TX BIOS: T. E. Hines (Mines?)
   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 - Early Settler
   
   Phipps, Woody
   
   Rangelore
   
   Tarrant Co., Dist. #7 [83?]
   
   Page #1
   
   FC
   
   T. E. Mines, 68, was born on his father's farm in Wayne Co., N.C. He
   was taught to ride horses before he was eight, and worked them to plow
   with before he was 10. He decided to seek his fortune in Texas when he
   reached 21, and immediately left home. He was employed as a cowboy on
   the NUT Ranch in Erath Co. for three Yrs., then one Yr. on the JR
   connected, also in Erath, for one Yr. He was then employed on the LXL
   in Hardeman Co. for three Yrs. Leaving the LXL, he went to Demming
   N.M., where he was employed for one Yr. by the Floreda Land & Cattle
   Co. of Sedalia Mo., who owned and operated the KILL Ranch near
   Demming. The foreman of the ranch sent him to Ft. Worth Texas with a
   train load of beef. After handling the KILL beef, he decided to remain
   there and enter the cattle Comm. business. After five Yrs in the Comm.
   business, he was injured by a steer and retired, from all activity.
   His residence is now at 925 E. Hattie St. Ft. Worth, Tex. His story:
   
   "Well, I was born in a log cabin miles and miles away from anything
   like a town, but I wasn't born right on the range, as you might say. I
   was born Sept. 13, 1869, in Wayne Co., N.C. My dad ran a pretty good
   sized farm with a few head of milk cows, which I hazed around
   considerable after I was taught to ride hosses. Now, just when I
   learnt to ride, I can't say but I know I was riding before I was eight
   because I was plowing in the field before I was 10. That I know and am
   sure of.
   
   "And, I really thought I knowed enough about cow critters to make a
   good cow punch by the time I was 21, but right there was where I got
   my hair in the butter, as the feller said. On my 21st birthday, I told
   my parents I was coming to Texas and be a cow puncher on some big
   ranch because that was what I was born for, had it in my blood and
   couldn't get it out.
   
     NOTE: C12 - 2/11/41 - Texas
     
   00022Well sir, my dad just grinned and told me I might's well learn
   right now as later on down the road that punching cows wasn't the bed
   of roses it looked like. Ma bawled and cut up a lot about it, but
   after dad took her off and talked to her, she dried up and seemed to
   be resigned. I always figured he'd told her I'd get off a few miles,
   then come back home like a whupped pup. If he did, I told myself that
   here's where he's going to be fooled a [DEL: - :DEL] plenty because I
   was a man and could act like a man.
   
   "Along sometime the next day, dad gave me a skinny old work nag and
   told me that I'd better take that one because the cow outfits
   furnished horses and he couldn't afford to be the loser of a hoss.
   Needed them for to work he said. For a hull, I had to take and old
   tree that all the leather'd been wore off, tie it on with a rope and
   make my stirrups with short pieces of rope. I finally got fixed and
   left the morning of the second day after our talk about me going away.
   
   "I just had about five [dollars?] in money, and by the time I got
   along in deep Georgia, I was dead broke but I wouldn't go back. Not a
   couple of months there before I got to Wrath Co. in Texas, I lived on
   mighty little else but wild game. Plenty of that, alright, but I'd
   been used to a change now and then and I was beginning to get plenty
   lean.
   
   "In those days, any traveler that came into a ranch yard was asked to
   'Light, neighbor, and feed your nag, then come and get your own nose
   into the feed bag.' Or, if it was near meal time for every body, they
   invited you to: rest yourself and come in at meal time.' That was the
   way it was everywhere, but I was leary of what they'd 00033say about
   my trampy outfit. Why, I looked a lot worse'n them old saddle bums
   that used to make the country, and'd never work for anybody at any
   price. Well, you see. I'd never been from behind my ma's apron strings
   and really didn't know how to make it around. All I had was the will
   not to go back, and you can't eat that.
   
   "One day while riding throug Erath Co., I came to a ranch and was so
   hungry that I didn't care what was said or done. I wanted to eat if
   they'd let me. Instead of making fun of me, they fed me and offered me
   a job if I'd take it. Take it!? I told the ram rod to put me at
   anything he had for me to do, regardless of what it was, because a job
   was the one thing I wanted and nothing else but. I was so anxious that
   the whole crew of cow punchers busted out laughing.
   
   "The ram rod, Jake Nut, told me that I could have a job punching
   cattle providing I could ride hosses. Then he turned around and said:
   That thing you've got there's not a hoss. Its a bone bag.'
   
   "I thought he just meant riding hosses like we worked back on the
   farm. Sleek, fat, pretty farm hosses. Not anything like the stock you
   have on the farm today. Not a-tall, but they beat the nag I rode into
   the NUT Spread, so I told him I'd ride most anything he had to get the
   job.'
   
   "That statement cost me a few bruises because I didn't know they had
   concentrated dynamite in leather cases they called hosses, down here.
   Now I'll give you a sort of a picture of what happened that first
   morning. One of the boys stalled me in the bunkhouse for about 30
   minutes after the rest had gone to the Hoss corral, telling and
   showing me how the boys lived, showing me 00044a fiddle they used for
   music when they felt romantic, and having me read my bunk. That's what
   they called it when you looked into your covers for varmints. I just
   thought he was being nice to me because I was a new hand and he wanted
   me to get into the routine around there.
   
   "Well, sir. One of the boys came to the bunkhouse and told us that all
   the hosses were saddled and we might's well come on and get started
   out to work. We went down, and some of the boys were already in their
   saddles. One of them showed me the nag I was to ride, and it looked
   like it was a gentle. In fact, it was the worst looking one of the
   whole outfit. Shaggy, nothing like the rest of them rode. I didn't say
   anything but climbed into the saddle right quick, then one of the boys
   closed the gate. You see, my hoss was still inside, but the rest of
   them had their's outside. Well sir, I no sooner hit that hull 'til
   hell busted loose. I wasn't on that hoss as long's it takes to tell it
   'til I hit old mother earth on all fours.
   
   "I'd never seen a bucker working out, so I thought I'd done something
   or other to scare the nag. All the fellers were busting their innards
   laughing at me, but I thought, 'I'll show them.' I started towards the
   hoss, and a couple jumped down off the fence to help me. They helped
   me get into the saddle, and then we were off to the races. I stayed
   for about a minute this time, then got throwed off. I thought them
   fellers'd die a-laughing at me.
   
   They went on to work, then, and Jake hisself came and helped me get my
   hull on another broom tail. This one wasn't so bad, but I never rode
   him either. The truth of the matter is, I didn't ride a hoss that
   week. Them dad blamed old Mustangs throwed 00055me more than 50 times
   before I finally stuck and stayed on one. I was so sore I walked like
   I had a hump in my back big's a camel's. Now you can laugh all you
   want to, but I was a wreck. Them rascals like to have got me before I
   got one of them.
   
   "That was good training for me though, because I busted in a wild one
   before the next fall roundup. Flat busted him in and I was the only
   one to ever ride him 'til he was a cutter.
   
   I lit on the NUT right at the start of roundup, and they kept me busy
   at the branding fire. I don't know just how many dogies I did slap the
   NUT iron on, but there was a many a one, [?] tell you for sure. I
   expect there was right close to a 1,000 dogies I put the iron on.
   
   "The way you get the dogies into the branding place is to roundup all
   the cattle on the range. The way that's done is for all the ranchers
   from roundabout that particular range to have men represent them in
   the roundup, and go to all the places cattle could've drifted to in
   about five months's time. That was in the day of the open range,
   although I was still on the NUT when the range began to be fenced in
   Erath.
   
   "I was on the NUT three years before I left. During that three years,
   I saw at least two pretty good sized stampedes a year. Now, there's a
   sight you ought to see. A herd on the stampede. They don't have a lick
   of sense at that time, and will run over anything not too big. If its
   too big, the herd will go around, but will follow the leader. They all
   have leaders. From one to seven or eight at a time during a stampede,
   an all the leaders head the same way, working together. But even they
   don't know where they're going, an likely as not, they'll lead a herd
   over 00066a precipice, a canyon wall, the banks of a deep arroyo,
   draw, or anything. They'll lead them right into water where a number
   of them are bound to drown. And, if a man happens to be in front of
   the herd and falls. Well, its just too bad for him for he had a bad
   day.
   
   "One of the most wonderful sights there are to see anywhere is when
   the lightning plays over a herd during an electric storm. I've
   actually seen a big bolt of lightning bounce over and around a herd
   just as if it was a big ball being shoved around by a kid. That's one
   of the many things about cowboys life the picture shows have missed
   making a picture of. [And?], you know why? I'll tell you its because
   there's so much danger right then. And good reason too. I'd be scared
   if a ball of lightning bounced around over my head, so a herd's bound
   to get scared. By the time lightning gets to going good, the herd's
   already standing and ready to run. Its what they call instinct. Then,
   when a ball bounces around, you're mighty lucky if you can keep them
   quiet 'til the ball jumps off. Then, on the other hand, you never can
   tell which way a herd will stampede, and if you had a bunch of people
   around a herd, some of them wouldn't be fit to make mud pies out/ of
   after about 1,000 head of beef stamped them down.
   
   "Lightning's just one of the many things'll stampede a herd of cattle.
   Wild animals, sudden rackets, anything'll do it. Why, one of the
   stampedes on the NUT was caused by a stranger riding up to the herd
   and getting down off his hoss. It'd already been raining, and when its
   raining, a herd'll get up and put its tails to the direction the
   rain's coming from. They're mighty skittish right then, too, and are
   already on their feet. Well, this feller's 00077sporting some dudish
   trimmings on his hoss's reigns, and they tinkle as he gets off. You
   might's well fired a cannon because after one of them snorted, another
   snorted, and the race was on.
   
   "Of course, I was right at him when he got off his hoss, but I never
   did see who bowled him over with a real swift kick after the herd got
   a-going. He cussed a-plenty about that, then his hoss joined the chase
   too. He was to days getting his hoss back, then Jake Nut introduced
   him as a prospective buyer. He didn't buy any NUT stock, but nobody
   cared. He caused the boys an extra week's work rounding that herd up
   again for they never did get it to mill, even though they made tries
   time and again.
   
   "One of the best cutting hosses the NUT sported even got killed by
   stumbling. The only reason his ride wasn't killed was because he was
   throwed into a small cut the critters jumped.
   
   "Speaking of hosses, the NUT kept a regular hoss buster on the spread,
   but most of the boys liked to bust in their own broom tails. The one I
   busted in, I watched the others do it before I tackled it. When I got
   the hackamore, they only had one for some reason or other. And, they
   only wanted one being busted at a time. That way, there was one in the
   corral all the time.
   
   "While I was longer busting mine than the others were their's my hoss
   turned out right well and was a top cutter for any spread. Jake gave
   him to me because I busted him myself, and had had to much trouble
   learning to ride to start with. After he was mine, I named him 'Star,'
   because of a white spot on his forehead that looked something like a
   star. I really think there was four points, I'm not sure, but I know
   there was three or more.
   
   "Star was the only real hoss I ever owned. When I left 00088the NUT
   after three years on it, I went over to J.R. Longacre's ranch. It was
   also in Erath Co., and was every bit as big a spread, if not maybe a
   little bigger. Longacre hired me hisself, after looking Star over and
   making me an offer for him. I wouldn't sell, so he gave me a job on
   the spread. Possibly thinking I'd maybe change my mind later on. He
   didn't know how much I loved old Star, and wouldn't have traded him
   for the moon.
   
   "I worked two roundups, the Spring and Fall, then left his spread too.
   I don't recall just how many head he run, but his iron was the 'JR
   Connected,' made like this:
   
   "I headed for the Panhandle when I left the JR, but went to work for
   the LXL in Hardeman Co., owned by the Smith brothers. They worked a
   lot of Mexicans on the LXL, and run around 15,000 head in their iron.
   Why, I reckon they branded 7,000 dogies every year, with what they
   bought and raised too. They bought from every body that had something
   to sell for not much. That was their policy.
   
   "Another policy of their's, and the one that didn't make such a hit
   with me, was their wanting to hire as cheap as they could. They never
   run it under me, though. I told them I wouldn't chaperon cows around
   for less then 30 and', so they gave it to me because they needed to
   hire a few whites to run their Spiks. (Mex)
   
   "One of the outstanding things about the LXL, in my mind, was how the
   Spiks were forever fighting. Just any little old thing, and they'd go
   at it. The way they fought, was to wrap a blanket around one arm, then
   hold a knife in the other hand. The blanket was used as sort of a
   shield to defend themselves from each other. They fought to kill, but
   when one of them was hurt pretty 00099bad, the others'd horn in and
   stop the fray. The whites on the spread didn't care how much they cut
   and gouged. In fact, a few of them encouraged more fights, thinking
   maybe they'd all kill each other and then we might have white cow
   punchers on the spread. No luck as far's that was concerned, though.
   
   "Now ranch work in Texas was pretty much the same all over. Stampedes
   when you had herds rounded up, branding in the Spring and Fall sale
   cattle shipped after the Fall roundup, and so on. I don't recollect
   the road but our beef was shipped by railroad from the LXL.
   
   "There was just one thing besides Spik help that was different on the
   LXL, and that was the Spik's way of mounting a hoss and roping. I
   don't know if I can make it plain to you, but the Spike whirls his
   cast to the left while the white's cast was made to the right. That
   is, he whirled his rope on his right before casting, an the Spik's on
   the opposite. Then, in mounting a hoss, anwhite would catch a-holt of
   his saddle horn, jump up and pull at the same time, litterally what
   they call, vaulting into the saddle. The Spik, though, he'd just climb
   into his hull. As far's being the best, there wasn't much difference
   there because the greasers could really rope and ride. They could hold
   their own, but didn't have the guts the whites had, and that made the
   whites the better cow puncher where [DEL: an :DEL] any difference was
   made a-tail.
   
   "After three years on the LXL, I left and went West. I was on my way
   own for over two months, I reckon, before I lit in Demming, N.M., and
   was hired by Shy, the ram rod for the KILL Ranch, a few miles out of
   Demming. KILL was the iron, but the name of the spread was the Floreda
   Land And Cattle Co., and owned by a bunch of Sedalis, 001010Mo.
   bankers.
   
   "There wasn't so many head on the spread, around 1,500. We had a lot
   of trouble with the Bandidoes from across the Mexican border. The
   spread wasn't but about 25 miles N. of the line to start with, and the
   country was plenty mountainous. That gives the bandidoes, Mexican
   bandits, rustlers, and so on, a better shot at the beef as close to
   the border as we were.
   
   "That was one of the reasons the KILL spread hired nothing but top
   hands that were fast and straight with their lead. There was one
   buckaroo with the KILL that could certainly spread his lead around
   fast and fancy free. His name was Bob McFarley, and the rifle he
   carried was about the best and truest in that part of the country.
   
   "The rifle was presented to him by the citizens of a little old mining
   town in Arizona. [Charelstown?]. It was on account of a fight with
   some Indians. McFarley had been used to roaming around over the
   country, working when he wanted to, and not working when he didn't
   feel like it.
   
   "One day he topped a pretty high hill, and heard some shots down the
   side, pretty close to where he was, so he rode to see what was coming
   off. When he got to where he could see, he saw about 30 Indians
   shooting at a party of charcoal burners. Now, that's all I know about
   what they done in the line of work, but I've heard the story about the
   fight from four or five different sources. Bob says he left his hoss
   hobbled, climbed down the hill to a spot of good advantage, then went
   to picking off Indians.
   
   "Now, you know when an Indian gets killed, the rest are more daring in
   getting his body when they are in fighting, for some 001111reason or
   other, and that way, nobody hardly ever knows just how any Indians get
   killed. Anyway, when the fight was over and the red skins kept trying
   to get one of them that had sneak his way up to where he had an awful
   advantage over the miners, or, burners, and Bob had opened up on him
   the first thing and killed him, Bob would pick them off as they
   sneaked or ran into get this red skin. Bob says he knows he killed not
   less than 15 of them devils in all, and 10 of them while they tried to
   get that one body. They finally left the Indian there.
   
   "Bob says the burners heard him grunting that Indian parley voo all
   during the fight. He kept trying to tell them to beat it and leave
   him, but he must have been an important brave or something because
   they kept trying to get him anyway. They felt that as long's he was
   alive, that they might get him and he'd be able to live and fight
   again.
   
   "Along about dark, the red skins gave up and left, and the Indian was
   dead when the burners come out to see what had been left. I think Bob
   said the burners told him there'd been 14 of them when the fight
   started, and the soldiers had found where they Indians had [waited?]
   for four days for the burners to get away from their rifles. That was
   one reason the burners made such a bad showing was because only three
   or four of them got to rifles.
   
   "There were only five of them left, and Bob stayed right with them
   'til they got help from Charleston and the wounded ones had sort of
   got healed over.
   
   "Four or five days after the fight, a company of soldiers showed up.
   They'd found where the Indians'd camped, and had trailed them to where
   the fight took place. When the captain walked up to 001212the tent
   where Bob was flopping, he stopped to look at the dead Indian that Bob
   had hung up on a tree about 20 foot from his tent. The captain told
   Bob not to harm the body because he intended to send a wagon out from
   the post to get it and give it a burial.
   
   "Bob said, 'burial, hell! That's my Indian and if you bother him, I'll
   put you up on that limb alongside him.' The cap' didn't bother to
   argue about it but went to his men and left.
   
   I've heard Bob tell how he tried to make the burners that had been
   left feel better by hanging the red skin up and using him for a dinner
   bell. When one of them got the meal ready, he'd go to the body and
   beat on it, and it'd make a little noise. If left very long, it'd
   parched over like a drum because that's an awful dry country out
   there. I don't know how much noise the thing'd made nor how far you
   could hear it, but it was a good idea.
   
   "Man'ys the time I've read the silver badge on the stock of the rifle.
   It said, 'PRESENTED TO BOB MCFARLEY FOR BRAVERY AMONG THE INDIANS.'
   'BY THE CITIZENS OF CHARLESTON ARIZONA.'
   
   "I liked the Floreda spread, but someway or other, I still wasn't
   satisfied. I wanted to travel or something, and when the chance came
   to go to Fort Worth with a train load of beef, I asked for the job of
   caring for the beef en route. Shy gave me the job, and after the
   commission co handled it here in Fort Worth, I wired Shy I wouldn't be
   back because I was going into the commission business here.
   
   "That I done, for five years. Might still be at it but one of the
   ornery critters we had to handle in them days gored me up pretty bad
   and laid me up. The only saving thing about it all, was that I'd saved
   all the time I worked and had a nice BR laid away I'm getting the old
   age [pension?] now, and everything's alright.

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