The Mammoth Book of the West

by Jon E. Lewis

  The matter might have ended there, except that a youthful watching stranger pulled a gun and began blazing away at the Texans. (The gunfighter would never be positively identified, although a contemporary poem by Theodore F. Price would name him as a consumptive friend of McCluskie’s called Riley.) A pitched battle ensued. Bystanders screamed and dived for the floor. Someone hurled a chair at the lights, and orange flashes of gunshot glowed in the darkness.

  The shooting lasted for a bare minute, petering out in the uncertainty of the dark and the cries of the wounded. When the lights were turned on they revealed a scene of carnage.

  Hugh Anderson was writhing and moaning in a pool of his own blood. Three of his trail crew – Jim Martin, Billy Garrett, Henry Kearns – were dead. Another hand, Jim Wilkerson, was badly wounded. A railwayman, Pat Lee, was mortally shot through the stomach. The “Avenging Nemesis” had disappeared.

  On his arrival the marshal, Tom Carson, moved to arrest the surviving members of Anderson’s crew, but the Texans gathered in an armed knot. Something like a street riot threatened to break out, and the marshal withdrew.

  At eight o’clock the next morning Hugh Anderson was found guilty of murder of Mike McCluskie by a Newton coroner’s jury. But before he could be arrested the wounded man was hidden by friends in the washroom of a train and taken away. He survived his injuries but would be killed three years later in a fight at Medicine Lodge, Kansas, by a man said to be Mike McCluskie’s brother.

  The “General Massacre” did not end Newton’s summer of violence. The dance-hall owner Rowdy Joe Lowe killed Jim Sweet in a street fight. Buffalo hunter Cherokee Dan Hicks fell to a bullet from the revolver of Harry Lovett, after Hicks had shot up the nude frieze in Lovett’s saloon. At this the marshal, Tom Carson, a nephew of the trapper Kit Carson, resigned his post. Newton was getting too hot. Captain King took over, until he was killed by a man whose name has only come down to us as Edwards.

  Something of the violence which plagued Newton, and the other Kansas cattle towns, had its bitter roots in the Civil War. The Texan cowboys came north with resentment in their hearts. Some still wore items of their distinctive Rebel grey uniforms. As Teddy Blue Abbott explained it:

  Most of them that came up with the trail herds, being from Texas and southerners to start with, was on the side of the South, and oh, but they were bitter. That was how a lot of them got killed, because they wouldn’t let an abolitionist arrest them. The marshals in these cow towns were usually northern men, and the Southerns wouldn’t go back to Texas and hear people say: “He’s a hell of a fellow. He let a Yankee lock him up.” Down home one Texas Ranger could arrest the lot of them, but up North, you’d have to kill them first.

  As Abbott observed, many of the lawmen who would ply their trade in the tough Kansas cattle towns were Northerners: Bat Masterson, Wild Bill Hickok, Captain King, and Tom Smith, among them. The unfinished business of the Civil War would be finished by these men and the towns who employed them, the means by which the wild, unreconstructed Rebels would be incorporated into the civilizing Union. A dividing line of blood would run between Southern outlaws and Northern peacekeepers throughout the history of the Wild West.

  “Oh, To Be a Cowboy”

  We deem it hardly necessary to say . . . that the cowboy is a fearless animal. A man wanting in courage would be as much out of place in a cow-camp, as a fish on dry land. Indeed the life he is daily compelled to lead calls for the existence of the highest degree of cool calculating courage.

  Texas Live Stock Journal, 1882

  The life of the cowpuncher consisted of more than driving cattle to market and “hellin’ round” in town. There were all the chores of ranch work to be done, which were never ending. Working cattle was some of the hardest work under the West’s sky. There were horses to be broken, steers to be doctored for screwworm, stuck cattle to be pulled out of bogs, and rustlers to be watched for. Sometimes the work was perilous, usually it was unglamorous, and it was always poorly paid. Above all it was a job for the young. The typical cow waddy was aged between 17 and 28.

  The Round-Up

  In the cycle of ranch work, the round-up (in Spanish, rodeo) was the central event. It was the time when the stock was inventoried, branded and sorted. The main round-up – which might take upwards of three months – was held in the late spring, just as the grass was turning green, with a smaller “gather” in the fall. Whenever it was held, the round-up proceeded in a standard fashion.

  The first duty of the cowboy was to ride over a given area of range and flush the cattle out of chaparral, draws and other hiding places, and drive them bawling back to the round-up site. The area of the round-up might cover as much as 4,000 square miles, and involve 10,000 cattle. It was the cowboy’s job to sweep the range clean.

  When the cattle were finally gathered in the main corrals, the tasks of “cutting out” and branding began. Cattle were “cut out” or sorted for several purposes: to brand unmarked calves, to select the best stock for market, or because they belonged to another ranch. When the animal to be separated had been identified, the cowboy would chase the dodging calf or steer and finally rope it, either by looping the lariat over the animal’s head or by “heel roping” it. Cutting out required considerable horsemanship, together with a special pony, one which almost instinctively understood what was demanded of it. It made for a great spectacle. The artist Frederic Remington vividly described cutting out at a round-up in the 1880s, which was held in Mexico but could have been anywhere on the North American continent:

  You see a figure dash about at full speed through an apparently impenetrable mass of cattle; the stock becomes uneasy and moves about, gradually beginning the milling process, but the men select the cattle bearing their brand, and course them through the herd; all becomes confusion, and the cattle seek to escape from the ever-recurring horsemen. Here one sees the matchless horsemanship of the punchers. Their little ponies, trained to the business, respond to the slightest pressure.

  Roping had its dangers, as well as its satisfactions. A steer which suddenly pulled on a rope could topple rider and horse. Fingers misplaced on a saddle horn could be cut off by a tightening lariat. The rope tricks of the show cowboys were merely by-products of the skilful efforts of real punchers to avoid injury.

  When a calf was roped it was dragged towards the branding irons, which were heated in a long pit. In a number of states, Texas among them, the branding was done in a corral, a legal requirement to prevent the quick, illegal branding by rustlers on the open range. At the fire, one “flanker” grabbed the calf by the head, another by its tail, and the calf was thrown down. The brander then stamped the animal’s flank with the sizzling iron. A tally sheet kept a record of the work done.

  Branding, the heraldry of the range, was another cow country convention which came from the Spanish. When Hernando Cortes the conquistador settled down to become a Mexican ranchero he branded his cattle with three Christian crosses. The first brands in America tended to be initials of the owner, Richard H. Chisholm (HC) of Gonzales, Texas, entering his brand before the Alamo siege of 1836. Such simple brands, however, were easily changed by the rustler’s “running iron” (or, better still, his heated wire). In only seconds, an artistic cattle thief could change a “C” to an “O”, a “V” to a “W”. To forestall this, brand designs became more exotic. Rancher Burk Bennett had “Four Sixes”, W. E. Jackson a “Too Hot” (2HOT), and Cabler & Mathis a “Keno” (a NO with a key on top). The famous XIT brand stood for “Ten in Texas”, so called because the huge ranch took in parts of ten Texas counties. Some of the bigger ranches did not bother with complicated brands, relying instead on their size and reputation to keep away rustlers. The giant ranch of Captain Richard King – who once tried to develop a method of meat preservation based on injecting cows with brine – relied on a minimalist “Running W”, the Matador company a “Flying V”. John Chisum, who would figure peripherally in the story of Billy the Kid, had a “Long Rail” (a dash), alt
hough he also cut his steer’s ears in a “jingle-bob” for additional identification.

  Unbranded cattle were known as “mavericks” after the absentee Texas owner, Colonel Samuel A. Maverick. In 1847 Maverick had taken 400 Longhorn cattle as payment for a debt, and driven them to his ranch on the Matagorda Peninsula. His duties as an attorney kept him in San Antonio, and the cattle ran free and multiplied. Many of these wild, unbranded cows strayed onto the mainland. When their ownership was inquired of, people would answer “They’re Maverick’s”. Since they were stray and unmarked, other cattlemen rounded them up and branded them. Henceforth, any adult unbranded range cow became known as a maverick.

  If the calf the flankers were holding down for branding was male, the cowboy took the opportunity of castrating it with a knife. Castration or “steering” added weight to the animal and made it more docile. The wound caused, however, often became infected by blowfly, the worms of which would eventually cause the animal to die. Branding was also the time when the wounds of previously castrated cattle might be treated with some crude ointment. Another job most conveniently done at round-up time was dehorning, whereby cattle whose horns had become so sharp or long that they were a danger to man and cow were reduced to a stump.

  After the big spring round-up, around two thirds of the hands would be laid off. A favoured few would be retained and assigned jobs around the ranch, or detailed to drive the beeves to market. The work of the cowboy was sharply seasonal. Unemployed hands “rode the grub line”, drifting from ranch to ranch in the hope of a free meal. Some hunted wild game to survive, others took odd jobs. The average cowboy probably worked only five months a year at his chosen occupation.

  As well as the season for round-up, spring was also the time for the breaking of wild horses to the saddle. Much of the breaking was done by professional “bronc peelers”, who would work around six to eight horses a day. The expertise of the peelers earned them higher wages than the cow waddy. Typically, a peeler would earn $5 for each bronc “busted”. Every peeler would have his individual technique, but the standard method of breaking a wild horse was to corral it and rope it. A blindfold would be attached, since a blinded horse would usually stand still while the single cinch saddle and a rawhide hackamore were put on. The hackamore (from the Spanish jaquima) had an adjustable nosepiece; when pulled it would smother the horse, making it possible to be controlled. After the peeler mounted the horse, twisting its ear to distract it, the animal would buck and roll. To bring it under man’s dominion, the peeler would pull on the hackamore, and whip it with his quirt. A yellow slicker (coat) would be waved around the horse’s face to accustom it to flapping objects.

  Eventually, the animal, exhausted and fearful, would quit bucking. If necessary, these steps would be repeated for several days, either by the peeler or by an ordinary cowboy. All cow hands tried their luck at broncbusting, for the law of the range had it that “There ain’t no hoss that can’t be rode; there ain’t no man that can’t be throwed.”

  Broncbustíng took a hard toll of the rider as well as the horse. It strained the neck, spine and abdomen, and the constant jarring could make the cowboy bleed from his ears and mouth. A “sun-fisher”, a high-bucking horse, could throw him, breaking his bones. A horse which rolled could crush him. More than one peeler died breaking a horse.

  Life on the Range

  With the excitements of spring over, the cowboy’s life settled down for months of hard, routine chores. Fences had to be mended, and hands had to “ride bog” – free animals trapped in the bogs created by spring rains. Bulls were taken to the ranges for mating, and in Texas cowboys checked cattle for screwworm. From the 1880s ranchers began growing hay, and cowboys – although they had a prejudice against any labour which smacked of farming – were obliged to spend weeks in summer haying. As fall chilled the air, there was another round-up, and on the northern ranges beeves were driven to market. More hands lost their paychecks, with the rancher keeping only a skeleton crew for winter. One Texan cowboy, who worked the Nebraska range, remembered that those kept on during winter “chopped and hauled logs, corral poles, posts; they built barns, houses, ice-houses, corrals or anything the foreman ordered done. The Texas Puncher was always sighing for spring.” Some cowboys took on the loneliest job of all, line-riding. Either alone or with a partner, the line-rider patrolled the boundary of spreads too large to be overseen from the main ranch. Every day he ventured out from a line camp (a primitive hut) to round up stray cattle, kill predators, and to do any other job necessary to protect the cattle and land.

  Range life was harsh. The cowboy lived in the saddle for days on end, rode in blizzard and heatwave, and was lucky to eat one good meal a day. The ranch bunkhouse he bedded down in was often a sod hut sunk into a hillside, sometimes a log cabin, its walls covered in newspaper to keep out winter winds. In summer the bunkhouse would crawl with lice and bedbugs, and snakes and rats would be attracted inside by the shade. To while away the boredom of the evenings, the cowhands would read, compose ditties, play practical jokes, and tell tall tales. The cowboy’s evening, like the rest of his day, was often hedged by the petty restrictions of the ranch owner. Charles Goodnight even forbade the game of mumblety-peg on his spread, while many banned liquor, gambling and swearing. R. G. Head, of the Prairie Cattle Company, occasionally sent circulars to his hands reminding them of their moral responsibilities.

  For all this the cowboy was paid between $25 and $50 a month. Most cowboys accumulated nothing beyond the clothes on their back and their saddles; they did not even own the horse they rode. Occasionally the exploited cowboy banded together with his fellow cow workers to improve his lot. In March 1883 Panhandle cowboys from the LX, LIT and LS ranches went on strike. They drew up a charter which declared: “We, the undersigned cowboys of the Canadian River, do by these presents, agree to bind ourselves into the following obligation, viz: First, that we will not work for less than $50 a month . . .” The strike failed, and most went back at their old pay rate of $25 per month. Three years later, 80 cowboys formed the Northern New Mexico Small Cattlemen and Cowboys’ Union, resolving that “the working season of the average cowboy is only about five months, and we think it nothing but justice that the cowmen should give us wages the year around.” Many cowboys joined the Knights of Labor union.

  These and other attempts at unionization failed. Stockmen’s associations blacklisted union cowboys, while striking hands were easily replaced. And cowboys generally worked lonesome, scattered lives, which made meetings and communication difficult. There was some truth, too, in the hallowed independence of the cowboy, a vein of self-reliance which cut against the collective ethos.

  Yet, despite the poverty, the bone-breaking toil, the patronizing attitude of ranchers, for thousands of young men there was something yearningly attractive about a life in the saddle. Those who had fought for the Confederacy wanted a fresh beginning in the West, as did many Union veterans. Farmboys and city boys hoped to escape their humdrum lives, and a surprising number of cowboys were Englishmen and Scotsmen from noble families – known as “remittance men”, after the money they received from home – desiring romance. Filling out the ranks were Mexicans and Blacks. Racial barriers tended to prevent African–Americans and Hispanics rising to positions of authority on the ranch, although there were exceptions. When Bose Ikard, Charles Goodnight’s African-American top hand died, Goodnight erected a marker: “BOSE IKARD: Served with me for years on the Goodnight–Loving Trail, never shirked a duty, or disobeyed an order, rode with me in many stampedes, participated in three engagements with the Comanche, splendid behaviour. Charles Goodnight.” Another legendary Black cowboy was Bob Lemmons, who was known for his ability to “walk down” wild horses by pretending that he was one of them. Bill Pickett and Nat Love both found fame as rodeo stars. Prevented from becoming foremen or trail bosses, a number of Black cowboys managed to save their wages and set up as independents, even becoming prosperous, like Texans Daniel “80 John” Wallace, an
d Jess Pickett.

  As it was with African-Americans, so it was with Hispanics – but worse. Vaqueros made up something like 10 per cent of the West’s cowboys, but despite their reputation as superior horsemen they were seldom foremen. Even the King Ranch of Texas, which employed a high proportion of vaqueros, hired only caucasian foremen. Unlike Blacks, vaqueros were paid a lower wage than Anglo cowboys, typically receiving half the latter’s pay packet.

  Women cowpunchers were a rare sight, since frontier society did not consider ranch work to be “ladylike”. To ride astride was considered scandalous. Those women who did work the range were female relatives of the ranch owner, helping out on the family spread. A few, on the death of their husbands, took over the ranch themselves, the most extraordinary of them being Mrs E. J. Guerin (“Mountain Charlie”), who passed as a man for 13 years in order to support her child after her husband died, and once drove a herd of cattle to California.

  Probably the only salaried cowgirl in the nineteenth-century West was Middy Morgan, an Irish immigrant who wandered to Montana. There her cattle expertise impressed a local rancher who hired her as a hand, then admitted her to partnership on the ranch. In the “bonanza years” of the early 1880s, Middy Morgan advised several British-financed ranches. She caught the eye of The North British Agriculturalist, who described her in detail in its June 1880 issue:

  At every fair or market may she be seen, with broad-brimmed hat tied down beneath her chin by a bandanna handkerchief, a thick frieze coat with many capes, short skirt, ingeniously gathered into high leather boots, something like knicker-bocker costume. With a long cowhide whip in hand, wending her way with skill between the droves, now stooping low to examine the hoofs, now standing on tiptoe to examine the head of the beast brought to her for valuation; and so great is the reliance placed by farmers on her judgement in these matters, that none would ever seek to cheapen the animal after Middy Morgan has pronounced her verdict.