TX BIOS:  Ed McGregor
   Selected and converted.American Memory, Library of Congress.
   
   Washington, 1994.
   
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   This transcription intended to be 99.95% accurate.
   
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   U.S. Work Projects Administration, Federal Writers' Project (Folklore
   Project, Life Histories, 1936-39); Manuscript Division, Library of
   Congress.Copyright status not determined.
   
   00011
   
   Life history
   
   [Phipps?], [Woody?]
   
   [Rangelore?]
   
   [Tarrant?] Co., Dist. 7 Rangelore [122?]
   
   Page #1
   
   FC
   
   Eddie McGregor,76, was born on his father's stock farm near
   Lewisville, Texas. His dad taught him to ride [horses?] at an early
   age, which enabled him to do cowboy work by the time he was seven Yrs
   old. [He?] remained on the stock farm until he was 21, at which time
   he left home to work elsewhere for the experience. Later, he returned
   home and persuaded his father to finance [him?] in an Edwards Co.
   ranching venture. He leased the XX Bar ranch, then bought 1,500 head
   of stocker cattle to raise. [Brankruptcy?] ended this venture in 1897,
   when he entered the Seymour [Texas?] Rodeo. After winning a riding
   prize, he entered the employ of the [Waggoner?] [Ranch?] in Clay Co.
   Following his father's demise in 1904, he invested his inheritance in
   1,000 head of steers. [He?] leased [grazing?] land in Love Co., Okla,
   then sold the cattle in 1906. He then left the range to become a
   farmer, buying a farm near [Haslet?], Texas, where he still resides
   and operates his farm. [His?] story:
   
   "I reckon you figured I used to be a cow poke because my legs are so
   bowed you could use them for barrel hoops. [The?] truth is, I ranged
   cattle when every man that had red [blood?] in him, worked cow
   critters some how or another. If he didn't own a spread hisself; he
   worked for the other man. [Even?] then, if he had much more sense then
   the [critters?] he was hazing around, and didn't get too rambunctious
   with his savings, he usually ended up running his own [spread?]
   anyway.
   
   "Yes, time was, when even the place you and me are standing on was
   ranged with cattle. [Thousands?] of cattle. Different from the kind
   you'll see over yonder in the exhibit pens, too. [Why?] them critters
   right over yonder are so different they're not even something alike.
   The critters that used to run this country were usually big old
   longhorn critters. You never saw nothing else 'til the fine stock
   began to come into the country.
   
   Now, to begin with, I was born on my dad's stock farm
   
     NOTE: C. 12[md;]2/11/41 Tex. [Box 1?]
     
   00022nigh to Lewisville, SEPT 4, 1861? Texas, one of the oldest towns
   in [Texas?], and a cattle town to begin with. Contrary to [common?]
   opinion, it wasn't the 'Lewisville, Land and Cattle Co., ' but the
   'Denton Land and Cattle Co.'that was located at Lewisville They owned
   ranches everywhere, and were the people that owned the '[Soab 8?]'
   that Burk Burnett bought when he came to this country from the Terr.
   
   "My dad ran four or 500 head of stockers on his place' in the 'M'
   iron. Branded them hip, side, and shoulder. The way the land shaped up
   in that part of the country, there was a perfect valley where dad
   farmed, [running?] cattle in the other part of the country. There were
   about 45 acres I reckon, in his farming spot, and he [was?] more
   interested in that then he was in running his cattle.
   
   "When I was just a tike, he learnt me to ride hosses. Now, I can't for
   the life of me, tell you just how [old?] I was when I began riding
   hosses. [I?] can tell you, though, that I wasn't [?] day over four
   years old when I could ride them [by?] myself. Clumb up a many a one
   while it [stood?] at the hitch rail while some neighbor chinned my dad
   inside the house. [We?] climb on them, then ride around. Of course,
   [several?] pitched me off soon's I hit the hull, but [that?] didn't
   learn me nothing. I just left him alone and got the next one that come
   [along?].
   
   [There?] was one [time?] a in particulr when I fell off and could've
   ended my riding days right then. Now, I'll just have to tell what
   others tell me happened because all I recollect about this is the
   [falling?] part. [My?] ma said she saw me ride off from the hitch rail
   and she come out to call me [back?]. Just as she come out the door, I
   fell in such a way that my head laid on the spot the hose was set
   00033to put his hoof down on next. The way she saw me, the hoss's hoof
   was about four inches in the air, right over my nose. If he'd [have?]
   been of such a mind [as?] to go ahead and put his hoof down, or pitch
   as most of them ornery rascals of that day and time done, I'd have
   been killed for sure. My brains bashed right out. Instead, this [hos?]
   remained in just that way 'til I crawled out from under him, then
   started to mount [him?] again. A woman of this day and time would've
   fainted or started to screaming, which would have scared the hoss and
   started [?] to pitching or [running?]. She didn't do that either, but
   come out to me and told me to get down off the hoss and come into the
   hoss.
   
   I got down, alright, but when I went into the [house?], I expected a
   tanning. [Instead?], she gave me a lecture and explained to me just
   what could've [happened?]. I stayed off hosses then 'til I was a
   little over five, except when my dad put me on them and stayed right
   with me. I never's [stole?] another ride 'til I was after five, then
   they felt safe with me handling them myself.
   
   Even then, I was too little to spot a hull on [?] hoss and my dad done
   that 'til I was seven, at which time I got to where I could put a [?]
   on any broom tail. Wild ones too, because Bill Hawkins that my dad had
   running his stock, trapped wild hosses and busted them right there on
   the spread. While the wild hoss stock was already thinned out in the
   section of the [country?] when I was at that age, he still found one
   once in awhile, running loose without a brand.
   
   You see, in that day, critters, were the same as today. If they wore a
   brand, they belonged to the man who had that brand registered.
   00044When the [wild?] hosses began to thin out, some of them went out
   and trapped as [many?] an they could, branding them then turning them
   [loose?] to be [caught?] later [and?] busted. [What?] was in the day
   of free grass, when [a?] man's stock ranged wherever it could without
   being stopped by a lot of fences. I never heard of that being done any
   where else, and nobody but a greedy gut would've thought of that. I
   don't thing they made on it because they couldn't possibly have caught
   all they branded.
   
   "While I wouldn't say anything against [?], because he was a real
   [cow?] poke and honest as the day's long, but he caught quite a few
   wild ones that had a brand, and he slapped the M iron on them if
   [they?] were still wild when he trapped them. I've heard him and my
   dad talk about that, many a [time?], [and?] I don't know as anybody
   ever beefed about his doing it, even [though?] [they?] were just
   [round?] to have known about it. You see, he had to blot the other
   brand to put the [?] iron on, if the other iron couldn't be changed
   into the M. And, if he wanted to goto town, he didn't fail to ride a
   blotted brand hoss if he'd been riding it before he started towards
   town. In other words, he didn't change [hosses?]. Might've [?] the
   others were afraid to bring it to an issue. I don't know, but I do
   know that old Bill was pretty peppery and able, so they just looked
   the other way when they saw him on [?] blotted brand hoss, I reckon.
   
   "By the time I was seven years old, I was [right?] in there with old
   Bill working side [by?] side and doing regular cow poke work right
   with him. [Then?] they [got?] to [?], Bill handled them. [?] wasn't my
   idea, but his'n. That was the only way he'd let me work with [him?]
   but let me tell you that what he didn't know about 00055what I done
   when he wasn't looking at me, would fill a mighty good sized book.
   Sure would. [Anytime?] he and me got separated, and [?] had to rope or
   do anything else, I never called on '[Mister?] Bill' but done it
   myself.
   
   Why, I could rope and ride as well's anybody before I was nine, and
   went on roundups and everything, carrying out my end the same's any
   man. Of course, there was lots of things I had to learn by hard down
   experience. For instance, I don't know just how old I was at the time,
   but Bill left me to ride herd on around 200 steers while he rounded up
   some more he had located not far from the herds. While he was gone,
   there come up a rain [and?] a Norther at the some time. [The?] cattle
   put their tails to the wind [and?] rain, and started to drifting away
   from the way the wind and rain was coming. I never knowed anything but
   keep the herd on the spot they'd been put, so I started into trying to
   drive then beck. The more I'd work them, the more they drifted and I
   was to the place where the whole herd was about to stampede when Bill
   come a-riding up. [He?] knowed that I didn't know the herd'd drift
   with the rain, and might try to hold them back so he had come to help
   me. [He?] showed me how to get in front of the leaders, there's always
   leaders in any [drift?] or stampede, and always keep my hoss in front
   of them. [That?] way, the herd'd be helt back so's it [wouldn't?]
   drift so very for before they'd stop.
   
   Another thing Bill learnt me while I was still real young was always
   being in a position to leave the saddle should my hoss stumble, or
   start to pitching without me knowing it was going to. [Thereyou?] see
   a cow puncher riding so light It seems like 00066he's partly standing
   up in the stirrups, you're seeing a real rider that's probably been in
   the stormy seat of a bronc's saddle. That rider's learnt how to ride
   comfortably and still be ready to leave the saddle without getting his
   feet caught in the stirrups and having his hoss drag him to death. I'd
   have been killed a 100 times and over of I hadn't have learnt that
   because many's the hoss has [stumbed?] and fell, or [been?] bucking
   and fell, or even tried to roll over on [DEL: my :DEL] me while I was
   still in the saddle. When they done that and you were in the right
   position, you could leave the hull and be ready to get back in the
   saddle as your hoss come up from the ground. That's an old bronc
   busting trick Bill learnt me.
   
   "You see, after the wild hosses had been all caught up and the free
   grass was all fenced up to where wild hosses couldn't even run if they
   had been free and loose, my dad started to raising hosses to work
   with. These hosses had to be busted just he same's the other hosses
   they trapped on the range, and when I was along about 12 and 14, I was
   right in there with old Bill busting them.
   
   Them ornery critters had alot of tricks they'd pull to unseat you, and
   if you weren't on to their tricks, they'd do it too. Bill taught me
   how ta stay in there with them, how to hold my innards so's they
   wouldn't be busted out and everything. Now, I've just said something
   that might make you-wonder. [About?] the innards.
   
   "The best way to really understand it is to really see a wild one
   pitching, then picture your innards. They're loose, you [see?], and a
   pitching hoss comes down as hard's he can hit. When he does that and
   you're not braced for it, your innards'll bust out like somebody's
   took a knife and carved a place for them to fall out. Or, you could be
   internally ruptured so's you'd never live 00077'til the doc could fix
   you up. [hy?], one of the reasons all the old timers like me have such
   a iron jaw is because if you accidently let it loose while on a bronc,
   your tongue could be bit off, or your jaw broke when your hoss come
   down right hard, which they done every time. Just in case you never
   saw a real bucker, just imagine yourself in the saddle and every time
   your nag come down, it was equal to falling not less than 10 feet to
   20 feet. Then just as soon's you hit, the hoss'd take you up again and
   bring you back with the same force. Then, just to show you how times
   have changed, the buckers of today rarely ever go five minutes while
   in the olden days the hosses rarely ever bucked less then 30 minutes!
   And, maybe they'd buck over an acre or two of ground. When the bronc
   buster finished topping off a broom tail, he usually had raw knees
   where the skin'd been rubbed off while he was trying to clamp his legs
   tight enough to help him hold on, and his nose'd be bleeding like
   somebody'd hit it with all their might. Busting wild hosses wasn't a
   picnic by no means, but it was considered a part of the day's work to
   bust in your own mounts. A rough part but still a part.
   
   Now, when dad was needed to work with the cattle, it was nearly always
   at round up time and he worked like an ordinary cow poke. In fact, I
   could outride him before I was even 12 years old, but that was because
   I sort of stuck with the cattle instead of taking to the plow. And,
   that suited him which tickled me to death. He always took me on his
   cattle buying trips, which he done about once a year to add to the
   stuff he intended to send to market. In these trips, we visited a lot
   of other spreads there in Denton Co. but I [can't?] for the life of me
   recall their names. I recall the 00088Waggoner's because I later
   worked on that spread before it got so big it covered about six
   counties like it does today.
   
   "I recall that [Tom?] Waggoner had the finest steeldust hosses in the
   country when we went over there. Another thing I recall is when a
   bunch of Indians were trying to load some cow critters in some cars.
   Dad and me had gone to the loading point, looking for the foremen. He
   wasn't there but we stayed to watch the Indians work because I'd never
   seen many of them, and they were a fascination to me.
   
   "Then old Indians worked and they sweated. They worked and they
   sweated. Finally, they got their 30 critters in one car, that's the
   way they loaded them then, you know, 30 to a car. After they loaded
   them, they all went to some shade to rest. Well, you know they were so
   trifling that they'd forgot to shut the door and them old longhorns
   just poured out of there as soon's they discovered the door open. Then
   the Indians had all their work to do over again. They were too lazy to
   get anywhere working cattle. If it hadn't have been that there was
   some kind of an agreement or a law to use Indians while passing cattle
   through the Terr., they Couldn't have got a job anywhere.
   
   "Of course, handling wild cattle like that wasn't as easy as it
   sounds. They'd gore you if they got a chance. Or, they'd gore your
   hoss if they were that mean. And some of them were. They didn't always
   get to gore the hoss but they'd make a try at it any way. In fact, I
   never saw but one man in my life that wouldn't run from a wild cow if
   caught an the ground, and that was a nigger. Joe Cowan was his name,
   but I called him 'Nigger Joe,' as every body else done. Give him a
   five or a six foot stick and he'd go into 00099a penful of them with
   just that stick and nothing else to defend himself with. His trick was
   to hit them an the nose when they aimed for him. It was a good trick
   but I never tried it. Nigger Joe worked for me years after I left
   dad's spread.
   
   "The way that was, I decided to go out on my own for experience after
   my 21st birthday. My mother'd already been dead for a number of years,
   and dad was in favor of me seeing some country before I settle down.
   My first job was with old Cap [Rainer?] when he had his ranch in
   Baylor Co. The Rainer ranch aint there now but has been moved to
   stonewall Co. Not recent, but along about the time when I left the
   Rainer Ranch after three years over there.
   
   "Along in the Summer or my third year there, they decided to ship a
   train load of cattle to Houston. Since I wanted to see the country, I
   asked for the chance to go along and help care for the [stuff?] while
   it was on the trip. The foreman told me Cap'd have to decide that
   hisself, as to who's going along. I propositioned Cap and he said I
   could go. He drove about 400 head of his best four year old steer
   stuff over to the rail point, where we loaded them into the cars. 30
   to a car, and 15 cars to the train. [he?] cow pokes that didn't go
   with the train drove the others back to the ranch, and we went ahead.
   As the train covered the country we prodded the ones up that had laid
   down, or fell, to keep the others from stomping them.
   
   "When we got to Houston, the commission firm that was to handle the
   beef had a man meet the train, take a tally, then let us go. We
   decided to have some fun before we left, and that away, I met Caleb
   Slaughter. He knowed of a ranch/ in Edwards Co. to buy cheap, so we
   001010took the train right then for Lewisville.
   
   "I naturally expected my dad to put [up?] an awful holler about me
   wanting enough money to handle a whole ranch, but to my surprise,
   [dad?], said, 'Son. I give you credit for having a level head on your
   shoulders and after you've gone down there, if you still think it'll
   pay, let me know and we'll try to raise enough money somewhere to
   handle this.'
   
   "Slaughter and me tore out down there, riding the train 'til it got as
   [close?] as it run, then buying a couple of hosses and riding over
   there. We had a big shock when we got there, though, because the ranch
   was a whole lot bigger than Caleb thought, and took a whole lot more
   money. I wrote dad a letter, explaining the whole thing to him. He
   wrote right back that if I could lease the spread, he could raise
   enough money to stock it and then I could run it. I tried leasing
   [it?], and it was a go.
   
   "It was a good spread, and had been running right up 'til the year
   before, when the owner of it had been ambushed by some bushwhackers
   that were trying to take the whole County over. Jim Kelly was the man
   who'd been shot, and the one I leased it from was his daughter,
   Beatrice, better known around that part of the country as 'Bea'. She'd
   gone of and married a waddy that had got her dad's murderers.
   
   "The spread was the old double bar X, and they'd branded their
   critters like this: XX. By the way, I branded the 1,500 head of
   stockers I bought with the same brand. The way all this happened, I
   heard from a number of people at different times, and every time it
   was right about the same way so I reckon this is the way it was.
   
   Now, cow pokes in that day and time, were prone to meander
   001111around over the country. This was easy to do because every ranch
   house, cook shack, and chuck wagon had it's latch string on the
   outside and a man was welcome to stop and stay as long's he wanted to,
   providing he done the right thing. That is, if he stayed a couple of
   days, why do something to help the bell along. When they didn't take a
   job, they were called ' Saddle Bums,' of which there were plenty of
   them. When they made a locality too many times, though, they were told
   to get after they'd got a meal.
   
   Well, at the little old supply town of Hardrock, just about half way
   between the headwaters of the [?] and the Frio Rivers in the hills
   there in Edwards Co., this waddy Bea' married, his name was Jeff
   Waters, come riding along. [About?] a mile out of town, he hears some
   shots up ahead so he hustles his hoss up there to see what had
   happened. Just curious, you know.
   
   "Well, sir. Do you know that when he got to the spot where he figured
   the shooting come from, he found an old gray haired man dead with a
   shot in the side, and two through the head, fired at such a close
   range there was black powder on his forehead. [The?] back of his head
   was literally torn out by the shells.
   
   There were some fresh hoss tracks where the probable killer had helt
   his hoss while he fired the two head shots, then rode off. [When?]
   Jeff trailed the hoss, the tracks went right into town. Well, he
   didn't waste any time but went right back to the body and gave it a
   burial there, figuring the killer'd probably hang the murder oh him
   because he was a new comer to the country and sported two tied-down
   six guns. His rifle was one of the best long range rifles that money
   could buy, too, and that'd stood against him if anybody got hot
   headed. 001212"Jeff listened around, drinking up a lot of hard likker,
   but pouring more of it out than anybody thought. He just used his head
   like an old timer, and there he was, [not?] a day over 22 hisself. The
   sheriff came over to him and told him to be careful or he'd have to
   lock him up. The bar keep didn't want to lose a good customer, though,
   and he told the sheriff that as long's the man was keeping to hisself,
   he wasn't going to complain, and he didn't see as how any body else
   could.
   
   "The second day, Jeff saw the bar keep, the sheriff, and another man
   who'd been a stranger, in conversation with a man that looked like a
   regulation saddle bum. He heard the sheriff tell the bum that as
   long's he was the sheriff, nothing'd ever happen to the bum. There was
   also a little sack that changed hands from the bum to the bar keep,
   who took it right then and locked it up in his safe. After a little
   more conversation, the bunch split up and the bum left town.
   
   "Jeff knowed just about what the set up was the next day when a cow
   poke from a ranch near Hardrock rode in and reported finding a bum
   dead along the path. The sheriff got the coroner, and they rode out to
   see about it. Jeff had sobered up quite a little by this time, and the
   sheriff took him along to help handle the body. The body was that of
   the saddle bum he'd seen alive and talking to the sheriff, the bar
   keep, and the stranger who'd never showed up again. They took it back
   to town and buried it in the "Boot Hill" [ar?] rock had there.
   
   "About a week after the killing, Bea' rode into town, asking everybody
   if they'd seen her dad. They all said they'd seen him leaving town,
   headed toward the ranch. That is, those that seen him leave did.
   001313"While she was still there, Jeff saw this stranger walk up to
   her and tell her that he was ready to buy the ranch any time her dad
   wanted to sell. She told him to 'Go straight to hell! We wont sell to
   you nor none of your tribe!' Then she got on her hoss and hurriedly
   rode out of town. The stranger ran towards a big white Cleveland Bay
   like he intended to ride after her, then decided against it. He then
   realized that jeff had seen the whole thing and went into the saloon.
   Jeff idled in himself just in time to hear the bar keep again hold up
   for him.
   
   "That evening, about 10 dusty, hard looking cow punchers rode into
   town, the stranger leading. Jeff stayed out of sight, listening to
   every conversation he could. He found that this man he was wondering
   about was 'Big Tom' Leahman, a cattle buyer that bought and sold
   ranches on the side. He owned the 'Lazy U' spread and run stock in the
   Frio Canyon, about 50 miles or less from Hard-rock. He'd been trying
   to buy the Double Bar X for over six Mos., and it looked like he
   wasn't going to get it.
   
   "Then, he overheard some more conversation that really interested him.
   He was leaning against the backside of the saloon when he heard voices
   coming through the window. The voices were the stranger and one of the
   cow pokes that had rode in. The stranger, or, Big Tom as they called
   him, told the cow poke that Jeff had heard and saw too much so it was
   high time somebody fixed him up where he couldn't talk. This cow poke
   said he'd get the job done right [DEL: waay :DEL] way. [s?] soon's
   [they?] could fine their man.
   
   Jeff decided to take the bull by the horns. He walked into that saloon
   where there were about 14 known enemies, bound to kill him at the
   first chance. The sheriff and Big Tom were at the 001414bar with a
   couple of others, all talking a drink as he passed through the
   swinging doors. It just happened that Big Tom was nearest to the door,
   which was just as Jeff wanted it. He walked up to the bar, ordered a
   drink, then whispered to Big Tom, 'Do you reckon old Jim Kelly's
   ghost'll ever haunt you?'
   
   Big Tom choked on his likker, then backed away from the bar, coughing
   and spluttering. He said, 'Why you---' That's as far's he got. He
   clawed his six shooter out of his shoulder holster and almost had the
   barrel of it even with Jeff when Jeff pushed hisself away from the
   bar, jerked both guns out and put a neat hole right through his head.
   Then he was on his feet like a cat before the rest of the crowd hardly
   realized what had happened and covering them. He purposely gave the
   sheriff a chance to get his gun, then beat him to the shot, killing
   right on the spot. The rest of the gang, including the bar keep,
   hoisted their hands without being told. They understood.
   
   Jeff then said, 'You'll file over my way, one at a time, and you'll
   pile your guns on that table. Then you'll slowly file outside, grab
   your nags and beat it away. I doubt if you'll beat the rangers at
   that, because they've been on the way here for some time to clean this
   rotten hole out.'
   
   They done as he said, glad of the chance to get away. Jeff said that
   every man jack left Edwards Co., and have never been seen since in
   that part of the country. The rangers did come, and after a
   investigation, they have it listed as an, 'Open Case.' That is,
   unsolved. The killer was never known.
   
   "Jeff then found where Bea' was, and they got the old man out and
   buried him in the family grave yard in front of the 001515ranch house.
   I've said the inscription many a time, and it says, 'Jim Kelly, 'date
   and age I've forgotten but the rest says,' A MAN THAT WOULD NOT
   BLUFF.'
   
   "You know, I've thought more about that story here lately than I ever
   done before. If I was any hand at writing, I'd write a book about it,
   and throw in the rest of the things Big Tom's men done there. They'd
   tried to run that whole country, and nobody knows how far he'd have
   got if Jeff hadn't have happened along just like he done. He was lucky
   all the way around, because he married a wonderful girl, and they're
   living in Del Rio, Texas, right now. He's interested in some ranch
   around there, having sold the other after I lost out.
   
   "By 1897, I'd run my 1,500 head into 3,500, and had a lot of fine
   stuff on the place. Not what we can see here at the Stock Show, but a
   whole lot finer than I started with anyway. Caleb had died, and I had
   a regular foreman and about 20 cow pokes working right along with me.
   You see, I worked right along in the cattle just like any other man.
   That's where I made because if I'd have left it to others, they might
   not have done so well. Instead, I knew all about what was going on,
   and done the bossing except when away selling or buying. Then the
   foreman took over.
   
   "A nother thing, I done all the hoss busting on my spread. That's one
   thing I never left to anybody else unless one of the boys just wanted
   to bust his own hoss in. In that case, they had their choice and most
   of them busted in one of two of their own. I had several Steeldust
   hosses, and several Kentucky Blacks in my hoss herd to build up the
   Mustangs. I either killed off the Mustangs stallion or made gelding
   out of them. What I wanted, and what I 001616finally got, was a might
   good breed with all that a hoss in them days could hope to have. They
   had speed, stamina, and everything. I sold my hosses everywhere,
   getting from 25 to a 100.00 for them in a day when hosses didn't sell
   like they do today. I got good prices for them, and my breed was just
   becoming known in that part of the country when I lost everything I
   had. A drouth come in that part of the country and the grazing got
   awful bad. Because I hadn't put up anything against a rainy day, I
   didn't have any money to fall back on, and even my dad couldn't help
   me. He was broke too.
   
   "I got Winfield Scott out of Fort Worth here to buy my stock, and
   after I got it shipped here and paid off what I owed, I didn't have
   but a little over $700.00 I laid that away in a bank, then high tailed
   it to Seymour, Texas, where they were about to hold a rodeo. It was
   along in 1897, I reckon, because it was the second rodeo they had
   there. I entered for riding, and won me a saddle.
   
   "Then I went to the Waggoner Ranch in Clay Co., where they were
   holding a big bunch of cattle for fattening before shipping, and they
   put me right on. They certainly needed me, because the critters were
   all half starved, and when they're that way, they're skittish as the
   very devil and likely to run at the least little old scare. The truth
   of it is that it doesn't really take a good scare to start them on the
   run.
   
   "We had a number of small stampedes while I was with that one herd
   before it was shipped. I later helped move a herd of Waggoner out to
   the country where the Waggoner Ranch is today. As I said before, it
   covers a lot of territory now. A whole sight more then it did when I
   first went to work for them. 001717"I didn't work so steady for the
   Waggoners, but left from time to time to take on flyers in buying and
   selling on a shoe-string. By 1904, I'd run my B. R. up to around
   $1,500.00, and then my dad died.
   
   I got the wire in the middle of the night, and was on the train for
   Lewisville the next morning. Just happened to be lucky and made good
   connections. When I got to the old home place, the boys on the place
   had helt up the funeral 'til I could get there, then we put him away.
   
   "I inherited everything dad had, but there wasn't so much cash and the
   place was about half mortgaged. Since I didn't want to be tied down in
   that part of the country, I got the mortgage holder to buy the rest of
   the place. Then I took the cash and bought 1,000 head of two year old
   steers to fatten. The place where I bought this stuff was located
   right close to where the city of Mariette, Okla. now stands.
   
   I then hired about 15 cow pokes and moved this stuff on' up into Love
   Co. There's an awful lot of material in [Love?] co. to write a book on
   too, and I sure wish I could do it. Anything a man could imagine, has
   happened in Love Co. That is, including Territory days too.
   
   "Even as late as I was in getting into Love Co., they still had 'Colts
   Law'. By that I mean that the best man with a six shooter won his
   argument. The star toters in that day respected a citizen's rights and
   never arrested a men unless he had the dead-wood on him because if he
   did, and the man got away, he was liable to return and the star toter
   be a candidate for Boot Hill. Those old times sheriffs sure had to use
   their heads and keep practiced up 001818with their shooting irons.
   Many a sheriff was an ex-bandit turned right. And, the people in that
   day and time backed him in his every play as long's he was right.
   
   "As far that's concerned, I've hired seven or eight men in my time,
   that I'd been told they used to use a wet rope to make their living. I
   didn't care about that but was always willing to give the underdog a
   chance to make good, then if he turned bad again, stomp the very
   living daylights out of him, or, a hanging was alright by me.
   
   "It was along in 1904 when my dad died, and then along in the Fall of
   1906, I had my men drive my stuff to a rail point and I consigned them
   to Kansas City for sale. I made a real good profit on the, then my
   head began to take a turn for farming. I never thought I'd ever like
   farming, but that's the way I decided. I some way or another, wanted
   to settle down and stay in one place. A place I could be sure of in my
   old age, and raise a family as my dad done.
   
   "With that in mind, I went back to the old home country but nothing
   suited me, so I went a few miles S. and bought up this place I now
   have, about seven miles S.W. of [Hablet?], here in Tarrant Co.
   
   I don't only farm, though. I raise a few head of fine cattle for sale
   now and then. That's the life. Raising cattle is. [?] one of the
   reason I always come to the show here in Fort Worth because the fine
   stuff here always gives me a big kick.

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