged and Indians killed Indians. Any white man who had any gumption at all would stay out of their way.
After we got to know some Indians real well, we asked questions, and they had questions to ask. Once Joe, seeing three women with their noses gone, asked Chief Nutalli what happened. The chief's answer was short and to the point, "Indian like women with virtue. No virtue; no nose."
Our special friends were Billy Magush, Crook Neck, Pettina Lucy, Kitten Chin, Mrs. Running Water. They stopped by often to chat with us. They talk might be mostly grunts and motion with their hands, but we learned to understand each other.
Our son, Jack, and the Indians talked the same language when it came to horse talk. How they all loved horses! Every man, woman and child on the reservation could ride, and the sight of a beautiful horse threw them into excited grunts and chatter. Jack bought one horse from the Heart H outfit that not only stirred the Indians, but aroused all the mountain people.
Yellow Rooster was large for a cow-horse, weighing close to nine hundred pounds. He was a dun paint with a black eyes and white mane and tail. Jack had many offers for this horse from all kinds of people who wanted not only a striking horse, but one with good cow sense, which is our way of saying that Yellow Rooster was a good cutting horse, a good roping horse and an easy riding horse.
Yellow Rooster was just one of many fine horses Jack acquired. Folks said Jack knew good horse-flesh when he saw it, and I always smiled to myself when I heard this about our boy, for I knew he took after my Pa. Thomas McCarty didn't believe in buying inferior horses.
As much as I loved horses, I hated horse-breaking time at the ranch. The horses were wild and on edge and the boys were worse. Accidents could and did happen to both men and horses. A beautiful yearling might rear up and fall backward to die with a broken neck, or a prized two- year-old could get tangled up with his dragging log and rope as he tried to drink at a mill stream. Then Joe or one of the boys might find him later where he had fallen in the stream and dammed the water just enough to drown himself.
Riders and ropers, and I mean good riders and ropers like Tod and Jack, could get jammed into a corral fence or have a horse fall with them. No wonder ranch women wanted to go visiting during horse-breaking time. The squealing, yelling, stamping and swearing tore at quieter nerves than mine.
The first winter at Elk Canyon our children did not get to school at all, but the next winter we took Tod, George, Lily and Mettie to the settlement at Elk, where they attended Tillotson School for three months. After that we were lucky enough to be able to pay tutors for the children. Miss May McNatt was our teacher for one session; then Miss. Minnie Nations taught them the next season.
The mountain people were becoming more and more eager to have their own children in school, and the whole district was might proud when one of our own mountain boys, Matthew McNatt, went off to College at Socorro School of Mines.
There was no school anywhere in the mountains during 1893 and 1894 because diphtheria broke out. We were never sure how the epidemic started. There were those who said some vegetable peddler from El Paso brought in the terrible disease. All I know was that when those two winters past, there were no little children left. Eighteen babies were taken that first winter; then there were no children under six years old left in our mountains. At the end of the second winter the older children began coming down.
Our Mettie awoke me one night with, "Oh, Ma! My throat hurts so!" By morning I could see the white phlegm closing the whole opening of the throat. Mettie was laterally choking to death before my very eyes. In a panic I grabbed some scissors and started cutting through the center of the phlegm. Poor Mettie was very blue in the face, but the minute I got a hole through the center of this tough, leathery stuff, she could breath. In a few days Mettie seemed no worse for the wear, but it was Bert's turn now. The phlegm never did get out of control, but I didn't take chances. I kept swabbing out his troat with tail feathers from the best rooster. When I told a good doctor this years later, he looked horrified, but what else did I have to use as a swab?
One thing sure we, found mountain folks are mighty good neighbors. No matter what men or women are doing, if they found out a child was down with diphtheria, they were on their horses in a minute if you wanted them to get a doctor. Nobody was very to busy to go. The pity of it all was there was just one doctor, and what could he do with out proper medicine? CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DANGER SIGNALS
I had promised myself that when it was time for Bob and Jack to marry I would keep my mouth shut and at least act like a Christian, but I had a lot of talking to do to myself to keep from acting like a silly fool. Bob's Phronie [Sophronia] and Jack's Hettie were good women, and I should have had the good sense to make friends with them right from the start.
By the time Lily was engaged to Dick Colton, I was almost enjoying the preparation for our daughter's wedding. Maybe it was because I liked Dick very much, or maybe I was begging for excitement to make me forget my troubles. Anyway, we went all out for this wedding, and Joe and I both agreed that it reminded us of our own wedding.
Lily and Dick had just the immediate family at the wedding, but the whole country at the "infare." You call it a wedding reception, don't you? There was a dance, of course, but we had better than the usual food, including baked chicken, salt-rising bread and cozens of pies and cakes.
I was sewing my head off to get Mettie's and my dresses ready and yet have plenty of time to take special pains with Lily's wedding dress. I had quite a decision to make-- should I keep the bustles on our dresses or not? We had heard that the Nicholas girls came to the last dance without bustles, and everybody laughed behind their backs at their flat back-sides. They had the last laugh, though, for that year the bustles went out of style.
I guess I worked to hard preparing for the wedding, or maybe I was worrying for fear Dick would hurry away with Lily. What ever the cause, I had a three-weeks siege of the rheumatism. My legs and arms were on fire, and hot needles were shooting into my bones. The opium pills, for once, were not easing the pain enough, so I doubled the doses, and before I knew it, I was out of opium.
I remember calling to Lily, "Come here, Lily. I've got to get to the doctor. I've run out of medicine, and I can not stand this pain another minute."
Dick will take you, Ma. I'll take care of everything while you're gone. Let's hurry and get ready." Then Lily looked at me carefully and said, "Ma, couldn't Dick to go get the medicine for you? I don't think you should make this trip."
I answered her very quickly, "No, there's a new doctor, and I have to explain about my case before he'll give me the medicine."
"What's the name of the medicine, Ma?"
"I.... I... It's called a pain killer. That's all I know."
But an inner voice, "Angie, you do know what it is, and you are lying to your own child."
It was late in the day when Dick and I arrived at the agency. The negro doctor and his wife couldn't have been kinder to me, and when the doctor handed me my medicine, he said, "Mrs. Browning, you must be careful. Don't use this unless the pain becomes unbearable. It is habit- forming, and if it gets a hold on a person, he can't do without it."
I assured him, in my politist manner, that I would be very careful, but my cunning mind was saying, "I don't ever intend to be without it again."
It was much to late for Dick and me to start home that night; so there was nothing to do but ask if we could stay overnight at the doctor's home. The doctor's wife was very cordial, but I could see she was embarrassed. She said very quickly, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Browning, but we only have two beds. You will have to sleep with e and Mr. Colton with the doctor."
"That's perfectly all right." Dick and I both said it, and we meant it, but my malicious, cunning mind was working against me, "Wouldn't all Joe's uppity southern kin have a fit. I hope somebody tells them."
When we were ready to get into the clean feather bed, the negro lady said, "I'll stay µway over to my side so you won't have to touch me."
"Don't you worry about that one minute. I'm might glad to be in a bed tonight."
I was so ashamed I couldn't go off to sleep for quite a while. I was thinking that negro lady should have been worrying whether I touched her instead of the other way around. I was the unclean one and I knew it.
These remorseful moment came frequently as the days went by, but I was defiantly taking larger doses at more frequent intervals. In two months my supply of opium was gone and I sent my Bert to the negro doctor. I couldn't wait for my young son to get in the house; I wanted him to hand me the package before he was even off his horse. "I'm sorry, Ma, but there's a new white doctor at the agency, and when I gave him your letter, he just looked mad as a bull and said to tell you he wouldn't send any of that kind of medicine now or ever."
I felt like Bert had hit me right in the face, and I crept to the side of my bed and knelt there for a while. I was honestly trying to pray, but my mind just turned blank. I reached over to pick up Ruth's Bible, but I wouldn't even open it. I excused myself with, "I'm too nervous to read." But my inner voice said, "You're afraid to read."
I walked miles; I cleaned the whole house; I dug in the garden, but nothing would stop that awful craving. There were some pains in my legs and arms, but I couldn't use that for an excuse any more. I wanted opium. On the fifth day, Jack and Hettie came to visit me. I think Joe must have sent for them.
I was at the end of my rope, else I never would have talked to Hettie. I can tell you now that she was the last person I wanted to ask for help. I had several things against her. First of all, she had married my handsomest son, and she was just a farmer's daughter!"
I had expected her and Jack to live with us at least a year; all the others had. But Jack came to tell me exactly what Hettie had said. "Jack, I have a nice home where I am. Unless you provide us with our own home, I think I'll stay where I am."
She got that nice ranch house about two miles down the canyon from us, and it wasn't long until I realized this farmer girl could cook, clean, garden, sew, read, write and spell as well as or better than I. I had met my match, and I knew it. I could no longer be called the smartest damn woman in these mountains.
Actually, Hettie Belle McNatt Browning was a kind and sympathetic woman, and when she walked into my house she could see I was ill.
"Is your rheumatism bothering today, Ma?"
That soft, concerned voice broke me down, and I could feel the tears coming, but I wasn't going to let her see me cry. Before I could think, I was blurting out with, "I've got to talk to somebody! I'm going crazy! I suppose you will turn tail and run, being you're such a good Christian, but I'm tellin' you anyway. I'm a dope fiend, and I've run out of opium. The doctor won't let me have it any more."
"Come on, Ma. Let's go for a walk where we can be alone. Maybe we can figure out something."
When Bert came in for his noon meal, Hettie told him I wasn't able to make the trip to the doctor, but she would send a note to the doctor. I had no idea what she wrote, but Bert came back with the medicine.
I found out later Jack really put Hettie on the grill with his questions, "Is Ma in danger? Is she that sick? What is the medicine she's taking? Why did you send Bert? I would have been glad to go."
Hettie had already figured out her answer. She wasn't about to tell a bare-faced lie, but she had given me a promise. "Your mother is a very sick women. She is going through the "change of life," and it's very hard on her. I sent Bert to get some kind of medicine to quiet her down. She can't go on like this."
That crisis was past, and I did begin to feel a lot better, but I was flattering myself that the little pill just once a week was doing no harm at all.
Then a happy time came. It was early spring of 1895 when Joe and I heard that Bud Browning and his Jennie were coming to visit us. Bud was now what the mountain folks called "well heeled," and he and Jennie were enjoying a real vacation. It was good to see two brothers having such good times together.
When Bud and Jennie were ready to go home they begged me to go back with them. I was none to enthusiastic, but Joe kept digging at me. He said I needed a long rest, and Jennie and Hettie joined in on the chorus, and the next thing I knew, I was heading for Texas.
We went by wagon to El Paso, then took a train to Fort Worth and Weatherford. Here I was, nearing fifty, and having my first train ride. Jennie and Bud said no kind could have more fun. I couldn't believe we could travel that fast.
I had never in all my life seen such a house as Jennie's. I decided very quickly that Bud Browning must be millionaires! It would take a mint to furnish such a house in that fashion. Jennie had store bought rugs that covered the whole floor, beautiful curtains on every window, polished furniture all over the place, and wonder of wonders, beautiful paintings where ever you looked.
I lived on excitement for a whole month, and Bud and Jennie were so good to show me how the country had changed, where the old friends were living, what ranchers were trying new-fangled ideas. I was beginning to get homesick for my own family, and I couldn't stay to much longer, for those pills wouldn't last me another month.
When I was home again, Jack and Hettie rushed over to introduce me to my very new grandson, Jerome Arrol Browning. I was flabbergasted that a little baby would have such a fancy name, but I knew Hettie would search her books for a special name. Jack grinned his little-boy grin and said, "Ma, this is Mr. JAB, the Second."
Joe and I just smiled at each other. That was a nice thing to do. Some of us thought the baby was all Browning when it came to looks' other could see he was all McNatt, but I knew the day would come when Joe, even, would agree that Arrol was the spittin' image of my Pa, Thomas McCarty. CHAPTER 17 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THESE CHANGING TIMES
By 1897 the settlers were moving fast into our mountain country. We could see farmers taking up land on all sides and enclosing it with split-rail fences. Then we noticed the sheepmen form the north were gradually shifting southward so their sheep could have better grazing land.
You ask any cowman and he will tell you in a hurry that once a sheep has been on a pasture, it is spoiled forever for a cow. Our men made it sound logical enough, for anybody could see that sheep eat anything---weeds, grass, stubble, and when they leave it, the land is stripped of everything but the dirt. Nature doesn't restore plant life for years and years.
Our men said most quarrels came between the sheep and the cattlemen because the herders did not respect the cattlemen's range, even when wire fences were stretched. It is hard to keep sheep from going under a wife fence when there's greener grass inside the pasture than on the outside.
Of course cattlemen accused the sheepmen of sneaking grass, but the sheep man had a perfect alibi. "My herders did that. I knew nothing about it. " But sometimes the rivals didn't wait to exchange words; they just shot it out.
Joe and our boys were facing another problem entirely. By 1900 Joe and I found that the JAB and SP Bar cattle were decreasing at an alarming rate, for the very simple reason that the Indians were using Browning beef to eat. The reservation was not fenced, and if stray cattle came into the territory, there was no reason, so thought some Indians, why they shouldn't kill and eat when they were hungry.
Joe had never had trouble with Mescalero Indians, but even if he were peacemaker at heart, he couldn't depend on his men to keep from losing their heads at the wrong moment. Joe was already talking about moving out when the awful tragedy came to the Flying H Cattle Company.
Our Bert happened to be working for the flying H's at this time. The manager, Roy McLane, had a younger brother Don, who came to visit him. Now Don was only a kid, and he was trying to turn cowboy in a hurry. Roy turned him loose and told Bert to help him along when he needed it.
The flying H's had leased several sections of land on the reservation, and Bert and Don were ordered there look after some steers that were to be fattened, butchered and carried to the agency for sale to Uncle Sam, who then would supply the Indians with beef.
Now, as I have said, some Indians had not learned to discriminate between their cattle and the next man's. One day young Don rode up on a partially deaf, one-eyed Indian just as he was killing a Flying H beef.
Maybe the kid didn't suspect what was happening, greenhorn that he was, or maybe he didn't use proper precaution. Nobody knows, but the Indian killed Don, led h is horse some distance away and tied him to a bush. The Indian then backtracked himself and didn't take any of the beef into camp.
Some other Indians were working on a road close to the agency; so the killer took his place by their side and said nothing. Two days later Bert and some other Flying H men found Don's body. As you might guess, the whole mountain country burst into violent flame.
Smoke from that flame reached the Indian camp, and Mr. One-eye grew panicky. He left camp in the middle of the night and took his squaw with him. When the Indian agent heard this, he knew the killer had given himself away, and ordered an Indian posse to bring One-eye, dead or alive.
Only Roy McLane and the deputy sheriff accompanied the posse. Both men told our Bert that they have never seen such hunters in their lives. The Indians were like blood hounds; they missed nothing on a trail. They dismounted to inspect broken twigs and turned stones.
As the day went by, the Indians begged Roy McLane to stay back of them because they knew the minute One-eye spied them, he would get his first shot at Roy. Two days and nights went by, but the mountain people waited patiently. It would only be a matter of time.
Roy saw their supplies were getting low; so he turned toward Alamogordo to bring back some provisions. While he was gone, the Indians found their man. He and his squaw were walking, and the squaw happened to spy the posse first. They waved her out of the way, then riddled her man with bullets.
Bert came home to tell us that the squaw told the white men that One-eye had killed their horse so they could have food and then used the hide to make ætomayos' (sandals). The squaw said One-eye had told her he was going to kill her because she couldn't walk fast enough.
Our Bert was so disgusted and tired of the whole affair. He had helped ship young Don's body back to his people in the east, and he was ready to forget the whole nasty incident, but he was still in Alamogordo when somebody arrived with the Indian's body. Bert said some idiot had slung the dead body across a horse's back and carried him to the center of town for white people to have a look. Our Bert was ashamed when folks tore off pieces of the Indian's clothing for souvenirs, and one woman soaked her handkerchief in this blood. Bert said he wanted to puke.
I tried to console him with, "People are such fools!"
But Joe just looked sad and said, "And we're suppose to be so much better than the Indians! What right have we to call them savages?"
I knew it wouldn't be long until Joe would be getting away from the reservation. I just wondered where he was going to jump. It wouldn't be Texas this time, for our children were settling down in these parts, and Joe was the one wanting to have them within visiting distance.
Bob and his Phronie had moved to Penasco River and now owned the JMIL home ranch; Lily and Dick were heading to Colorado to join the gold hunt; Della and Jim were off to Wyoming, Jack and Hettie were talking about the country near Portales, New Mexico.
Gracious me! Our baby girl, Mettie [Jamettie], up and married Jim Lafferty [1902], and didn't we get word from Tod in Arizona that he would be coming home soon, and he just might have a wife.
Sure enough, he appeared with Ida, the prettiest red-headed, blue-eyed girl, but I looked at her with misgivings. She looked to frail to do much work. Maybe she could get the housework done, anyway. I wanted to be free to work in my garden; it seemed to soothe me to work in the soil. So for months that little girl scrubbed, washed, ironed, cleaned and cooked for us and all the company that seemed to be coming by at this particular time. I knew what was brining them; they wanted to see Tod's new wife. She was somebody new to talk about, and there was always one old gossip who delighted in telling me what people were remarking.
"They say she's pretty as a picture! Just sixteen years old! Can you beat that?"
"These Mormon girls sure do marry young."
"Mormon! Who said she was a Mormon?"
"Tod told me himself. Said her people were prosperous farmers. Tenney, I think he said the name was, out of Stafford, Arizona."
"You don't say! Wonder what old lady Browning had to say to that?"
"Plenty, Mister, plenty! But what does she care? She's got the kid slaving for her now. Mormon or no Mormon, she's good help, and that old woman won't work in the house no more!"
"Ain't that mean? To do a girl that way.... and her own daughter-in-law, too!"
What they didn't know was that I walked alone, and I was so desperately lonely, for there was no person who could enter my self-torturing Hades.
Jack and Hettie came to tell us goodbye on their way to Portales. They stayed a few days so Ida and Hettie could get better acquainted. Those two hit it off well from the start, and they took long walks together. Sometimes Tod even joined them, and that was something to puzzle over, for he was our one she who didn't believe in wearing out shoe leather when there were horses to ride.
Jack and Hettie were hardly out of sight before Tod and Ida announced that they were going to move to a place of their own in Wildcat Canyon. I knew Hettie had talked to them and convinced them to move; I knew she had given them the courage to get out, but I had to keep on friendly terms with her; I might need her desperately at some future day.
Bert was the only child left at home, now, and you can bet I aimed to do everything to keep him there. He was the one who suggested that we go northeast to the Feliz River. He said it was a cattleman's paradise--good water, fine grass and few settlers. How many times I had heard that! But if Bert wanted to go there, I was not holding back.
This time we had a large two story house, and we were so busy planting lovely flowers and luscious vegetables, but what good did it do? In no time at all Bert married his Carrie and didn't even tell me beforehand.
Joe and I were alone after all these years, and I must tell you, I was terrified; then terror turned to burning anger. Two people living in the same house, with only my bitter thoughts for companionship. Joe fretted the days out by riding far and working hard. I might lash out at him with my acid tongue or confuse him with my sullen silences, but Joe would not be moved to strike back.
I knew that he was perfectly aware of the curse that was on me, and I also knew he was pitying me, and that infuriated me. How I enjoyed hunting some way to humiliate this most patient man on earth! How I enjoyed living in a self-centered world, now dominated by scorn and hate. I hated ignorance; I hated silly superstitions; I hated change of any kind; and most of all; I like the idea of hating all men.
In this fast darkening world of mine, I was anxious to let me daughters and daughter-in-laws bear many children so they would find their children would devour or desert them. I had no interest in grandchildren now. Once in a great while I imagined that young Jerome stood near me. I showered him with attention, enjoyed his companionship, but when I turned to look down at him, he was gone. I was dreaming; he had never been there at all.
At this time Joe received thirteen thousand dollars from the government. Uncle Sam. was trying to make belated amends to the early settlers for the damage done by Indians. This payment was called the "Indian Depredation Award." I wasn't particularly interested in it until I found the boys were coming back into our country. I had to have one last did, through. "Flies will buzz around honey, you know!" Joe just looked at me sadly and walked out of the room.
I did not know that many years that Joe had written his sons to come to him and they would raise cattle on the shares. Jack, Tod, and Bert came, and they bought the fine herd which bore the Bar HL brand. Joe was happy again, and I had to admit I was feeling better myself. I wish I had been absolutely normal so I could have appreciated the stirring changes going on around us. I do remember them very well.
It seems strange that by 1900 our cowboys were taking part in rodeos. Some said they were just trying ti imitate the Wild West shoes put on by the famous William Cody, who started his shows as far back as 1883.
The mountain people saw their first rodeo at Roswell when Allison Carroll was campion roper of the world. Our cowboys gathered from all parts of New Mexico to rope goats (steer- roping was unlawful) and ride bad horses. Joe and I and our sons and their wives took in this rodeo, but we all had to admit we had seen better roping and riding out on the range. For some reason, showing off before a crowd seemed to make the cowboys too nervous to do their level best . It wasn't to many years after that until these Browning boys were attending cattlemen's conventions at Fort Worth and Amarillo, Texas, and having conventions of their own at Roswell. Just think, in another ten years the 101 Ranch Show was to appear in Roswell, where we took our grandchildren to see their first buffalo. They couldn't understand why we weren't very impressed by the big hump on the buffalo's shoulder.
By 1900 women rode astride, wearing divided skirts. What a scandal that was! Some eastern people stopped at Elk, and the women went riding all over the mountain country in those new- fangled skirts. One good mountain women remarked to me, "It just ain't decent at all! You can see right between their legs as they walk!"
We heard our first graphophone at Mayhill, a small settlement to our west, and there was a telephone line installed from Elk to Feliz. By 1905 some of us had been to Roswell to see our first automobile. It was queer looking vehicle driven by Dr. Skipworth. I took one look as it moved down the street, and I thought of a quotation from the Bible, "The Chariots shall be with flaming torches. The chariots shall race in the streets. They shall jolt against one another in the broad ways. They will gleam like torches; they shall run like lightening." People wouldn't believe us when we got home again. Who ever heard of a buggy without horses!
Our grandchildren were now attending school at Feliz. The one room building was of lumber with a single roof and a good floor and sufficient windows for proper lighting. Blackboard appeared on the walls, and long desk and benches which seated four pupils at a time came in. Many new textbooks were appearing, and adults were peeking into them when they had a chance. Children were from five to eighteen years old, and they walked or rode horseback from one to three miles distance. The teacher, who welcomed them each morning, was usually a woman who taught all grades from the fist to the seventh. She taught a whole six months and received a salary of thirty-five or forty dollars. CHAPTER 18 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I'D RATHER BE DEAD
By 1907 we were going through what might well be called an educational revolution. Many of the mountain people moved to Roswell or Alamogordo to send their children to better grade schools and high schools. Some cattlemen sold their land to large cattle companies and bought ranches closer to these towns. Usually, the mother and children lived in town during the school session, them moved back to the ranch for vacation time.
Jack and Hettie Browning decided that their five children needed better educational advantages; so they went to Roswell. They were one of the first families to desert the mountain people, but in a short while Hettie's people, the McNatt s, went over to the summit to the west side, bought ranches near the White Sands and settled their families in Alamogordo during the winter season. Mountain folks were going to see that next generation would have the latest in educational advantages.
I certainly approved of these moves, and on days when I felt fairly normal, I was comforted by the fact that my grandchildren were getting the schooling I had yearned for all my life. On other days my approval was for a very selfish motive. It would be easy now for Joe to travel to Roswell to visit Jack and Hettie, and Hettie would always be able to get opium to send back with Joe.
It must have been very humiliating for a woman of Hettie's caliber to be forced to buy this degrading drug. How she just have dreaded the prying eyes of the druggist and the strange looks of customers who heard her ask for gum opium. She told me later that she rebelled many times, but the thought of me out on the ranch going slowly mad with the desire of the filthy opiate haunted her. "I was afraid you would become violent and kill yourself, or harm poor old Pa." What she didn't need to say was that I was Jack's mother, and if I needed help, it was her duty to see that I received it.
She said she always dressed in her Sunday best and walked into the nearest drug store thinking, "If I look nice and neat and healthy, they won't think I want this stuff for myself." Hettie kept my secret so well, and people knew so little about opium users, it no wonder outsiders suspected I must have some terrible disease, but they didn't know what to call it. I knew I was the subject of much gossip when oldtimers gathered, but that worried me not at all.
"She won't even let her own grandchildren have apples from her orchard when they're rotting on the ground. They say young Jerome, Jack's oldest, you know, is the only one of the kids she's half way decent to."
"Her cellar is full of canned fruit that she'll never be able to use in twenty years!"
"They say if the girls happen up to see her around noon time, she won't even ask them to stay for dinner. She's so stingy she doesn't want to fix food for her own family."
"They say she knows her Bible backwards and forwards; that she reads it every day of her life. Why don't she practice some of it?"
I can remember very well when I decided that water on any part of my body made my bones ache. I didn't need to change clothes; I was used to these; they felt better. Hettie and Ida begged me to let them make me some new underwear. There was one petty coat that seemed to disturb them a lot. It had been white nainsook with deep insertion at the bottom. Now it was a greyish, green, with patches from belt to knee. I was furious when the girls tried to get me to change it for another they had made. I told them they were wasteful and extravagant.
About this time I turned pack rat. I started gathering articles from other peoples houses and hiding them in a very old trunk of mine. I didn't need them, and I never looked at them again. Finally, this project began to bore me, and I just grew tired of having all these things stored away.
This explained why people in our part of the country sometimes received mysterious packages through the mail, and when they opened them they would find long lost articles they had been missing for months.
By 1910 I faced a daily routine battle. Each morning when I had finished the dishes, I would rush out to work in my garden. Each morning I would say, "Today, I won't take my medicine. I don't have an ache or pain today; I can do without. Today I'll keep on working in the garden, and I won't know when ten o'clock comes; I'll not even know it."
This was fine talk but utterly useless. I knew the minute the clock would strike ten and very often start walking away from the house, then turn and run as fast as I could to get to my purse in the bureau drawer. Lot of time before I could get the purse open, my clothes would be wringing wet with cold sweat. In just a few minutes after I had swallowed that gummy pill, I would be so calm and so ready to work on a quilt piece or finish some patching. Such warm contentment! Why would I ever want to give it up? It didn't matter now if I were growing old, if the children were gone, if Joe and I were no longer friends. I didn't need Joe or the children.
By four o'clock in the afternoon the drug would wear off: then I despised myself for being so weak. I even cried because I was disappointed in Mrs JAB. The time came when I thought of taking another pill at four o'clock, but I was afraid to do it without asking a doctor. The thought came that it might put me to sleep forever, and I guess I was afraid to die.
Just to be sure I didn't take that second pill, I got the habit of going after the milk cows around four o'clock. By the time I came in, it was milking time for Joe, and I had to get supper. I must admit that supper was not a pleasant meal. Joe always came hobbling in to take his place at the head of the table without much conversation. It was his everlasting silence which goaded me into speech, "I suppose you want hot biscuits and more okra for supper. Well, there's okra left from dinner, and I'm not starting a fire this time of day to cook hot bread."
Joe never looked at me or even seemed upset. He would answer patiently and monotonously, "No, Angie, this is fine. I like cold batter bread with fresh butter and honey."
I was so furious that I could hardly choke down food----the everlasting sameness of his answer seven days a week! Time dragged on, nothing to live for and certainly nothing to die for. Then I notice that my body and my mind were two separate people! My mind told me to do something, but my body refused to obey.
"I suppose I'm really going crazy!" I thought I whispered it, but I noticed Joe stayed closer to the house at noon, and he came in earlier from the field in the afternoon. That gave me the excuse to rant, "You are lazy; that's what you are. You're just trying to get out of work!" Then I couldn't remember whether I had said these things aloud or not; so I's ask poor Joe, "Was I talking to you, Joe?"
Joe never seemed to answer me, but suddenly he was at the house a whole week. He never walked farther than the yard gate. Then someone came by with the mail, and Joe came hurrying in to tell me there was a long letter from Hettie. We always loved to get her fat, newsy letter. Joe left it in my lap and went to close the garden gate.
I opened the letter to find pages of Hettie's fine, clear handwriting, but I could not find no meaning in a single word. I was so scared I grabbed Ruth's Bible and opened it quickly. It might as well have been Greek or Hebrew; I could find no meaning in passages I had read dozens of times.
Joe stood in the doorway watching me, and he heard me say, "I know what's wrong. I've closed the door in Hettie's face' I've closed the door in God's face."
Joe came toward me very cautiously and spoke very softly, "Let me help you, Angie" He was sure that I had gone completely insane.
"Don't bother me, Joe" I sat there all that night, and Joe came to sit near me and watch over me.
"Angie, don't you want to go to bed? You've been up all night. Sleep will help a lot. You'll feel better, then."
"I'll never feel any better." Joe had ever reason to believe me, but he was just standing by to let me know he was there. He was thankful when I started a sort of prayer. He said it took me a long, long time to get the words out, and they were jumbled and confused.
"I'm going to pray now... I must have prayed before, but I can't remember why I prayed. Lore, Lord, why hast Thou forsaken me? I didn't say that... Jesus said it... pray for me, Jesus."
I seemed to doze a little at this time, and Joe thought I might be calming down. He spoke again very softly, "Let me help you get undressed, Angie. You need to be in bed."
Then I screamed, "Don't touch me! Don't you ever touch me! Joe said he felt like he had been hit right between the eyes, but as he stood looking at me, I spat out with, "If you see me in this filthy underwear and my patched petticoat, I'll kill you with my bare hands."
I seemed to quiet down in a while, and I knew when daylight came, for I walked to a window and looked out for a long, long time. I have a hazy memory of trying to find a certain peak in the distant mountains. I think I finally made it out, and it steadied me, for I do remember turning to Joe and saying, "Get ready, Joe. We're going to Roswell. Hettie will find a doctor for me."
Joe hobbled out on the run to hitch up the team, and I can tell you he made very good time getting to Hettie's house.
Dr. Fisher came to Hettie and Jack's house to have a long talk with me. I have every reason to remember this.
"How old are you, Mrs. Browning?"
"I am sixty-four years old."
"How long have you been taking opium?"
"If you count when I first started taking powdered morphine, it would be thirty-six years, but the opium.... since I was about forty-five years old."
"How much do you weigh, Mrs Browning?"
"About ninety-eight pounds."
"Do you realize, Mrs. Browning, that this cure is quite a strain on the heart at your age, and that you may not live through it?"
"I'd rather be dead then go on like this."
"Then we will proceed with the cure at once. You will return all the opium in your possession to your daughter-in-law."
I went to my purse and handed a package to Hettie with, "You understand, Hettie, you are going to see me though this, and no matter what happens, you aren't giving it back to me."
Hettie smiled at me and said quietly, "I'll be with you all the way, Ma."
I didn't know, of course, that Joe had contacted all the children to tell them that I was taking the cure, and that it was dangerous, and if they could, he would like to have them come to Roswell.
I had not taken my usual dose of opium the day Dr. Fisher came; so by afternoon, Hettie said I was walking the floor like a caged animal.
None of the grandchildren knew the battle going on; so they invited all neighbor children in to hear their grandma's Indian stories. Hettie decided to let them stay, for they kept me well occupied for that evening. When they were all sent to bed, I felt feverish, and by the next morning I was in a coma. Jack and Hettie, Tod and Ida waited with Joe for Dr. Fisher's arrival. He examined me and assured everybody there was no cause for alarm. He had expected just such a reaction.
They tell me my tongue was swollen twice it size by the fourth day, and my breathing was very rapid. When Dr. Fisher made his daily visit, he said the crisis was very near; he couldn't be sure I would live the day out. That's when my men folks put on a stampede all their own. "Give her back the dope, Doc' we want her to stay alive!"
That's when Hettie stood off the whole Browning clan. She had made a promise to me, and with God's help, she was going to keep it. Nobody, but nobody was going to give me opium in Hettie and Jack's house.
Bert told me later she was a she-lion defending her cub, and good man, Old Doctor Fisher stood right by her and let it be known in no uncertain terms that he could not and would not prescribe opium.
All the men walked to the yard and wiped the tears away; all the women stayed near my bed and bowed their heads in prayer; all but Ida and Hettie, who wring out old cold cloths and applied them all over my body to keep that terrible fever down. This went on all night, and by morning my fever was lower, and I seemed to be back in the world again.
Three more days passed; then Dr. Fisher said I was out of danger. The boys and wives left for their ranches, and Joe took Della and her children, who had come all the way from Wyoming, home with him. They all had the gumption to realize that Hettie couldn't nurse and cook for all of them, too.
I was bedridden for two more weeks without gaining consciousness of the world about me. I wondered back to my childhood days and to the harrowing Indian fights in Texas. When my tongue regained its normal size, I evidently talked incessantly. I continued the Indian stories for my grandchildren as if there had been no intermission on the day I arrived for the cure. Hour after hour I talked on.
While the children were in school and Hettie was busy with cooking and housework, she left the door open to my room, realizing I didn't know whether I had an audience or not. Hettie said I relieved my whole life, and as far as she knew, hadn't missed a place or a date in the whole history.
When I actually became normal again, I kept telling Hettie my throat was so tired. Imagine my chagrin when she told me I had been talking constantly for two solid weeks.
It wasn't many days after that when Joe arrived to take me home. I couldn't find words to say "thank you" to Hettie, but I tried. We were both crying happy tears when I waved goodbye. Hettie said she knew what it meant for a slave to be given his freedom. That said it well enough.
Joe and I rode leisurely along, talking about this or that. I wanted to k now about Della and the children, about the milk cows, about my flowers and plants. Some of the time we just rode long miles not saying a word, but Joe and I both knew peace rode with us after all these years. We didn't turn any cartwheels or shout for joy or offer congratulations. We just set about to enjoy calm, normal living which we had not had for thirty years.
It was Hettie and Ida who did the celebrating. They burned my old petticoat and old underwear; then Hettie dressed in her best went down to the druggist to return the last batch of opium. She walked in, plunked down the package and said in her calm, ladylike manner, "We won't be needing this any more. The cure has been taken."
The druggist astounded her by saying, "I'm glad to hear that, but would you mind telling me for whom you were buying this? Of course, we knew you weren't using it."
"How did you know?" asked Hettie in surprise.
"My gosh, lady!" You certainly don't look like a hop-head! They have dry, yellow skin like parchment, and their eyes are glazed all over by a film. Besides that, their lips twitch and their hands are never still."
Hettie said she felt so foolish. "For here I had been worrying about myself all these years."
In the meantime I was busy at home again trying to make my weak knees behave. It was six months before I could walk as fast as I wanted to. By that time I could do m y own housework, garden all I pleased, and sew me some decent clothes.
Of Course old friends and neighbors came calling right off the bat. The news had raveled fast, and folks wanted to see a cured dope fiend. One well meaning woman had to ask, "Mrs. JAB, do you desire to take the dope at ten o'clock any more?"
I shot back with, "Does a body want to go back to hell, once he has climbed out of it?" Then I saw I had spoken sharply, so I laughed and said, "Gracious me! With these five children of Della's around I don't have time to remember whether it's seven, ten or twelve o'clock." That left the lady grinning, but I did think her question was a little out of order.
Della was a widow now and had been for several years; so she saw no reason to take her children back to Wyoming, but she did want them in school; so after a good visit, she decided to move to Alamogordo. That made us very happy, for Wyoming seemed a long trip from our farm.
By 1913 I could see that Joe was getting to old to do farm work and take care of the few stock we had. We talked it over with the boys, and it wasn't hard to persuade Joe to sell the little farm- ranch and move to Alamogordo. He did ask one question that the boys had not figured on, "Whit will I do all day in a town?"
Tod said, "What would you like to do, Pa?"
"You really want to know? Well, it seems to me that little corner grocery store would be just the thing for me. Folks would drop in for a few things and maybe stop to pass the time o'day with me. I'd like that."
Joe got his grocery store, and we were making plans like two young kids just starting out. We sold all the stock but one cow and one pretty mare. The cow we had to have provided us with milk, and, of course the little mare had to be driven to a fancy buggy. The JABS were moving for the last time. CHAPTER 19 CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE JABS AS CITY FOLKS
I reckon country people may be more curious then city folks, but I wanted to know all about this town where we were going to spend the rest of our days. We knew Alamogordo was laid out by J. E. Eddy near 1895, and the El Paso and Southwestern railroad came out of El Paso through Tularosa, Carrizozo and Tucumcari, New Mexico. We had forgotten about the little item of water that bothered the founders of the town, but that problem was ironed out when the town finally received the water that bothered the founders of the town, but that problem had been ironed out when the town finally received the water rights to Alamo Springs.
When Cloudcroft, at the top of the summit, was established, we remembered that the lumber was shipped from there to sawmills in Alamogordo. Then, with a planing mill and a box factory established, Alamogordo was a boom.
Then came the panic of 1907, and Alamogordo, the town of the big cottonwoods, pulled its horns and settled down to a peaceful little town where folks could enjoy life as the lord intended. That's the way it was when we arrived and bought our pretty little home.
How I did enjoy all these modern conveniences! Imagine, running water right in your house, and some of us even had inside toilets, but "Chick Sales" were still the rule. We kept them pretty sanitary by pouring ashes down the holes. Flies don't like ashes.
Now don't get the idea that I didn't get homesick for the country, but I kept busy with my chickens, my flowers and vegetable garden, and it wasn't long until I got over that "cooped up" feeling.
One little mare, Jewel, was the home sick one. She would stand at the gate of her pen and paw against the lowest board until you'd find you were gritting your teeth. I told Joe to take her out to one of the friend's pastured and turn her loose. She had never been cooped up in her whole life, and though I might get over the feeling in time, poor Jewel never would.
It wasn't hard for me to adjust to city ways, for so many of the towns people were not strangers to me at all. Just a few blocks in any direction I could find some mountain people; The McNatt s, the Bradford s, the Clayton s, the McCommis to name a few. It was like a Fourth of July picnic when we met on the street.
I loved my church work, and I got a real joy out of it. It was so wonderful to be able to attend services every Sunday, both evening and day services, and even prayer meeting on Wednesday evenings. I tell you I wanted to make up for lost time.
As for Joe, he knew every man woman and child in the town in a few months. His store was a gathering place for all his old friends. Maybe his business wasn't so profitable financially, but it was a source of great happiness to good-natured Joe, who always wanted company, even when he was at work.
The years went by too fast, and it was 1915. Alamogordo was putting on its best big and tucker to celebrate our Golden Wedding Anniversary. Townspeople searched the local stores for gifts with a gold tinge, and in desperation some sent to El Paso for gifts.
The Alamogordo News blazed the headline "Alamogordo Couple Celebrated Fiftieth Anniversary." The Reverend Mr. Condor was asked to conduct the wedding ceremony again. I had a lovely new dress for the occasion of pearl grey crepe trimmed in real lace. Joe had a new dark suit, and folks told us we looked might fine.
You never saw so many gifts. It was like a wedding shower for some young couple starting out. We even got new spectacle cases with the gold brand on them. That JAB in gold looked mighty handsome and brought back some exciting days in our lives.
Guess what all the young people wanted us to do that evening. They begged for Indian stories, the details of our first wedding, and our move to New Mexico. It was very late when we and the rest of Alamogordo retired that evening. When we told the last guest goodbye. I turned to Joe with, "Did you ever have a getter time in your whole life?"
"If I ever did, I don't remember it!"
About the nicest thing that happened to us was when we received a letter from James Ernest Browning, the third son of Jack and Hettie's. He wanted to know if he could come stay with us that winter and finish high school. I got to the store as fast as I could to tell Joe the News.
Jack and Hettie and the five children had moved to Arizona, and Ernest was heartbroken to find there was no football team at Willcox. He liked his studies, but he love all sports; so he did a little planning of his own, and were we ever glad.
Ernest was actually taking his junior and senior work in one year, and that meant he really had to study. There were mountain of book reports for one thing. I vow, between us, Ernest and I had read ever available book in the high school before he left for home.
Of course Ernest taught me the fine points of football, and that was a good thing, for until he began explaining the game to me, it was one puzzle. All I could think of was a bunch of young bulls butting at each other down in the pasture. I got so I wouldn't have missed a game for anything, but I couldn't follow Ernest in the scramble. To confuse me more, there was Ernest Warren, about the same size as my Ernest, who played left end; Ernest played right end. What a mix-up!
My grandson solved that one in a hurry. He always wore different colored striped sock on his right leg. All I had to do, then, was to pick out that sock.
Such pleasures and happiness don't linger in a life too long, else we might just take them for granted. People were talking about some dark days ahead, and they were right. America entered World War I. It was an awful thing to see my grandsons and my neighbors' sons go off to war.
Joe and I talked about it a lot, and I'm sure he let me blow off steam at home so I'd keep my mouth shut in crowds. I guess I was a trial to some of the patriotic souls in our town, but I thought the war, all wars, were wrong, but I did concede that if this one taught America to mind its own business, there'd be some good to come out of it.
I couldn't get all stirred up with flags flying, bugles blowing and brass buttons shining. All I could think of were those fine young men fighting it out in the trenches.
When the war was at last over, I went right along with the neighbors to meet trains to welcome the boys whose lives had been spared. I didn't feel any less resentful when I saw one grandson and several friends come back to fight tuberculosis caused by gas. I was terribly concerned about the restlessness of our boys. I knew what they were going through. I had my war with opium, and when it was over, I had some adjusting to do myself.
I talked to one young lawyer who was back from the war, and he complained that he couldn't seem to find a place to light. I smiled at him, for I knew exactly what he meant, and I could talk his language. "Yes, I know. I couldn't find my place in the scheme of things, young fellow. It was just as if I'd played Rip Van Winkle for twenty years; then I was thrown back into a life which was very strange and unreal."
"You know, Grandma, you've helped me more than you will ever know. I didn't expect to find anybody back here at home who would understand."
"You young folks will come out of it in due time. You have youth on your side."
Joe and I watched the whole town change, and we knew all of America was changing with us. I was glad Joe listened to me so patiently, for I had several oration in my system. "Joe, I don't like this liquor and wild nights of dancing and carousing among these young people. I'm blaming the women. They're so glad to have their men back that they have gone hog wild! You know, they are smoking and drinking right along with their men, and they are going to pay for it. You'll see! The men will quiet down after a while, but the women will never be the same again."
"Land o'goshens! Angie, you sure do get worked up over things, don't you? But there's no harm as long as you just talk to me." Joe was smiling at me and closed this session with, "I like to see you all stirred up. You are as good as any show."
One afternoon I was hurrying home from a visit with "my boys" at the hospital and happened to brush a hand over my left eye. Believe me, I stopped quickly! The world was total darkness. I covered the eye again and the same results' then I started running toward home as fast as I could go. I was actually crying like a three year old.
Joe sat on the front porch reading the evening paper. He looked up in surprise when he saw me running, and as I got closer, he was up and coming toward me, "What is it, Angie?
"Oh, Joe! I'm blind in one eye!"
Joe sank down on the porch with a sigh of relief. "Well, you can see out of the other eye, can't you?"
"Well, don't be silly. You've probably been blind in that eye for years and never knew it. I guess you've got a cataract. You better go see Dr. Gilbert about it." Then Joe got up, sat in his chair and started reading again.
I just sat a bit to get over the shock; then I had to smile. Wasn't that just like a man? Here I was throwing a fit and about to die of self-pity, and here was Joe with just plain talking, in a common sense way, making me feel a little foolish. God certainly knew what he was doing when he made mad as he is and woman as she is. But I was such a long time finding this out!
Dr. Gilbert said Joe was right about my eye, and I could have the cataract removed when it had ripened; so I forgot about the loss of this pesky eye, got the lens for the other eye strengthened, and went on reading anything and everything that came my way. I did run onto a lot of Bible reference books about this time, and I really enjoyed studying these.
I never thought of myself as growing old, but by 1919 I could see that Joe was breaking fast. He took more and more time to dress and get to the store of mornings, and he hobbled home in the evenings too tired to enjoy his supper. One evening as we sat down to eat, I suggested something as casually as I could, "Joe, you haven't seen the children in a long time. Why don't you just sell the store and go visiting for a spell?
Joe's face brightened like a light. "I've been thinking of that. I'm glad you brought it up."
He had no trouble selling his store, but he rested a while before starting on his trip. Folks saw him sitting there on the; porch; all of them waved, and many stopped to pass the time of day.
One morning my Joe didn't get up, and when I went to call him, he said, "Angie, I think I'll postpone my trip for a while." That evening he called me to his bedside and said, "I'm ready to go now, Angie. You'll come as soon as you can, won't you? I'll be waiting.
I sat a while before I called our nearest neighbor. I just wanted to be alone with Joe. He looked so peaceful there. A good patient man had earned his rest. I would miss, most of all, his precious smile and happy laughter. CHAPTER 20 CHAPTER TWENTY
EVERY YEAR GETS SHORTER
My house seemed very large and very empty after my Joe was gone. Suddenly my thoughts turned to my Mettie, who was now a widow with a flock of children to look after. [see addendum] I knew she wanted them in school. Why not ask her to come live with me; then the children could enroll in our good school here in Alamogordo!
Was I ever glad when Mettie wrote they were on their way! It was like starting life all over again to watch these children grow up. I told Mettie this several times because I wanted her to know how pleased I was to have her here with me. She remarked that I might find them a little uppity at times and maybe a trifle independent, but she had hopes that they would tame down a little as they grew older and smarter.
I had the feeling that these children were going places and seeing things, and I wished with my whole heart that I could join the parade. I had to adjust myself to the flapper age, the lipstick, and the hardest of all, to women smokers. I made up my mind that I would be friends with this new generation by giving advice only when I was asked, and I'd cut cy tongue before I would say, "Now in my day......"
They got under my skin sometimes, like the time one of them came out with, "Gee whiz, Grandma, why do you bother to go out in this heat and listen to a lot of dry rot?" This youngster was actually puzzled that I should want to go to church on one of the hottest days of the year.
I shot back with, "Young man, have I ever belittled any of the places you go?"
"Excuse me, Grandma, I didn't mean it that way."
"That's all right, Sonny: just learn to live and let live. I like my life; you like yours. Let's don't crowd each other."
Mettie usually had to rush to the kitchen on some pretense when the children and I locked horns a little, so they wouldn't see her laughing. She said she was always betting on me, and she always said she was glad she had brought the children here because I was good for them, but it was actually the other way around--the children were very good for me.
In 1924 I got the nicest invitation from my oldest son, bob, and his Phronie. They had moved to Arkansas some years before and were now living near my birth place. This was my longest train ride, and I loved every minute of it. I found the porters and the passengers might nice to this old grandma. A smile take you a long, long way.
Bob and Phronie were so good to me. They took me in their car every day I was there; so we got well acquainted all over again with that part of Arkansas and into Missouri, my old stamping ground. The queerest to me was that I had imagined the towns would be miles apart. They certainly seemed that way to me as a child. Now we could ride fifteen miles and there would be another town. It didn't take long to get there in an automobile.
I did miss the trees' they have all been cut away to make more space for farms. It was easy, though, to picture my old home as it once was. I could imagine my big brothers rushing out the door to meet me.
Bob and Phronie asked so many questions about my childhood days, and in trying to remember little happenings, I had the feeling I was looking at myself from a long, long distance. Was there ever a real little girl called Angie McCarty? I was glad I went back to meet her again.
When I arrived from this long trip, Mettie and the children had to hear all the details. Here I was again, reliving my childhood, and I must say I had the most attentive audience. I guess their interest in bygone days gave me the idea to get out my best quilts and start sending them to daughters and daughter-in-laws. Imagine how I felt when the younger people called them "priceless heirlooms!"
I didn't have enough to give to the grand daughters, but I decided I's start on silk quilts for them. I was to find out in a hurry that my old gnarled hands had lost their cunning, and it was taking me much longer to finish quilts, but it was a good project, and it kept me very busy when there weren't sick people to visit, or books to read, or flowers to look after.
Then my eightieth birthday crept upon me, and I had my first surprise birthday party. The Methodist Missionary Society of Alamogordo gave the party for me. I never saw a larger birthday cake, and I received such pretty aprons and hankies and a box of new silk squares for my quilt making.
Someone told me that a "lady's" name should appear in print but three time: at her birth, her wedding and her funeral. Since I didn't have any newspapers around to report my birth and wedding days, I substituted my Golden Wedding day, and my eightieth surprise birthday party. Seems I could be forgiven for that.
Here it is 1931, and I must admit I am getting u in years. I know now what people mean when they say every year gets shorter. Seems I don't get turned around before I have to hunt up a new calender.
This trip to Arizona has been very rewarding. I enjoyed my visit with Hettie and Jack, and it was good to hear all about their five children--all of them out on their own, well and contented in their work.
So many friends have asked what I think about this "modern age." I'm like the rest of you; I want us to come out of this "Depression in one hurry. I guess none of us will forget the year 1929 when we saw hundreds of men "riding the rails," jumping off trains to get for food at our back doors. We're coming out of it slowly, but a man has to have a job that's important to him, else he rates himself not much above an animal.
You ask me to list some things that please me most, and that is not hard to do. To think that I should live to see some of my own granddaughters and the granddaughters of my mountain people become college graduates! Maybe a good rule says all women are to receive an education; then they will see to it that all their men are educated.
Another thing that makes me very proud and happy is that my grandsons have turned to ranching in several cases after they have earned the where-withal in other jobs and professions. I like to thing ranching is in their blood. Goodness knows! I get shocks and surprises when I see how ranching is done these days.
Look at Jerome Arrol (Mr. JAB) over there in Tehachapi, California. Can you believe he is raising purebred Herefords? I can tell you, the cows are bigger and fatter than the largest bulls we ever had.
I had to smile when Jerome wrote he was buying a ranch. He wrote "Grandma, this is a cattleman's paradise. You'll have to see it." How many times have I heard that during my lifetime?"
Ernest, Hettie and Jack's third son, has turned to another part of ranching. He is going to go far with horses. Did you know that he sent my Jack to Colorado to pick out the finest Quarter Horse Stallion he could find? I caught my breath when I got to see that horse. His name is Billy Byrne, and they said he has already won medals in horse shows. He's going far in Quarter Horse history. Wouldn't my Pa, Thomas McCarty, love all of this?
It seems you have to be part farmer, part cattleman, and a first-class mechanic to make a go of ranching these days. The sight of all those cars, trucks, engines, and pumps make me stare in pure amazement. Yes, times have changed, but there is one phase of ranching that has not changed at all.
There still have to be real cowboys who can ride and rope, and Hettie and Jack's second son, Archie, still shows the rest of them how it out to be done. My! It's good to see him sittin' in a saddle, and when he goes to whirling that rope, you know it's going to obey him. Happy-go- lucky, dare-devilish, easy smiling Archie--the spitting' image of my Joe.
This is about all I can wring out of me for your account of my life story. If you want to know the truth, I feel like I've undressed and left all my windows shades up. I never meant to tell of my sick, sad years, but I think the Lord intended that I tell everything. If this story should help any older person to give up dope or prevent any younger person from starting the habit, I would be very grateful to my Maker for giving me this opportunity.
I must get packed, now, and start toward home tomorrow. I do want to see Tod and Ida over on the Hondo, but I won't stay over a week or ten days, for I must get home and help Mettie get that fruit put up. Mettie's boy, Walter Lafferty, really likes my picked peaches. My! He's a good boy. Alamogordo is going to be very pleased with him. He's studying pharmacy, and one day he wants to own his own drug store. He'll make it.
Time to get to bed. Tomorrow is another day! Goodnight all.
EPILOGUE
Grandmother returned home on schedule and lived two more busy and cheerful years. She celebrated her eighty-fourth birthday. One morning she called Mettie to her bed and complained, "The old engine isn't hitting on all four right now; so I better rest in bed a while.
She lingered some weeks until many of her children gathered at her bedside. At intervals, she recognized all of them. Then her old heart decided it was time to call it a day. Mrs. JAB went peacefully to sleep.
ADDENDUM
In Chapter twenty, Where Mrs. JAB states that her daughter Mettie was a widow.
In 1922 New Mexico had a drought. Jim Lafferty along with others had a government contract to take cattle to Mexico and leased land and increased the herds for two years. Jim saw a way of supporting his family down there.
In the summer 1924 Jamettie and the children went to Mexico. They took the train to Hachita, New Mexico, where Jim met them with an open touring car and drove them to Casa De Piedras 80 miles south of Hachita, New Mexico. It is a very isolated place.
In the summer on 1924 it was just a large well fortified house, in a very large valley, a long way from anything. Jim had a cook and a housekeeper and promised to provide a teacher for the children. Jamettie was probably seeing a lot of disadvantages. No schools, no doctors, no stores, no one to visit with, no church and a language problem. Whatever may have been going on in the battle of keeping the family together in Mexico, Jamettie had a reason to leave and did. In August Edwin had an attack of appendicitis, so after three months in Mexico. Jamettie and the children returned to Alamogordo. Edwn received medical care he so badly needed. Mettie called herself a widow or told mother that she was a widow.
In fact Jim Lafferty chose to stay in Mexico where he felt he could make a better living. Because Mettie, his wife, did not return to Mexico to be with him. Years later Jim got a Mexican divorce and met someone else and had a daughter. Then in 1935 he married yet another young Mexican girl and had four more children, two died as infants. In 1942 when Jim's 3rd wife died after childbirth. He brought their two surviving children out of Mexico to San Diego where the Children were under the care of his sister-in-law.
In 1942 Mettie wrote to Jim asking him to return to her side in New Mexico. He stayed near his children in San Diego, California. Jim died in San Diego in 1955 he was 80. Mettie knew about his death from her children. Mettie died in El Paso Texas in 1971, she was 89. She never knew he had another family. At the time only two of her children knew. Ed found out in 1945 and Walter in 1954.
In 1979 I tracked down the surviving four children of Mettie and Jim.
When I attended Marley Lafferty 50 Anniversary, he made multiple copies of the MRS JAB Biography for all to have. He was told by Wanda he could do with it what he wanted and he told those he gave copies to that they could do with it what they wanted. The story is one that needs to be shared. To me "MRS JAB" is the image of a frontier woman who went with her man where few white men had gone before. She went from a having a good home back to starting all over again. She was truly the "Pioneering Woman."
Transcribed by Jim Lafferty's youngest child born in Mexico when Jim Lafferty was 67, her birth name is Maria Josefina Lafferty Lujan. Now known as Mary Lafferty Wilson

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From Ancestry.com

Death by Ballard Creek on Preston McCarty's Rancy; Buried on cliff on east side of a branch off Duck Creek, about 1000 feet north of east road crossing to old Goins Ranch house (now Glass Ranch).

Thomas married Sarah Eliza Jane LEFORS about 1845 in Marion County, Arkansas. Sarah was born on 4 Oct 1831 in Kentucky and died after 1857.

i. Janetta Angeline McCARTY was born on 4 Apr 1847 and died on 14 Dec 1931 at age 84.

31 ii. Catherine Cerilda "Cass" McCARTY (born on 10 Feb 1848 in Marion County, Arkansas, USA - died on 9 Apr 1900 in Fort Griffin, Shackelford County, Texas, USA)

iii. Ferwick Claxton "Dick" McCARTY was born on 20 Nov 1850 and died on 3 May 1908 at age 57.

Thomas next married Rebecca COMSTOCK? about 1825-1827. Rebecca was born about 1810 in Tennessee and died after 1860.

vii. Francis Marion McCARTY was born in 1838 and died in 1867 in Haskell County, Texas at age 29.

Thomas next married Rutha Wakefield GROGAN 17 Jun 1857 or 15 Sep 1857. Rutha was born about 1836 in Indiana and died from 1869 to 1870 near Fort Griffin, Shackelford County, Texas about age 33.

i. William McCARTY was born in 1859 in Texas and died on 1 May 1915 in Hot Springs, Sierra County, New Mexico at age 56.

ii. Erma Cordelia McCARTY was born on 1 Apr 1869 and died on 17 Feb 1957 at age 87.

Thomas next married Sara Elizabeth FARMER on 14 Nov 1874. Sara was born on 27 Feb 1849 in Jefferson County, Tennessee and died on 21 Sep 1917 near Afton, Dickens County, Texas at age 68.

General Notes: Notes from "Our Kin" book.

Sarah was the second wife of Thomas McCarty. She was about 29 years his junior. Her family was living in Taney County, Missouri in 1840 just across the state line from Marion County, Arkansas where Sarah and Thomas lived in 1850. In the mid 1850's she and Thomas were having difficulties and Thomas filed for a divorce in Benton County, Arkansas, but it was dismissed a year later in 1856. There is no further word about Sarah after march 1858 when she signed the deed to sell the farm in McDonald County, Missouri, For her part she received $1.00 and a $50.00 horse. (These records were filed in 1874 at the McDonald County Courthouse. Thomas probably filed them when he went back to Missouri after Rutha died. The date 1858 could be an error and should read 1857 the same as Thomas).

Sarah married Thomas J. McCARTY about 1845 in Marion County, Arkansas. Thomas was born in 1802 in , , Virginia, USA and died on 21 Dec 1884 in Glass Ranch, Dickens County, Texas at age 82.

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