Reed Anthony, Cowman

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Reed Anthony, Cowman

The Project Gutenberg eBook, Reed Anthony, Cowman, by Andy Adams
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Title: Reed Anthony, Cowman
Author: Andy Adams
Release Date: July 11, 2004 [eBook #12884]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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Editorial note: Randy Adams, the author of this book, wrote from first-hand experience. As a young man he spent 8 years traildriving cattle from Texas to markets in the 1880's and 1890's. Project Gutenberg's library contains several of his other books.

REED ANTHONY, COWMAN
An Autobiography
BY
ANDY ADAMS
1907

[Illustration: THE COWMAN]

TO
CAPTAIN JOHN T. LYTLE
SECRETARY OF
THE TEXAS CATTLE RAISERS' ASSOCIATION
FORT WORTH, TEXAS

CONTENTS
I. IN RETROSPECT II. MY APPRENTICESHIP III. A SECOND TRIP TO PORT SUMNER IV. A FATAL TRIP V. SUMMER OF '68 VI. SOWING WILD OATS VII. "THE ANGEL" VIII. THE "LAZY L" IX. THE SCHOOL OF EXPERIENCE X. THE PANIC OF '73 XI. A PROSPEROUS YEAR XII. CLEAR FORK AND SHENANDOAH XIII. THE CENTENNIAL YEAR XIV. ESTABLISHING A NEW RANCH XV. HARVEST HOME XVI. AN ACTIVE SUMMER XVII. FORESHADOWS XVIII. THE BEGINNING OF THE BOOM XIX. THE CHEYENNE AND ARAPAHOE CATTLE COMPANY XX. HOLDING THE FORT XXI. THE FRUITS OF CONSPIRACY XXII. IN CONCLUSION
CHAPTER I
IN RETROSPECT
I can truthfully say that my entire life has been spent with cattle. Even during my four years' service in the Confederate army, the greater portion was spent with the commissary department, in charge of its beef supplies. I was wounded early in the second year of the war and disabled as a soldier, but rather than remain at home I accepted a menial position under a quartermaster. Those were strenuous times. During Lee's invasion of Pennsylvania we followed in the wake of the army with over a thousand cattle, and after Gettysburg we led the retreat with double that number. Near the close of the war we frequently had no cattle to hold, and I became little more than a camp-follower.
I was born in the Shenandoah Valley, northern Virginia, May 3, 1840. My father was a thrifty planter and stockman, owned a few slaves, and as early as I can remember fed cattle every winter for the eastern markets. Grandfather Anthony, who died before I was born, was a Scotchman who had emigrated to the Old Dominion at an early day, and acquired several large tracts of land on an affluent of the Shenandoah. On my paternal side I never knew any of my ancestors, but have good cause to believe they were adventurers. My mother's maiden name was Reed; she was of a gentle family, who were able to trace their forbears beyond the colonial days, even to the gentry of England. Generations of good birth were reflected in my mother; and across a rough and eventful life I can distinctly remember the refinement of her manners, her courtesy to guests, her kindness to child and slave.
My boyhood days were happy ones. I attended a subscription school several miles from home, riding back and forth on a pony. The studies were elementary, and though I never distinguished myself in my classes, I was always ready to race my pony, and never refused to play truant when the swimming was good. Evidently my father never intended any of his boys for a professional career, though it was an earnest hope of my mother that all of us should receive a college education. My elder brother and I early developed business instincts, buying calves and accompanying our father on his trading expeditions. Once during a vacation, when we were about twelve and ten years old, both of us crossed the mountains with him into what is now West Virginia, where he bought about two hundred young steers and drove them back to our home in the valley. I must have been blessed with an unfailing memory; over fifty years have passed since that, my first trip from home, yet I remember it vividly--can recall conversations between my father and the sellers as they haggled over the cattle. I remember the money, gold and silver, with which to pay for the steers, was carried by my father in ordinary saddle-bags thrown across his saddle. As occasion demanded, frequently the funds were carried by a negro man of ours, and at night, when among acquaintances, the heavy saddle-bags were thrown into a corner, every one aware of their contents.
But the great event of my boyhood was a trip to Baltimore. There was no railroad at the time, and as that was our market for fat cattle, it was necessary to drive the entire way. My