TX BIOS:  George T. Martin
   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
   
   FOLKSTUFF - RANGE LORE [50?]
   
   Gauthier. Sheldon F.
   
   Rangelore.
   
   Tarrant Co. Dist., #7
   
   Page #1
   
   Fc 240
   
   George T. Martin, 72, living at 916 W. Peach St. Fort Worth, Texas,
   was born July 11, 1865 at Atlanta Ga. His father, Jack Martin, moved
   his family from Atlanta to Dallas, Texas in 1870.
   
   George T. Martin went to Denton Co. in 1880 and secured work on the
   cattle ranch owned by "Red" Robinson. He remained with the Robinson's
   ranch for four years.
   
   After he terminated his employment with the Robinson's ranch, he and
   his brother, Jack, gathered a herd of wild horses, broke the animals
   to the saddle, and drove the herd to Little Rock Ark, at which place
   they sold the horses. Martin continued in the horse selling business
   during the remainder of his active life.
   
   His story of his range life follows:
   
   "I have lived in Texas, since 1870. My father, Jack Martin, moved his
   family / from Atlanta Ga, in that year and settled in Dallas,
   [Texas?]. I was born at Atlanta July 11, 1865. /
   
   "My father labored at any kind of work that he could get to do when we
   first lit in Dallas. The Civil War sort of tore things up for father
   back in Atlanta, so he came to Texas calculating on getting a new
   start. Soon as I was able to go on my [own?] I lit out to find a job
   and dragged up to Denton Co. which contained a tolerable lot of small
   cattle ranches in those days.
   
   "I landed a job with the "Red" Robinson outfit, which was located
   eight miles North of Denton on Denton Creek. There I got my learning
   of the cow business. I nested with that outfit for four years and then
   went on my own in business.
   
   "I was a greener of the first water when I landed on the Robinson's
   outfit. The only thing that I could do was sit in a saddle, but to
   ride a hoss was out of the question unless the hoss was an easy
   saddle.
   
   "After I had been there for a couple of weeks my brother
   
     NOTE: C12 - 2/11/41 - Texas
     
   00022Jack dragged in. He was a greener too, so each of us lads learned
   and broke into the cow business together.
   
   "The range life then didn't stack up with home life, with a good bed
   to bunk in and a mother to fuss over fixing the chuck to suit and such
   we [DEL: jankered :DEL] hankered for, but the work got into my blood
   and I couldn't leave it. I stayed with the cattle and hoss business so
   long as I was able to work.
   
   "The Denton county range was a brush country and that kind of a range
   is no picnic to work. It takes better roping, riding and more gizzard
   [?] to stay with the brush range. It is harder to herd critters and
   easier for the rustlers and because of that it took more watching.
   
   "Robinson's brand was 'RR', but he had many different brands besides
   his own on his range, because he did a lot of buying and selling all
   the time. The brand condition on the 'RR' made it a good spot for the
   brand artist to work.
   
   "The 'RR' was not a large outfit, it run around 2000 head, more or
   less according to Robinson's selling and buying activities. Robinson
   worked from five to ten hands, depending on the season. Negger Joe was
   the cook, there was my brother, myself, John Muson and Joe Jones which
   made up the steady crew.
   
   "We slept in a ranch house and ate in a cook shack most of the time.
   During the roundup, and occasionally other short spells, we slept in
   the open and ate our [chucksquatted?] on our haunches around the chuck
   wagon.
   
   "Our chuck run strong to beef and beans. The beef was not considered
   as costing anything, because the country was full of 00033cattle and
   when some beef was wanted a waddie would rope a fat yearling and never
   look at the brand. What was a fact, generally the best looking
   yearling carried the brand of of some other ranch. Besides beef, we
   would have wild game, when ever the cooky took the notion, or one of
   the waddies would decide to vary the meat deal, they would go out and
   shoot some game. Our bread was biscuits, sourdough, or corn-pone. We
   had some vegetables which came in the can, dried fruit and all the
   black coffee we [called?] for. The cooky would regularly fix
   upsomething for our sweet tooth, such as fried pies made from dried
   fruit, pudding of some sort and once in a while a cake.
   
   "Nigger Joe was a good belly-cheater, and knew it, but the boys use to
   hossplay him a lot, all in fun, and he would hossplay us back. We
   generally got the worse end of the play, because he would load some
   dish we hankered for with red pepper, or some sweet dish with salt.
   Once he made a cake with cotton strewed through it. To try and eat
   that cake sure put sadness in your heart, but we had a tolerable lot
   of fun about it when we discovered the cause of our eating trouble.
   
   "During my breaking in period was when the boys were put on the op'ra
   several times.
   
   "After I had been with the outfit about a month I got to thinking that
   I was a pert rider. I did catch on fast, but not fast enough for the
   bunch, or fast as I calculated. The old rawhides ribbed me up about my
   riding ability getting [meready?] for the show. One morning Jones told
   me he wanted to surprise the waddies by havingme / ride a hoss that
   the other waddies didn't think I could ride. 'I want you to show them
   and I will [win?] some money which I'll 00044split with you', he
   chinned to me. That swelled me up like a carbuncle.
   
   "The bunch saddled a hoss from the remuda and trotted it out. I was
   ready and lit in the saddle. The hoss evelated when I hit the saddle
   and then started back to the ground, but forgot to take me along. I
   was left so high up that the birds had time to build a nest in my
   pocket before I hit the ground.
   
   "After that experience I figured that I needed a couple more grades of
   schooling in hoss riding, and that I got before I had spent many more
   weeks there. Jones gave me some pointers which fixed me up.
   
   "One time the boys sent me out to get a "Wouser", that was supposed to
   be in the creek bottom, because they fered that it would get some of
   the critters. My instructions were to stay after the animal until I
   located it and got a shot at it. The boys said: 'If the animal was
   shot at it would leave the section pronto, but kill it if you can.'
   The animal was discribed as having a body similar to a calf and a head
   similar to a wolf. I left to locate that "Wouser" early in the morning
   and stayed with the job until dark, but nary a glimps did I get of the
   critter. I came into the camp sort of shamed of myself, because I had
   fell down on the job. I reported how I had watched and sneaked quietly
   here and there. While I was telling the tale, I noticed that all of
   the bunch was mighty interested and noticed some smiles. It then came
   into my conk what had been pulled on me. I then sure enough was riled
   for a bit.
   
   "After about three months I had gone through all the rackets and was a
   real rawhide. I was able to ride 'em, rope and do all the 00055other
   jobs tolerable well. I got to be a real brush rider. Riding in the
   open range with no brush is sun shine on a winter's day compared with
   working in the brush. When a rider is high-tailing it through the
   brush, it is necessary for him to swing from side to side dodging
   limbs, trees and brush. Then when a waddy can ride in the brush and at
   the same time smear a loop on a critter, that waddy can call himself a
   cow hand. To smear a critter running in the brush one must be able to
   handle the loop from any position.
   
   "We were compeled to keep close watch for the rustlers and they were
   hard to keep up with, because the brush gave the varmints plenty
   hiding spots.
   
   "Robinson did his own top-screwing and his standing orders were to
   make buzzard food out of any rustlers that [weknew?] for sure was
   rustling our critters.
   
   "The 'RR' ranch was located about 20 miles North of '[?]' the biggest
   rustling outfits in the country, the hidden pasture, which was owned
   by Sam Bass. During my time on the 'RR' we never found that the Bass
   outfit bothered any of our critters. Sam's long suit was hosses and
   that was what he ranged on his place. He called at the ranch many
   times and I met him often while riding the range, but he never seemed
   to be bothering critters. Sam was a sociable fellow and I always
   enjoyed to meet up with him. The fellows that gave us the trouble came
   from other section of the country.
   
   "We had a number of scrimmages with the rustlers, and some of these
   never rustled any more critters unless it was done on the eternal
   range.
   
   "One day a couple fellows were spied in the Denton Creek 00066of our
   range and a party of us waddies went in after them. We surrounded the
   boys and then closed in on them. We demanded an explaination for their
   presence there. They were not working in that section of the country
   and had no pumpkins in that creek bottom. They gave us a speel about
   jiggling through the country and wanted to camp and rest a few days.
   That sounded likely, but we decided to investigate after we parlied
   about the matter, so took the boys and their hosses to the camp where
   the strangers [?] could be watched. There was line riders on duty
   night and day, so watching was no trouble. They could not leave with
   their hosses without the line riders spying their move. That night the
   two strangers left on foot, leaving their hosses, saddles and all
   other rigging. Therefore, we calculated that two rustlers got away.
   
   "That affair caused a shooting a little later on. There were two more
   fellows found in the bottom and put up about the same kind of a speel,
   only them fellows said they were hiding out, but not for any cattle
   rustling business. Jones wouldn't accept that chinning and was for
   hanging them up to dry, but my brother, Jack, was plumb sat against
   the drying process until the boys were investigated. Jones held that
   we were fooled by two rustlers which [gave?] us a chinning and he
   wasn't for letting two others do the same. My brother held that being
   we had no more on the boys than that they were in the bottom on our
   range, where it was out of place for them, we should look into the
   matter before putting them up to dry. Then two waddies got plumb riled
   and one word followed another, finally Jones said: 'To hell with you'
   and [DEL: [?] [?] :DEL] pulled his gun and started to shoot the two
   strangers. My brother 00077drew his gun and shot Jone's gun out of his
   hand. The rest of us then grabbed the two waddies to keep them from
   craking down on each other and while we were busily engaged in that
   matter the two strangers made their mounts and high-tailed out of the
   section. Robinson ordered that, from then on, all strangers we came
   upon like/ that they should be brought to him for a decision of the
   issue.
   
   There was a young lad, whos father had a small ranch a few miles West
   of the 'RR' outfit, that we all hankered to hand up to dry one time.
   That young fellow caused one of the worse stampedes I ever had to deal
   with.
   
   "It happened during the dark of the moon one night when we could not
   see well. The critters were the longhorn breed and could run about as
   fast as a hoss, and were full of the running notions especially when
   fretful, because of weather conditions, lack of water, or feed. That
   herd had all the water and grass it could take and the weather was
   pretty. The herd was bedded down chewing on the cub as contended as
   any bunch of critters could be.
   
   "My brother and I were night riding at the time, when we suddenly head
   a strange noise off a distance. It came more louder steadily and we
   could tell it was coming our way. Finally it was passing us. It was
   that lad with a cow hide dragging at the end of his rope behind his
   hoss. He had found a dead critter somewhere, skined it and was taking
   it home, but doing it, as a boy will do, the wrong way.
   
   "The herd rose, as a flock of ducks do leaving the water, and were
   off. They went at top speed through the brush. When that herd hit the
   brush, it sounded as trees do when falling. Riding orders 00088were
   given to all hands telling them to get going, but with all of us
   working it was impossible for us to do anything with that herd. For
   one thing, it was dark and we could not see where we or the critters
   were heading and in addition they had been scared loco, so all we
   could do was to try and hold the critters together.
   
   "It was a hard job for us waddies to keep in touch with each other and
   work together trying to keep the herd from scattering. In doing that
   we did't know if we were with the herd or a bunch scattered away from
   the main bunch. To know where each other were we would shoot our gun
   twice. The first shot would attract attention and by looking in the
   direction of the sound the fire flash of the second shot could be
   seen, which would enable you to tell where a rider was.
   
   "The animals slowed down after a spell, but kept going until daylight
   and only about half of the herd was together.
   
   "The whole crew worked two weeks picking up strays. We found some up
   in Wise Co. some in Dallas Co. and some in Tarrant Co. Part of the
   crew worked a whole month picking up strays and when we quit hunting
   there were still 100 critters missing and never were located.
   
   "That night my Brother got with 50 stray critters which strayed from
   the main herd and he stayed with the bunch. It was about one in the
   morning when he got the bunch milling and the animals finally settled
   down. He didn't know where he was, so just had to wait until daylight
   before he could herd the critters back. He was younger than I, but for
   a kid, as Robinson said, showed he was made of the stuff needed to be
   a cowhand. He stayed there until daylight, but spent 00099most of his
   time sitting on a limb of a tree. The wolves got to howling and that
   put pinples on his back, so kid like, he staked his hoss and went for
   a tree. When daylight came he then drove the bunch of 50 critters into
   the camp and was the [only?] one of the whole outfit that came in with
   strays. Robinson bought the kid a [Old?] John B. Stetson conk cover
   for doing that job, saying 'you are a kid and a greener, but [bested?]
   the rawhides. You came in with a bunch of strays, which is the
   important work'.
   
   "My brother and I stayed with the 'RR' outfit for four years and at
   the end of that time I was a real hoss wrangler. My brother and I
   decided to go into the hoss business.
   
   "Our first [venture?] was to get 200 wild broncoes from the West, bust
   those for the saddle and then drive the hosses to Little Rock, Ark.
   That was my first experience on a drive. All the time that I nested
   with on the 'RR' outfit Robinson never made a drive to market. He sold
   all his cattle to them that did make drives, or put his herd in with
   some drover that was driving to the market.
   
   "After my brother and I wrangled the 200 hosses we started to
   Arkansas. We sold about 50 as we passed through the cattle country and
   had 150 hosses when we landed at Little Rock, those we sold off in two
   weeks. We received around $40 a head for the hosses, which was around
   $10 more than we could get for a saddle broke bronco in Texas.
   
   "We used a crew of six waddies on that drive and averaged about 20
   miles a day.
   
   "We made a nice piece of money [??] that deal. The hosses cost us only
   the time and expense of catching and busting the 001010them, which we
   calculated cost arounf [$5?] a head. Our net profit, after paying all
   expenses of the drive was about $30 a head. That put us in the hoss
   business right. We wrangled wild hosses until the animals couldn't be
   found handy then delt in tame stock.
   
   "I became a hoss trader in later yeras operating in Dallas, and my
   last years in the business was at Fort Worth.
   
   "My brother and I would trade or sell anything that had four feet and
   looked like a hoss. We learned to know hosses so well that when we
   were [bested?] in a trade it was an accidnet.
   
   "We had many incidnets, during our hoss trading days, that tickled our
   innards. As a rule the talktive, bragging and smart buckaroos were the
   hardest [squawkers?] when they got bested in a swap. It always put my
   gizzard to shaking to have one of the smart gents come back squawking.
   
   "My brother was the gent that handled the squawkers. I want to tell of
   a couple funny deals he pulled, which got me to laughing every time I
   think of how he handled the howlers.
   
   "We had a fair looking critter that a fellow was wanting to trade for
   and my/ brother kept telling the man my hoss don't look good, but is a
   good work hoss. We made the trade and that fellow was bested a-plenty.
   We knew by the fellows actions that he was a squawker and sure enough
   he returned howling blue murder, saying, 'that hoss is blind as a bat.
   'Sure', my brother answered. 'Didn't I tell you the hoss didn't look
   good'.
   
   "We swapped a hoss once that died the next day after the trade. The
   critter was a fine looking animal, but it took frequent spell which
   indicated a bad heart and was, of course, was likely to kick the
   bucket any moment. 001111"We made a trade of that hoss and the
   squawker thought that he had put it over us a-plenty, but the next day
   he learned different and came back [howling?] his head off, saying,
   'that hoss died a few hours after I got him'. 'That's funny', my
   brother answered. 'Why, that hoss never did that before'.
   
   "We were hoss traders and in the business to make a living. The fact
   that we were making a living should have indicated to all folks we
   knew our hoss trading business, but the people were bent on beating
   the socks off of us, and would come to us for a trade with that
   intention. Then they would howl when we bested them.
   
   "Well, I had heaps of fun and made a good living out of it, but all
   that I can do now is enjoy thinking about the past days.

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