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 head 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 bet 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 and our 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 harm 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.
The 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 on 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 walked 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 too 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 too 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 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. Next 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 too 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 Della 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.
In 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 was 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 I wouldn't be having a dozen children. I was getting close, but I couldn't spare a one of mine, yet I thought Diame and Della ought 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]
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