Corpus Christi History by Murphy Givens

Wednesday, February 23, 2000

Up the trail -- Part Two

The cattle drive era represents an epic chapter in the history of Texas. More than five million head of cattle were driven up the trails that stretched north from South Texas like giant fingers.
   The herds were mostly moved up the Texas and Western Trails. The Western Trail (sometimes called the Dodge City Trail) went through Fort Griffin and crossed into Indian Territory at Doan's Store. The Texas Trail went up near Fort Worth and crossed into Indian Territory 200 miles or so to the east of the Western Trail. The Chisholm Trail began in what is now Oklahoma.
   This was a world-crossing journey for young men who had never been more than a few miles from home. Many who went up the trail were Tejanos and black cowboys. In one case, a young woman rode the trail disguised as a man; she made it to Kansas without being discovered.
   Trail-driving was said to be pleasant when skies were clear and there was plenty of grass and water. With a herd making 10 miles a day, cowboys rode along dozing in the saddle and admiring their shadows. The herd moved in a long line. The two top hands rode point. On either side at the front, a third of the way back, were the swing riders. A third of the way from the rear were the flank riders. At the rear were the drag riders, the dust-eaters.
   Cowboys cut out and ran off ranch cattle that drifted into the herd. They watched to keep buffalo from mingling with the herd. They stopped for supplies at "piddle stops'' like Fort Worth and Fort Griffin, depending on which trail they took. In Indian Territory, they kept the peace by paying tribute of a few cattle, "wohaw,'' as the Indians called them.
   Cowboys worked long hours, ate many sacks of beans, drank gallons of Arbuckle's coffee, and favored a trail dessert made of dried fruit in a dough called "son of a bitch in a sack." At night, they played poker by the light of a bull's-eye lantern and slept on a blanket, with their saddles for pillows, in what they called a Tucson bed.
   It was a dangerous job when there were flooded rivers or when the herd "pulled a big show.'' The best accounts of the trail days can be found in the "Trail Drivers of Texas.''
   "We took the river route,'' one wrote in disgust, "since we must have crossed every damned river in the country.'' A trail boss watching his cattle swim the Brazos said it looked as if his herd had disappeared; all he could see were horns in the water. When rivers ran high, a herd would be held back, but they couldn't wait too long; other herds were coming up and mixing herds caused no end of trouble. On one trip, a cowboy counted 15 herds waiting to cross the Trinity River. Further north, the Red River "looked like a young ocean."
   Worse than taking a herd across a swollen river was a stampede, which comes from the Spanish "estampida." Thomas Welder of Beeville said his herd ran every night for 10 nights in a row. And this was the worst kind of stampede, in brush country, which left the cowboys "looking like they had been to an Irish wake, all bloody and bruised.''
   Cattle would run for any reason - a sudden noise, the flare of a match - but they usually ran in a storm. A flash of lightning and whipcrack of thunder and off they ran "with hell in their necks.'' A steer known to run or start a stampede would be doctored, with his knee tendons cut so he could walk but not run.
   During a storm, cowboys wore yellow slickers they called "fish'' and worked around the clock. After one stampede, it was said, every steer's tongue was hanging out, and every cowboy's.
   "I have seen the time,'' one said, "that I would rub raw tobacco in my eyes to try to stay awake.'' Another said he had seen cowboys who had been in the saddle 24 hours without sleep come into camp, lie down, go to sleep instantly, and sleep soundly with rain pouring down and water four inches deep all around them.
   In one storm, a cowboy from San Antonio wrote that he could see lightning playing on the brim of his hat and the tips of his horse's ears. Riding in the dark, with running cattle, was a dangerous experience. "We had a big stampede and while running in the lead of the steers, I saw by a flash of lightning that I was on the edge of a big bluff of the river. There was nothing left for me to do but jump, so I spurred my horse and landed in the river, which had three or four feet of water in it. Neither my horse nor I was hurt, although some of the steers were killed and others crippled.''
   Many cowboys died on the trail. They were wrapped in their blankets and buried in shallow graves. One man wrote that the saddest sight he'd ever seen was a little mound of fresh earth with a pair of boots sitting by it. It was the last resting place of some poor cowboy.
  
  

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