TX BIOS:  Troy B. Cowan
   Selected and converted.American Memory, Library of Congress.
   
   Washington, 1994.
   
   Preceding element provides place and date of transcription only.
   
   This transcription intended to be 99.95% accurate.
   
   For more information about this text and this American Memory
   collection, refer to accompanying matter.
   
   U.S. Work Projects Administration, Federal Writers' Project (Folklore
   Project, Life Histories, 1936-39); Manuscript Division, Library of
   Congress.Copyright status not determined.
   
   00011
   
   [?] [?] - Range lore
   
   Phipps, Woody
   
   Rangelore
   
   Tarrant Co., Dist. #7
   
   Page #1
   
   FEC
   
   Troy B. Cowan, 59, was born on his father's 'CAS' ranch, in [Erath?]
   co., Tex., Aug. 1, [1878?]. He leanred to ride early, and was employed
   on three trail drives from Anderson co. to West Texas counties, in
   1884, '86 and '92. Following the drive in 1891, his father established
   a ranch in [Lynn co.?] Until 1910 the ranch consisted of four
   sections, at which time it was out into homesteads and rented to
   farmers. Cowan was never employed by another ranch, but remained with
   his father until his death in 1936, at which time he inherited the
   property. He now resides in Lubbock, Tex. His story:
   
   "Well, I reckon I've rode the range! In fact, I believe I even hit the
   trail younger than most anyone else in history. I had just turned six
   when my dad took me on a trail drive from Anderson county, in East
   Texas, to the Panhandle.
   
   "To start at the beginning, I was born August 1, 1878, on my dad's
   '[GAS?]' ranch in [rath?] county. He run from 100 to 1,000 in that
   iron. The difference come about an account of him being such a dealer.
   He'd sell, trade, or buy, at the drop of a hat. About the only thing I
   recollect about the [rath?] county ranch was me learning to ride a
   hoss. They worked with me 'til I could ride pretty good. I could ride
   as good as the baby rider they had here in the Stock Show. I believe
   his name was Kidd; and he'd been riding since he was three years old -
   riding in a wild West show.
   
   "I could ride good enough that, when I was six, my dad took me and
   went to Anderson county, where he bought around 1,500 three and
   four-year-old steers, he took on some cowpokes, and we started West
   with the herd. Of course, I didn't do any night riding, nor roping.
   The only thing I done on the drive was to hustle the stranglers and
   help keep the herd together.
   
     NOTE: C12 - 2/[?]/41 - Texas
     
   00027That's an important thing on any cattle drive, and keeps the
   cowpokes busy doing it.
   
   "Since I was so young, I can't recall any names of rivers, counties,
   or anything else. I do recall, however, crossing a lot of rivers,
   creeks, and so on. You see, this drive was in the Fall and all the
   rivers and creeks were up. We'd drive to find a place to ford them
   before we crossed them. If a ford couldn't be found, then we'd make
   the herd swim it. Dad never did like to make his critters swim,
   because there was quite a bit of danger in losing some of them. That
   first drive, though, never lost a head, and we run it clear to Haskell
   county.
   
   "When we got to Haskell county, there wasn't but one fence in the
   whole county. It was a drift fence and run along the south and east
   sides of the county. We tried to fence up some acreage for winter
   holding, but failed. Dad fenced two sections; and any time anybody
   wanted to go through, they just stomped the fence down. You see,
   they'd been used to going in a straight line to wherever they'd
   started, so when they come to dad's little old fence they'd have their
   hosses push on the fence posts 'til they got a little weak and bent
   over, then they'd tear them down.
   
   "The rest of that country was open everywhere. In fact, I don't recall
   but two other herds of cattle in there, and they belonged to two big
   outfits. One was the '[W?] Cross', made like this: . The other was
   called the 'Flooey De [Mustard?]', the iron made like this:
   
   "Now, we never did see the owners of these outfits, and I don't know
   that I ever did hear who they were. I just don't recall 00033it, if I
   did. We did all pitch together, though, when we went on roundups. The
   men from both outfits come and we all went together, rounded all tue
   cattle together into one holding spot, then cut out what belonged to
   each other, and drove them to our headquarters. Of the two outfits
   there, the Flooey De [Mustard?] was the biggest, because there were
   thousands of them there.
   
   "We all followed the same practice of branding in the Spring and
   selling in the Fall. Because dad never did establish him a
   headquarters, with buildings and all, he was called a 'Stray Rancher'.
   
   "The middle of '86, or sometime along in the Summer of '86, dad sold
   his cattle to some fellow by the name of Jeff [Bewdry?], and we went
   back to Anderson county. This time, though, we went back to Erath
   county and got the rest of the family. I had three sisters, Lula,
   Bertie and Annie. They could all ride and rope, and dad just brougat
   them along. My mother died while we were in Haskell county and was
   buried before we got word of it, because in those times there was no
   mail, telegraph, telephone, nor anything else for a man that didn't
   establish a place for himself near a place where he could get mail.
   
   "When we got to Anderson county, dad made the rounds, made his deals,
   then we rounded up the cattle we were to drive west. I don't know
   whether he knowed where he was going with the herd or not. I don't
   believe dad did know, though. I just believe he had it in mind that
   he's settle on some place of land that looked good to him, when he
   came to it. Now, that's how plentiful land was in them days.
   
   "I don't recall the brands dad bought from in Anderson county 00044but
   I do know that he road branded every head with a '3'. You see,whatever
   brand the cattle had before he'd brand a '3' right along with them,
   and that way people'd know they were his.
   
   "This time, we took a little different route and, in about four weeks,
   we [landed?] the herd in Borden county. That was certainly the most
   God-for-saken county ever I saw when we got there. No neighbors for
   miles and miles. You'd hardly see a stranger a month. That was how
   unsettled Borden county was, then. There was wild game a-plenty
   everywhere. Prairie chickens, which are now out of existence, were so
   plentiful then that they were a pest. They flew in big flocks, like
   wild geese.
   
   "After a couple of years, though, other cattlemen began to drive their
   cattle in, and the country began to settle up. [Dad?] never did like
   to have so many other cattle in with his stock, and it wasn't so long
   'til he sold out to some man that wanted to go into the Territory.
   
   "[We?] made another trip then, back to Anderson county, and dad bought
   another herd. This time, though, he got 3,000 head, and we drove it
   back on about the same route we used going into Borden county. My
   sisters took a big hand in this drive, and I stood night herd with the
   rest just an I was supposed to do. I was about 13, then, and rode and
   roped with the rest of the cowpokes.
   
   "While my sisters rode and roped with us, they done all the cooking,
   so they really didn't take as big a hand an they could've if they'd
   been allowed away from the cooking end of things.
   
   "Somewhere along in Eastland county, I was standing night herd, and
   the night was actually black as pitch. You couldn't see your hand, it
   was so dark. I have a good [picture?] of that 00055night, as I rode
   along about 25 foot away from the herd, singing to the cattle to keep
   them quiet. Then, all of a sudden, the herd jumped up and started
   running right towards me. But a sound had I heard---nothing.
   
   "You know, in a stampede, there's always something to start the herd
   to running, some kind of a noise. This time, it wasn't raining, nor
   anything else. Everything was just as quiet as could be, then this
   herd just jumps up and starts running. Things could have been better
   for me if they'd have started some other way, but they run towards me.
   At first, I turned my hoss and tried to ride away from the herd, but
   then my better sense got the upper hand, and I turned around and tried
   to find the leaders of the stomp. I finally, after letting the front
   of the herd come alongside me, singled out a couple of the leaders,
   and went to one of them and started to pushing and slapping him with
   my rope. Pretty soon, he turned a little to get away from that rope,
   and then some more.
   
   "The result was that he [started?] a mill, but the night was so dark
   that the most of the herd just ran on by. Those that I got into a mill
   finally run down, then laid down to rest. The next morning, we started
   out to round up the ones that had got away. We were four days rounding
   up all we could find, and when the tally was made there were more than
   40 head missing [that?] we never did get.
   
   "We stayed right there on that spot for a week, looking for the rest
   of them, then moved on. We wound up in Howard county. and dad made his
   headquarters right by the old Tahoka Lake Trail. You see, there were
   no roads anywhere in that part of the country in them days. If you
   wanted to go somewhere, and wanted something to guide you, you took a
   cattle trail. They all had names, and 00066this one was the one
   ranchers used to get up into the deep Panhandle. It led right by
   Tahoka Lake.
   
   "Them cattle trails looked right queer after you'd seen roads other
   people used. You see, no matter how big a herd you had, nearly all the
   cattle followed a leader, and that made a lot of trails right
   together. Now, any number of herds on the trail drive passed by our
   place. There'd be from 2,000 to 5,000 head in the drive, and they'd
   make from 200 to 300 separate trails, or paths, right together where
   the they'd followed a leader. I'm sure you've seen cow trails in a
   pasture. Well, just picture 300 of [them?] going the same way. That's
   the old trail drives for you.
   
   "I don't recall the year, but a couple of years later, we moved to
   Lynn county; and dad established a regular ranch with buildings,
   barns, corrals, and everything he needed. He proved up four sections
   of land, and made it his own. The rest of his grazing, he rented.
   
   "Along about 1910, he cut his place up into homesteads and rented them
   out to tenants. That finished the ranching business for him. And, it
   wasn't so long 'til the rest of the ranchers followed suit and done
   the same. Today, there's only three ranches in Lynn county and they're
   not wholly in Lynn either. Just a part of them.
   
   "Now there's the 'T" ranch, owned by [C.C. Edwards??] of Fort Worth. I
   reckon there's 140 sections in his spread. The 'Spade', better known
   as the 'Yellowhouse Ranch', has a part of its ranch in Lynn, and the
   'S' ranch. The 'S' spread was owned by C.C. Slaughter, but his heirs
   have it now. The iron is a lazy S, like this: 00077"Naturally, from
   living around them ranches, I got to know quite a few people from
   there. I got to know the 'S' people better. There were a couple of
   cowgirls on the 'S' Spread, that could really ride and rope better
   than any woman ever I seen. Their names were Ethel and Bess Andres.
   They were what I'd call boys in girl's clothing, because they sure
   took the place of a boy on the range. I'm not talking from hearsay;
   I'm talking from seeing them do it. [Why?], I've seen them riding
   after a cow critter, and come to a place where they had to do some
   fancy riding, and you could see light between them and the saddle. You
   know, they could cut out as well as most men. Of course, they didn't
   ride no [buckers?]. They rode the gentle ones, but they rode them fast
   when fast riding was called for.
   
   "Now, in cutting out, you've got to ride your hoss into the herd, and
   make a cast at the critter you want out. You don't rope it, you just
   do that to show your hoss what one you want, and he's been trained to
   chase it out of the herd to where you can lasso it and throw it.
   [Well?], while in a herd, your hoss will have to do a lot of in and
   out dodging. The rider has to know the trick of following the hoss's
   motions and so fixing themselves that they'll stay in the saddle when
   a hoss turns real sudden. The way you do that, you keep your eye on
   your critter, and when it turns, fix to turn that way because your
   hoss is going to turn that way, and if you're not already fixed to
   turn you'll find yourself on the ground. Or, if in a herd, you might
   get stomped to death. It's happened many a time just that away.
   
   "I'll just give you an example of what happens when you don't know to
   watch the critter you're after. I went over to 00088the Lazy S one
   day; and, to give me a good time, the foreman called a fellow out to
   him, pointed him out a steer to get and told him to use his hoss to
   get the steer with. Now, this man had this here '[TB]' consumption. He
   was out in the west to get his health back. He'd told the foreman that
   he could ride a hoss, and the foreman'd given him a job. This fellow,
   who'd been a tobacco salesman before, didn't have any cow sense, but
   was right willing to work. The only way he was ever to get any cow
   sense, the foreman figured, was to put him right into the work, so
   that's what he did. "Well, on the day I was there, he decided to learn
   his to cut.
   
   "Now, he hadn't really handicapped him when he sent him after that
   steer, because he'd given him the very best cutting hoss anywhere, the
   foreman's own hoss. He was easy to ride, too. Well, the greener
   mounted him, and rode him out into the herd. He slapped the critter
   with his rope, and the hoss took after him. Well, the hoss jumped this
   way and that, trying to head the steer off every time he headed any
   way but out, and the greener nearly fell off at every jump. He tried
   to watch the hoss and lean with the jump, but when you've got a good
   cutting hoss in the herd, you just can't follow it that away. This
   greener would have been in that herd yet if it hadn't have been that
   his hoss was good enough to bring that steer out of the herd without
   help from anybody. [We?] boys just roared and roared. Some of us
   laughed so hard at [?] that greener that our sides were sore for a
   spell after that.
   
   "The cowpokes just naturally all loved to pull pranks that away. This
   same greener had a hard time for a spell around there, 00099for I was
   over a couple of days later to the roundup, and they pulled another on
   him. Just before supper the greener come in, dog-tired, and laid down
   under the chuck wagon to rest. Out in the open like that, where the
   air's clean and pure, there's [not?] much racket, and the work's all
   hard, it's mighty easy to sleep. And, that's what mister greener done.
   Some other [cowpokes?] came in, and they saw him there. One of them
   decided to [prank?] him, so he gets a saddle and takes it over to the
   greener. The greener don't hear him coming, but snoozes right on. The
   cowpoke puts the saddle right up close to the greener's head and
   starts rocking the saddle from side to side, hollering, 'Whoa! whoa!
   whoa!' That greener must have thought he was still in the saddle,
   because he came straight up and bumped his noggin an the reach
   [pole?]. Bumped it hard, too. [We?] had another laugh on him, then.
   
   "For supper that night, the cooky'd roasted the [smelts?], the tongue,
   ribs and so on, over the fire. Now, the greener hadn't been out before
   where he couldn't get any wood, and he didn't know that when you can't
   get wood on the range, you used cow chips for your fire and was glad
   to get them. He was a little put out by the cow chips, and we could
   tell it. He wasn't saying anything, though, just looking. Well, one of
   the boys decided to fix him up some more. He takes a section of ribs,
   finds him a cow chip to lay them on, then proceeds to use it us a
   plate. He'd tear off a hunk, then lay them ribs back on the chip while
   he ate the bit he'd tore off. The greener couldn't take it, he left
   the chuck wagon, got on his hoss and rode off for a piece. We had
   another laugh on him.
   
   "You know, when a greener hit any spread, he sure had a hard
   001010time for [awhile?], because the cowpokes'd ride him 'til he
   caught on to [all?] the tricks. By that time, there'd be another come
   on, and [he?] could join in on the fun.
   
   "I reckon this about catches me up. I'm living in [Lucbuck?], if you
   want me for anything.

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