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 Brownings 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 too lonely and monotonous for them; so it was up to me to cook 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 at 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 brought 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, ‘Point, and that will tell me the way to go,' but that ain't the way he got it out. He said, ‘Pint! 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 champion 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 they 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 in to 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 supper, had regular romps 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 too 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 be 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, "Shoot, 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 tahnkful 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 lay 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 in 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.