TX BIOS:  John H. Fuller
   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
   
   Folk stuff - Rangelore
   
   Gauthier, Sheldon F.
   
   Rangelore
   
   Tarrant County, Dist. 7 [32?]
   
   Page 1
   
   FEC
   
   John H. Fuller, 62, 309 W. Weatherford St., Ft. Worth, born April 22,
   1876 at Elk County, Kan. When his father became foreman on the Crook,
   Shank and Jones ranch the family moved to Oklahoma. At 14 Fuller
   started his cowhand career which he has since followed and is now
   (1937) working on the Winfield Scott ranch in Tarrant County.
   
   "From the time I was eight years old I have never been without the
   hossy stink about me. I was born in Elk County, Kan., April 22, 1875.
   My father had settled on a piece of land there calculating to do some
   farming. He had put in a number of years as a cowhand in the Southwest
   before he got the idea of going in double harness and settled down in
   Kansas. He stayed with the farm for eight years, living in a dugout
   where I was born. The hankering for the hoss stink never left him and
   in [1893?] it got the best of him.
   
   "He was offered a chance to join the 'CSJ' outfit and be the
   cook-a-dodle-do. The outfit was located in the Indian Territory, now
   the State of Oklahoma, in that section around Ardmore. There were
   around 35 hands working with the outfit and run about 15,000 head of
   critters. It was an open range so I was in the deal at the age of
   eight looking on and getting my eye full when the business still
   called for men with guts and a good hoss as the saying goes.
   
     NOTE: [???]
     
   "I just naturally soaked up the cow work pestering around the Waddies.
   I took every chance that came my way to be around the bunch. I
   eyeballed their [?] with the rope, wrangling hosses and other work.
   Naturally I tried my hand at everything and when I reached the age of
   14 was a fair-to-middling cowhand. 00022"I was not hired but shoved
   into a job by my dad one morning. He was calling off riders after a
   stomp to hunt strays. He needed all the hands he could get so yelled
   at me: "Here you greener you have to make yourself useful for a day or
   two. Straddle a hoss and jiggle along with Blacky Burk." From that day
   on to this the hossy stink has been with me. Starting that morning I
   became a regular hand on the 'CSJ' and remained there for several
   years.
   
   "I did not reckon about pay when I started out that morning with
   Blacky Burk but when pay day showed up Dad put four $5. gold pieces in
   my hand. I swelled up like a carbuncle. Blacky had reported that I was
   a top hand and Dad said being that he needed a hand I had the job. I
   took my turn a-side of the other waddies and in a years time I was
   drawing down six $5. gold pieces.
   
   "To tell you what was the toughest work I reckon I'll have to give
   that to night riding. Dealing with a stomp at night is no custard pie
   either. When the cattle stampede during a storm at night or any other
   time a fellow is too busy to get tuckered and time flies but night
   riding during a cold rain or snow as we had in the Territory is
   wearing. Under that condition an hour takes a week to pass. A felloW
   just rides back and forth killing time waiting the end of his shift.
   
   "Some waddies reckon to stomp as the worst deal to handle. It took
   action and I just plumb enjoyed the excitement. In my days on the
   range we did not have the Indians trouble and the only stampedes we
   bad came from scares. What caused the scares at times would cause a
   follow to work his conk over time to reckon. I often tried to
   calculate many causes of stomps. It seemed that at times the critters
   would get into a state where they are 00033waiting for an excuse to go
   on the run, then the striking of a match at night would furnish the
   excuse. A storm with sky fire and thunder was always a good excuse for
   the critters to run. Let a wolf run into a herd, or a small thing like
   a skunk can cause the critters to go away.
   
   "In the Territory storms were the worst fears we had. There were
   plenty in that country and the worst stampedes we had took place in
   those winds. The storm began with a wind and that busted things up
   tolerable well. Then sky fire and thunder followed plenty. It was
   still as an arroyo in a dry spell before the wind hit. It came on all
   of a sudden. We were not calculating on a spell of weather because the
   stars were bright. Suddenly a dark cloud showed up laying low to the
   North and it was moving fast and the first thing we knew it was
   hitting right pert.
   
   "The critters began to get to their feet and stir during the quiet
   spell and when the wind hit throwing sticks, stones and other material
   those critters turned loose pronto. All the waddies were out because
   it was reckoned that their presence would be wanted as soon as the
   wind hit. The hands were circling the herd but when the storm hit we
   had as much chance to hold that herd as a fellow has to hold a drunken
   cowhand at a prayer meeting. The wind lasted a short spell--say five
   minutes--but when it stopped and set to pouring water the herd was
   a-going like something that broke out of the back door of hell. The
   sky fire was shooting so fast that we could see the critters tolerably
   well. Those critters look like a dark wave just going up and down with
   fire hopping and skipping over their horns. Then a-top of that thunder
   was rolling and a-crashing which gave a fellow plenty of op'ra.
   00044"That night I was straddle one of the best hosses I ever was or
   expect to be on. His name was Pronto, called that because the name was
   fitting to him. That hoss could run all day and cover ground fast as I
   am here to tell. He not only could run fast all day but knew all about
   every angle of the cow work. So all that I could do was to sit in the
   tree and watch the scenery.
   
   "When the herd broke Pronto broke with them and took for the lead. He
   got to the head and stayed there running aside of the lead critters
   crowding against them trying to force those crazy animals to swing. He
   not only crowded but he would reach over and bite their necks. He was
   the only hoss I ever heard of that would pull that trick. The hoss got
   results on a few but he failed to put enough of the critters in a turn
   because that night the animals were too loco and running to fast. We
   would find ourselves with a few [crowded?] to the side and those in
   the rear going around us. To keep from getting in the midst of the
   critters we would have to drag out front again. While Pronto was a
   sure footed critter I did not hanker to go down in the midst of the
   running animals with several thousand coming on behind. If I did the
   eternal range would have been next stop for sure.
   
   "It was still dark so the waddies spent the time until light after the
   critters stopped about 15 miles from where they started with cattle
   scattered in all directions. singing to their lady love. There were
   many songs and each man had his favorite. I'll give you the words to
   the one I tried to sing to quiet the critters: "Sing'er out my bold
   coyotesLeather fists and leather throatsTell the stars the way we
   rubbed the haughty dawnWe'er the fiercest wolves a-prowling and its
   justour night for howling.[Ee-yow?] a riding up the rocky trail from
   town.
   
   00055
   
   "When daylight showed we took stock and calculated about 200 head
   strayed and there were two waddles missing. Five of us never stopped
   for chuck and our tape worm was howling plenty but we took what was
   called a Spanish supper, just tightened our belts and set out to find
   Red and Slim. Slim was found about six miles away from where the stomp
   started. We sighted his hoss grazing and there we found Slim stomped
   to death. No doubt his hoss hit a hole and Slim took a spill among the
   running critters. Red was found a short piece yonder from Slim with a
   cracked leg bone that he got from a spill.
   
   "I stayed with the 'CSJ' outfit for 25 years. It had been owned by
   Crook, Shank and Jones but was changing hands which changed up the
   works a little so I dragged over to the Gloves-Wells outfit. The brand
   of the Gloves-Wells outfit was 'GW' and located in the Durant section
   of the Territory.
   
   "The 'GW' outfit was shaped up about like the 'CSJ' but a trifle
   larger and used about 40 hands. I stayed there for several years. They
   began to break up the open range with fences and when they did that I
   dragged to the skillet section of Texas and finally they began to tie
   that section up with fenced ranges, then I dragged over to the 'T bar'
   outfit near Tahoka, Texas which is owned by the Edwards family. After
   five years there I came to the Edwards ranch west of Ft. Worth. From
   the Edwards' outfit I went to the Winfield Scott outfit north of Ft.
   Worth. That is where I hang out now.
   
   "I have dragged from the open range to the fence outfit of around
   2,000 head which is [thenumber?] Scott and Edwards have on their
   ranches. I have seen the work on the open range where the boys took
   their chuck behind a chuck wagon and slept out in the open to where
   00066we sleep in soft beds and take our chuck stated at a table with
   all the fixings. The work is play compared with what it was when I
   started. But I'll take the former days for mine if I h[a]the chance. I
   enjoyed eating the sop, lick, slowelk, whistleberries and sourdough
   bread squatted on my hunch behind the chuck wagon. The chuck the old
   belly-cheater on the 'CSJ' "Dog-Face"--we called him--put before us
   waddies caused us to hanker for the feedbag. It did not have the fancy
   fixings we are served now but what we did get sure kept us fit with
   plenty of leaf lard on our slats. A good fat yearling beef with some
   other brand broiled over a campfire was fitting to eat.
   
   "Outside of the rustlers and stampedes the lining in our clouds was
   mostly silver. Indian trouble was over with during my day. We had the
   rustler and still have the past to deal with. The only change as far
   as the rustlers are concerned is that they have changed from a hoss to
   an auto-truck. The rustler today cuts the line fence drives in and
   loads a few critters that he hauls to town. In most cases the critters
   are killed before the ramrod knows he has lost any cattle. As a rule
   the act is not known until the line rider finds the fence cut and
   tracks that show what has happened. The rustlers can only be trailed
   to the main drag and there the trail stops.
   
   "The cowmen have had laws passed for their protection in the matter of
   sale of branded cattle and have inspectors at markets but these folks
   who buy the rustled critters because they can get them for a smaller
   price. If the critters are killed and skinned you can't tell where the
   beef comes from. It is necessary to keep an eye peeled for the rustler
   as close an it was in the old days.
   
   "In the days of the hoss when rustlers drove the critters off they
   would watch for strays as well as watch for a chance to cut 00077out a
   bunch from the herd. A 100 head cut out of several thousand critters
   can't be spotted. It was necessary to catch the rustler at the job or
   in possession of the cattle by spotting the trail and follow it. If
   the rustler had a registered brand and cattle carrying it then all he
   had to do was to chin that the critters strayed to his bunch. If we
   spotted the trail and followed the critters then there was not much
   far them to chin about.
   
   "My father was a regular hound dog following a trail. Chas, Goodnight
   of the old 'JA' was noted as the greatest trailer in the business but
   I think Father was about as good. He could calculate on the time the
   rustling took place within a few hours. He would look at the hoof
   prints and say, "Well, she is about five hours old" or, whatever the
   time was. That prattle may sound tall but it was done by eyeing
   insects and their marks in the print. A trail an hour or so old has no
   insects in to speak of but as time goes by insects will gather and
   their action leaves marks. The marks increases with time and to a
   fellow that knows about such signs the extent of the marks will
   indicate the time they have been there.
   
   "We had several little mixups with the rustlers. There was one which
   gave us a pert little fight. I sighted the trail showing that about 50
   head of critters were drove off. Father said that the trail was less
   than five [hours?] old and ordered 10 of us to follow it. It was just
   at dawn when I spied the tracks. We trailed all day and about an hour
   before sundown Father said, "Boys we are going to get them brand
   blotters the first thing in the morning."
   
   "We were on the trail the next morning as soon as we could see the
   marks. We jiggled along about two hours when Father sighted the
   rustlers with his spy glass off about three miles. He ordered us to
   00088split into two bunches of five each and to flank the boys on each
   side and to use our artillery plenty when we get in firing range. We
   followed orders and when we made run for them they gave their bosses
   the gut hooks and headed for a break about a mile beyond. We failed to
   get in good shooting range but before the rustlers could hit the
   breaks we had civilized two of then. The others made the break and of
   course it was useless to go in after them. We did not want to be
   branded from [ambush?].
   
   "Them fellows threw lead at us while heading for the break but never
   made a hit. There was one waddie in our bunch that sure could put the
   lead where he wanted it to land. His name was Kid Murphy and using a
   six-gun he could out shoot any living man I ever watched fan a gun.
   The Kid spent his spare time shooting at marks and rabbits that showed
   within his gun range. Shooting contests were often held between us
   waddies. Murphy could spot us and still beat us. One of the things
   that he did was [?] shoot at a mark riding on a hoss going at top
   speed and at that he could beat us letting us shoot from a standing
   position. During our spells of play we had all kinds of contests such
   as roping, riding and bull-dogging. When talking about roping I doff
   my sombrero to Booger Red. I never worked with him but have watched
   him smear the loop and that waddy could put the rope any place he
   wanted to.
   
   "What spare time the waddies had was spent in some kind of contest or
   practice. If they were not doing that it was telling [lies?]. We would
   sit around the camp at night, especially during round-up time when
   strangers were present from other outfits, and then the lifes would be
   told. It has been such a long spell since I heard those lies that I
   can't remember much of them. There is one that 00099I can't forget
   that Kid Murphy would tell when a spree of lying was on with some
   stranger on hand to listen. I'll try and repeat the story as the Kid
   told it:
   
   "You boys have heard tell how wild it use be [West?] of the Pecos. I
   was down there when just a kid graduating into the rawhide class. I
   was [?] in the Pecos section where the tamest was wilder and tougher
   than a she [catamount?] with a batch of kittens. If a fellow wanted to
   live he just had to be faster on the draw than the other fellow. When
   a buckaroo got plugged all that was said would be 'Well he had no
   business being slow on the draw'. The facts are that a fellow was not
   respected unless he had a notch on his gun, the more he had the better
   it was for him and to be without a notch was just too bad.
   
   "I ambled into a pizen joint soon after hitting one town and there
   were about 20 buckaroos in the place. I sauntered up to the bar and
   [?] down a ten gold piece and [?], 'Boys belly up and name your
   pizen.' The pizen [?] was passing out the bottle when in dragged a
   buckaroo about six six from the floor and measured four feet across
   the shoulders. He was [?] headed and wore a long mustache dropped over
   his mouth. His eyes set far apart and deep in his head. There were two
   six-guns hanging at this side, a stiletto sticking in his belt. He was
   quite sociable looking.
   
   "Well he [mosied?] up to the bar and said, "Gents I'm a stranger in
   these parts and folks call me [Sunny?] Jack. Am I invited to partake
   of some pizen." I sez to him, "Welcome stranger, I have ordered up the
   pizen; name your likes."
   
   "He gulped down a shot of the fluid and then asked what excitement was
   on. The pizen shooter answered him and sez, "Stranger 001010things
   have been mighty quiet here about for several days."
   
   "Sunny Jack run his eyes over the crowd and sez, "I'm hankering for
   some excitement." Then he pulled a gun out of a rawhide's holster that
   was standing next to him. After looking it over he returned it the
   fellow saying, "A [DEL: disrespectfully :DEL] disrespectful person,
   not a notch on his gun. You buy a round of pizen." The rawhide backed
   away and made for a draw. Well sir, that Sunny Jack moved his hand so
   fast that I could not follow the move. He drew his gun and shot/ the
   gun out of that rawhide's before we can count three. Then the buckaroo
   grabbed that fellow by the hair of the head and circled his neck with
   the stiletto cutting the flesh to the neck bone. Then he disjointed
   the neck like you would a chicken. The body slouched to the floor and
   there the stranger stood holding the head by the hair. He ambled over
   to the bar and set the head on it. He looked at the head for a second
   smiling at the face then spit a gob of 'backy juice in the eye and
   sez, "Name your pizen fellows this lad has paid."
   
   "Well sir, there I was without a notch on my gun and knew that I would
   be the next he would call on for some excitement. It was chuck time
   and the damn belly-cheater hit me with a boot and hollered, "Time to
   put on the feedbag." I was plumb riled about being woke at that stage
   because I was wanting to try my hand with Sunny Jack."

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