CHAPTER NINE
TWO GOOD MEN WITH GUNS

Joe and I were so pleased when Marion and his Geriah built a large house 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 most 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 within 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 the 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 too 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 too well through my tears. I learned then what that part of the wedding ceremony meant which says, "Forsaking all other, until death do you 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 girls could each have a corner to sleep. I had a chair 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 too 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 hate 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 many 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 head 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 I 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 pork 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 shower 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 awoke the whole bunch by declaring in a loud voice, "I can stand pure rain water, but not water dripping off pork. 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 was 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 short while peace was restored, and Old Henry had settled down for another nap. My Joe simply could not contain himself; this was too 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 was 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 too 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.