My Trip Out West: A True Adventure from 1873 (Part 2 of 4)

In the days of Noah, when the lifespan was nearly a thousand years, many generations could share stories about what it was like when they grew up.  Today, it is rare to go back even a hundred years.  Our own family has a true-life adventure story from 1873, when my great-great grandfather decided as a young man to see the Old West while it was still wild, and buffalo still roamed the plains.  Here is Part Two of the letter he wrote to my father in 1931.

LIVING ON DEER MEAT

From then on, we saw plenty of game.  In fact: we lived on Deer meat from then on.  A few weeks after that (one Sunday morning) I was making along slowly up along the side of a mountain.  There was a few inches of snow on the ground, with a crust on it.  I heard something breaking through the crust in back of me.  Looking around I saw a big Buck Deer not more than 25 feet behind me.  He was so astonished at seeing me that he stood perfectly still with his head tilted forward looking at me.  I didn’t dare to move for fear he would run away.  So, I slowly got my rifle raised up behind me and fired.  Away he went up the mountainside.  I thought I had missed him, but on following his track, I saw he hadn’t made but a few jumps until he was bleeding pretty bad.  When I got to the crest of the rise I saw him lying at the foot of a tree with his head towards me.  Then I knew he was My Deer.  But, to make sure, I gave him another bullet in between the eyes.  He raised his head once and let it drop.  I am sorry now that I didn’t save the antlers, for he had a fine set of horns.

The following Sunday two men that I knew came up to our camp with a couple of Dogs and went out after Mountain Lion.  They got two in less than three hours--big ones.  I didn’t have time to go along with them because I had my washing to do, but one day when I was out I shot a Bob Cat (or what some people call a Lynx).  They are a nasty animal to have a fight with, if you don’t happen to put a bullet where it does the most good.  They are a fierce looking little animal!  We didn’t have any Turkey for our Christmas Dinner, but we had all the good Elk and Bear roasts a man could wish for.  And then to top it off, for our Thanksgiving Dinner we had all the Mountain Trout you could put under your Belt.  In fact, Fish and Game was all the kind of meat we had to live on all winter. 

           

CAMP MUSICIANS

There were about fifteen men of us that worked in the logging Camp.  In the evenings we would sit around the campfire, play cards, tell stories, sing songs.  There was one fellow by the name of Grant Houghton that had a Violin, the same as myself.  So, the two of us used to furnish all the music for the camp-- evenings, mornings, breakfast, before daylight, and get out to the chopping as the stars were shining yet.  But everyone felt happy until along in February sometime, when a new man came to work in the camp.  He was a kinder quarrelsome, and wanted to be the Bully of the camp.  The cousin of the Camp Boss was more or less bossy, too, and it wasn’t long until the two got into a fight, and the consequence was that it broke up the camp, and nearly all of the men left the camp, me among them. 

WYOMING: THE WILD WEST

Not finding anything to do to suit me in Collins the rest of the winter, I took the opportunity to go up into Wyoming, to see my friend Ed Brown.  He was working for the Craton cattle outfit some 150 miles north of Collins on Little Horse Creek.  In order to get there, I first had to go to Cheyenne, then take the train to Pine Bluffs and pick up a horse that belonged to Mr. Brown, that was running with Mr. Trasey’s horses where Mr. Brown had worked the year before.  It took me about two days to find the horse.

In Cheyenne, at the hotel where I stopped that night, I was sitting in the Bar Room when a man came in, pulled out his gun and shot one the two men that were standing at the Bar.  He shot twice.  The first shot missed, but it hit a stone match holder in the Bar and smashed it all to flinders, then hit a bottle on the shelf back of the Bar and broke that.  His second shot hit the man in the hip.  The man fell and the shooter turned and walked out and never said a word.  Neither did anyone else.  They took the wounded man away and that was all there was done about it.

           

The day after I found the horse I rode him over to the Craton Headquarters Ranch (about 35 miles).  The following day I rode the other 30 miles to where Brown and another man were staying.  It was a little log shanty about 12 feet square.  It was a one room Kitchen, Bedroom, Dining Room, Living room, Library, Laundry, Bathroom, all in one.  Even the Dog had the privilege of occupying any room he chose (now wasn’t that fine).  Well, I stayed with Brown two weeks or more.  During that time Brown’s partner took a vacation, so Brown and me had the whole house to ourselves.  Every day we would put a roast into the oven, put things in shape, saddle our horses, and tell the Dog to keep an Eye on everything while we were gone, and ride away over the hills and through the hollows after the Coyote, Antelope, or Jack Rabbit.  I thought it about time that get back to Collins and get to work.  So, when Brown’s partner got back from his vacation, he told me that the Ranch Foreman would like to have me go on a trip towards the North Platte river to look after some of their cattle, if I could drive their chuck wagon it would help them out quite a bit.  So, I did so.

THE FORT COLLINS ORCHESTRA

It was quite a trip.  We were gone a whole week.  But as soon as I got back I knew it was time for me to get back to Collins and get to work.  When I got back six of us young fellows decided to batch it 

for a while, so we rented a little log house (not much larger than Mr. Brown’s was) and did our own cooking.  It wasn’t long until our little Shanty became the after-supper hangout for the jolly Boys of the town.  The members of our Bachelor Club were J. Boorse, Eph Love, Ed Van Brunt, Silas Doty, and Ben Davet.  Oh, yes, we had a big spotted Bull Dog.  One of the Boys it seems adopted him, so he could be a legal member of the Club.  We had quite an orchestra, too.  There was Ed V. Brunt and me, and from the outside of the Club there was Frank Loughton, a Mr. Snyder, and a young man by the name of Deck Cloud.  His Father had a Sawmill up in the mountains.  Deck used to stay in Collins in charge of their lumber yard, so he would be over to our Club after he had had his supper, the same as this Mr. Snyder.  We all could play the Violin, and three could play the Cello, and two of us could play the guitar.  So, between us, we could make quite a racket!

A CRACK SHOT

This Deck Cloud used to go to the sawmill every Saturday afternoon, and stay until Monday morning.  Deck often wanted me to go along with him.  So, I did one Saturday.  The Mill crew had a bunk shanty by themselves and Sunday morning after they had had their breakfast, it was their usual custom to have a little Rifle practice at a mark on a tree 100 yards away.  I watched them until they had shot 8 or 10 rounds, when their ammunition gave out, with the exception of one shell.  The leader of the shooters insisted that I fire the shell and see what I could do.  They had the custom of resting the Rifle on the top of the lumber pile when they shot.  But I never could shoot good that way, so I stood up on the top of the lumber pile and shot offhanded.  After I had shot, the man that was down near the tree taking the scores threw up his hands and yelled "Bulls Eye!"  The leader said, I am sorry that we haven’t got another shell, for I don’t believe you could do that again if you tried all day.  I was glad they hadn’t another shell, for I thought it was more good luck than anything else. 

Next Time: Bear Hunting