Reed Anthony, Cowman | Page 7

considered as well as comfort, and was surrounded
by fine cornfields. The only drawback I could see there was that there
was no market for anything, nor was there any money in the country.
The consumption of such a ranch made no impression on the increase
of its herds, which grew to maturity with no demand for the surplus.
I soon became impatient to do something. George Edwards had
likewise lost four years in the army, and was as restless as myself. He
knew the country, but the only employment in sight for us was as
teamsters with outfits, freighting government supplies to Fort Griffin. I
should have jumped at the chance of driving oxen, for I was anxious to
stay in the country, and suggested to George that we ride up to Griffin.
But the family interposed, assuring us that there was no occasion for

engaging in such menial work, and we folded our arms obediently, or
rode the range under the pretense of looking after the cattle. I might as
well admit right here that my anxiety to get away from the Edwards
ranch was fostered by the presence of several sisters of my former
comrade. Miss Gertrude was only four years my junior, a very
dangerous age, and in spite of all resolutions to the contrary, I felt
myself constantly slipping. Nothing but my poverty and the
hopelessness of it kept me from falling desperately in love.
But a temporary relief came during the latter part of May. Reports came
down the river that a firm of drovers were putting up a herd of cattle for
delivery at Fort Sumner, New Mexico. Their headquarters were at
Belknap, a long day's ride above, on the Brazos; and immediately, on
receipt of the news, George and I saddled, and started up the river. The
elder Edwards was very anxious to sell his beef-cattle and a surplus of
cow-horses, and we were commissioned to offer them to the drovers at
prevailing prices. On arriving at Belknap we met the pioneer drover of
Texas, Oliver Loving, of the firm of Loving & Goodnight, but were
disappointed to learn that the offerings in making up the herd were
treble the drover's requirements; neither was there any chance to sell
horses. But an application for work met with more favor. Mr. Loving
warned us of the nature of the country, the dangers to be encountered,
all of which we waived, and were accordingly employed at forty dollars
a month in gold. The herd was to start early in June. George Edwards
returned home to report, but I was immediately put to work, as the
junior member of the firm was then out receiving cattle. They had
established a camp, and at the time of our employment were gathering
beef steers in Loving's brand and holding the herd as it arrived, so that I
was initiated into my duties at once.
I was allowed to retain my horse, provided he did his share of the work.
A mule and three range horses were also allotted to me, and I was
cautioned about their care. There were a number of saddle mules in the
remuda, and Mr. Loving explained that the route was through a dry
country, and that experience had taught him that a mule could
withstand thirst longer than a horse. I was a new man in the country,
and absorbed every word and idea as a sponge does water. With the

exception of roping, I made a hand from the start. The outfit treated me
courteously, there was no concealment of my past occupation, and I
soon had the friendship of every man in the camp. It was some little
time before I met the junior partner, Charlie Goodnight, a strapping
young fellow of about thirty, who had served all through the war in the
frontier battalion of Texas Rangers. The Comanche Indians had been a
constant menace on the western frontier of the State, and during the
rebellion had allied themselves with the Federal side, and harassed the
settlements along the border. It required a regiment of mounted men to
patrol the frontier from Red River to the coast, as the Comanches
claimed the whole western half of the State as their hunting grounds.
Early in June the herd began to assume its required numbers. George
Edwards returned, and we naturally became bunkies, sharing our
blankets and having the same guard on night-herd. The drovers
encouraged all the men employed to bring along their firearms, and
when we were ready to start the camp looked like an arsenal. I had a
six-shooter, and my bunkie brought me a needle-gun from the ranch, so
that I felt armed for any emergency. Each of the men had a rifle of
some make or other, while