John P. Rotruck

	Dundy County Nebraska Genealogy Trails

Boyhood Impressions of the New West

By John P. Rotruck

Down Thru The Years
Installment No. 445
By Pat Ketler
June1957

For the past two issues I have been mingling history and taxes in my column with the days of yesterday and they jibed pretty well together since there is nothing older than taxes and politics and both were factors in early day history, even as they are today. But this week I am going back to the very early history of our little empire at a period of transition from the cowboy era to the coming of the homesteader.

It is borrowed from Miss McAllister's history of Dundy county, published some twenty years ago. But neither Miss McAllister nor I wrote the story, but rather it was written by John P. Rotruck, who came to Dundy county with his parents in a very early day and perhaps there were few of his generation who was more observing and who had greater ability to record his observations than did he. Like the other boys and girls of the middle eighties, he began his education in our schools and then as time advanced, attended the state university and finally equipped himself as a lawyer and located in the practise of law in Denver, in which he continued until his death several years ago.

As you will note, Mr. Rotruck dwelt largely on the men and women in the early and middle Eighties who were soon to be replaced by hordes of homesteaders who practically took over within the space of one year and his story dates back further than anything in the county's history that I have been able to bring you heretofore, and although it is quite lengthy, I wanted it incorporated in my history, and I will guarantee that it will not be boring to my readers because of its length for it does record everyday life and living at the grass roots in our little empire.

Recreation

Dancing occupied as prominent a place on the frontier as any other institution. Forty or fifty miles ridden on horseback to attend a night's frolic was no uncommon undertaking. Such entertainments were held regularly and each new building erected had to be "broken in" with a dance before it was ready for consideration. Memory presents one of those incidents for consideration.

A store building had been completed and a dance had been arranged therein for a certain night. The lighting system employed for the night consisted of four lanterns placed in the four corners of the room, well above the heads of the dancers and they furnished all of the light for the occasion.

Most of the men were "Cowboys," so called by the "Easterner," but they dubbed anyone a "tenderfoot" for using such a designation. They insisted on being called "Cowmen" or "Cowpunchers”.

The men were dressed in their best that night which consisted of the flannel shirt with the collar attached; the red bandanna handkerchief tied loosely about the neck; the chaps (chaparreras) with fringe of leather strips, two or three inches in length along the side seams; the high heeled boots, with large Mexican spurs strapped thereon and, of course, the ever present forty-five caliber "six-shooter" swinging, loosely, in a holster, attached to a belt strapped about the waist. Imagine the noise made by the heavy boots and the ceaseless clatter of the large spurs as each struck the floor with every step taken.

The elite of the "range" were there that night, "Old Mose" Collins, for whom Collinsville had been named; "Old Yaller," whose complexion and the color of his hair furnished a good cause for the nickname; "Windy Jack," who did his share of talking; "Dutch Pete" whose brogue and lingo were responsible for the designation; "Old Scissor Legs," whose lower extremities were more slender than appeared proper, in proportion to the remainder of the body; "Buttermilk Bill," who once declared that a cow on their ranch gave milk as rich as buttermilk. "You mean cream," interrupted a Cowman, in an attempt to make the correction. "No, I don't mean cream," insisted Bill, "I mean buttermilk," and from that time on it was "Buttermilk Bill;" and lastly, "Fancy Dan," whose clothing and personal appearance showed careful attention. Even his boots had to be polished frequently, and it was necessary to have a clean, carefully pressed red bandanna handkerchief, each week, to tie loosely about his neck. The metal parts of his spurs and his "six-shooter" too, must be polished and kept as bright as possible, while his broad rimmed white hat must be creased just so, and everything he did gave good reason for the title. Many others were present too, but their names and cognomen have passed from memory.

The ladies also were dressed in their best but not being informed in relevant descriptions, modesty and ignorance forbids an attempt to do them justice. Suffice it to say that distinctively western patterns predominated. It was noticeable too, that the carriage of the ladies and the "saddle-broken" swing in the gait of the Cowmen emphasized their habits of spending much time on horseback, which fact was reflected in their walk.

The music for that occasion came from a diminutive organ in one corner of the room. The lady, who presided with honor at the instrument, could play a few chords and a less number of very simple tunes. Just how many times she played “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” or the number of inartful variations and musical flourishes attempted, is beyond the pale of memory. But the alleged music, bad as it may have been from an artistic point of view, proved altogether sufficient and the dance whirled merrily onward into the night. Really the quality of the music amounted to little, as the noise from the many feet on the board floor all but drowned the strains from the little organ.

The Cowmen, with apologies, excuses and profuse bows, left their ladies at the conclusion of each dance and departed from the building in a pell-mell rush act, which resembled a room full of boys suddenly let loose from school. In ten or fifteen minutes thereafter they would return in the same noisy, hurry-scurry manner. They adjourned, as one might easily guess, to a nearby saloon which was kept open all night for commercial purposes and to accommodate the thirsty Cowmen.

When the dance broke up, several unattached Cowmen lingered about the building. Presently someone placed a chair in one corner of the room and stepped thereon and a Cowman inquiringly said, "What are you going to do ?" "Put out the lights," came the quick reply as a lantern was removed from the nail-hook on the wall. "Never mind," said he, "I'll put 'em out," and he did. He pulled his "six-shooter" and "whipped it” down upon the remaining lanterns —two had broken globes, while the other one had been shot through the bottom and up through the burner, which caused the "coal-oil" to run down the corner of the building and onto the floor. The danger incident to fire was avoided, and the only damage done was to the lanterns. Opportunities to "show-off" abilities at marksmanship were always embraced, and their "shootings" were worth witnessing.

After the final conclusion of the dance and that which followed, the Cowmen and their ladies swung into their saddles and using their long bridle reins for quirts, started homeward on the habitual “fox-trot,” which gait could be maintained for the entire trip without experiencing much fatigue.

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Shudders

"It makes me shudder every time I ride over that quarter section of land just south of the depot," said a Cowman, "as it was my twenty-seventh preemption."

The statutes of the United States provided, among other things, that each citizen of the nation should be entitled to "enter" one preemption on the "public domain," which, with subsequent work done thereon, vested a fee simple in the "entryman," for one hundred sixty acres of land.

In view of the plain and well understood mandates of the law and the penalties attached to a willful violation of the act, may account for his "shudders every time he rode over that quarter section of land.”

It was the habit of the great cattle companies to "expect" the Cowman to file on many quarter sections along the rivers and creeks, under different aliases. After the "patents" were secured from the government, they would purchase the land, thus fraudulently acquired for a mere pittance. Thousands of acres of the "cream" of the public domain were stolen in this manner, prior to the coming of the permanent settlers."

Rarely, if ever, were the guilty apprehended, tried and convicted for those offenses, as it was generally understood and believed to be a fact that the government officials were in league with the great cattle companies and as far as possible protected known violators of the law.

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Idiosyncrasies

Unique and attractive characters were to be found among the Cowmen on the range. One who drew attention for his humorous, homely and original mannerisms and the use of western colloquialisms could "read and write and cipher too," but taking his "book-larning" altogether, it was of doubtful value. He was born on the western frontier and the early call for the courageous activities of life had claimed his time and attention along more exciting trails.

As pioneers pushed the western frontier further and further toward the setting sun in their insatiable desire for land, the riders of the range found it necessary to be on the constant move. Our subject, like other Cowmen, followed the star of empire westward until one day he fell a willing victim to the wiles of a fair one and took unto himself a wife. They settled at Benkelman where he spent most of his time looking after his cattle and other interests.

In harmony with the custom of the times, he played draw poker, because he liked it. He would not pass up untouched an occasional drink of whisky—he liked that too. Usually he was exceedingly quiet, of a retiring nature, harmless to a fault, honest, sincere and plodded along in the even tenor of his way and permitted others to do likewise.

As a rule nothing would disturb him, but one day stepping out of his ordinary "hum-drum" course, he took on an extra load of booze and became top heavy. Strange and visionary imaginations and wild thoughts seemed to arouse him to action. He sought and found his forty-five caliber "six-shooter" and strapped it to himself as of old. Straightening up with difficulty, he took his bearing for the outside door of his home and tried to walk a straight line. Gaining his objective and finding his feet on mother earth, he stopped and looked about, with his hand on his "six-shooter" ready for action.

He continued walking, or rather weaving, back and forth, up and down the street, looking, all the time looking. It was apparent that he was looking for something at which be might shoot. Finally becoming disgusted with lack of opportunity and being determined to shoot, he pulled off his old broad rimmed slouch hat, with an awkward gesture, flourished it over his head a time or two and slammed it down upon the ground so hard that the report of the impact could be heard fifty feet away. Stepping back a few steps he glared insidiously at his battered target, then pulled his "six-shooter" and fired all six loads into the old hat. With great difficulty he picked it up, examined it carefully, placed it back on his head and staggered away muttering and apparently satisfied.

By the next day he was sober and came down the street wearing the same old battle scarred sombrero. Coming into a bunch of old timers and Cowmen, some of whom had seen his escapade the day before, one of them feigning ignorance said, "Say, Buck, what happened to your hat ?" He did not know but did not intend to be outdone by the bunch, so he straightened up, assumed an important air, as if he were about to say something really worth the hearing and told a long, badly disconnected and altogether vague and improbable story, which rambled along but which in substance was about as follows:

"Yesterday I was riding that sorrel cow-pony of mine out west of town about five miles and while looking for some cattle I heard some "fellers," who were riding along on the ridge of the Divide, about a half a mile away, hollering like a bunch of Apaches. When about one hundred yards away they began shooting and before I had time to see what was up, they had cut my pants, my shirt and you fellers see what they did to my hat. I socked the spurs into the old sorrel and soon left them in the lurch. "Who were those fellows?" ventured one of his audience. "Why, they were some of the outfit from the Oak Ranch," he replied, "who were looking for horse thieves and I guess they took me for one."

Just about that time the bunch broke out in a hearty, boisterous laugh, noticeably disturbing the Cowman in his attempt at bravado. He became uneasy and embarrassed by their continued merriment and demanded to know "what they were laughing about ?"

When he was told that he shot the holes in his hat, he turned away incredulously at their effrontery and manifested a disgusted appearance. Only a few steps were taken, however, when he turned suddenly on the bunch and said, "Say fellers, the drinks are on me, foller me." So they proceeded to the nearby saloon and drank to the long life of Buck's old hat.

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TIT FOR TAT

A well-to-do widow, who was quite pretentious, conducted a small store at Benkelman. She purchased a cow one day and picketed the animal on the prairie near her place of business. The next morning "Bossie" was gone and the subsequent search made for her failed in its intent.

Years passed and one day two young men friends who were boys together in that new country were strolling around and wandered into the store conducted by "Slippery Sam," a former cowpuncher who had married and settled down to the quiet life of a country merchant. They fell to talking over old times and old timers. After a while, one of the young fellows said, "Sam, what ever became of the widow's cow?" As quick as a flash, he answered. "She had been killed out here at the slaughter house." "Let me see," said the inquirer, "that was in 1887." "Oh, I don't remember when it was," flashed back the merchant, as he shifted his position on his chair. "Yes, that was in 1887; and let me see-let me see," mused the youth. "Sam," said he, "you were running the butcher shop then weren't you?" “No, I wasn’t running that shop then.”

"You've got me dead wrong." The accuser insisted he was right. "That's all wrong," repeated the former rider of the range, "but that reminds me of something that did happen while I was running that shop." "Buck Jones pulled a good one on me one day," began the embarrassed merchant, who seemed desirous of shifting the conversation.

"One day I needed some beeves for the shop," continued Slippery, so I went and bought three 2-year old steers—they were as fat as butter. I turned them into the corral at the slaughter house and closed and locked the gate. Before leaving there I looked them over carefully, so as to be sure to be able to identify them should they break away and wander back to the ranch. The next day when I went to the slaughter house to do some killing, lo and behold, one of the critters was gone. The fence and the gate were intact—just as I had left them the day before, but there were only two beeves in the corral. Well, the killing was done, as per schedule, after which I returned to the shop but said nothing about what happened. As soon as possible, I swung into the saddle and spent the best part of the next three days hunting over a circuit of five or more miles, but it was useless–the steer was gone.

"About a week later Buck dropped into the shop and said, "Sam, I killed a beef yesterday, which is too much for my family and I wonder if you will take half of it?" "Yes," I said, "bring it in." So in a day or two, he brought it to the shop—I weighed it up—paid him the cash and he went his way. Two or three months later Buck came in and said, "Sam, I've got a lot of hides out home--can you use them?" Yes, I told him to bring them in and one day he dumped twelve or fifteen of them on the floor, which were examined for defects. One after another was unrolled, examined, rolled up again and thrown over in one corner of the shop. Finally one was passing through the process of examination—and there it was just as plain as the nose on your face—yes sir. It was roan in color; round topped A brand; cropped ear and bobbed tail; white star in the forehead and left white fetlock. "Uh huh," said I to myself, "uh huh," but nothing further was said. I just went on examining the rest of the hides but, believe me, I was doing some tall thinking."

"By the time the last hide had been thrown into the corner of the room my mind was made up and I said, "Buck, I haven't any money today, so you'll have to see me some other time. "All right," said Buck, never suspecting that I was wise to him and pretty soon he left the shop.

"About a month or six weeks later, he came shuffling along and leaned up against the door jam of shop and said, "Sam, do I get any money today?” My chance had come at last, so I says to him. "Buck, you're a darn smart cuss and a wise one too, at least you think so, but you're not half as keen as you imagine.” "What's the matter?" inquired Buck. "Well, this is what is the matter," said I, "when you pay me for that 2-year old which you stole from my corral last summer, then I'll pay you for those hides and not before." Buck turned away and began to holler and laugh; then we both laughed but said nothing more. He loitered about the shop for a while before he left and as sure as I'm standing here, he has never asked me for the price of those hides from that day to this."

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CHEYENNE CANYON AND

IT’S CHRISTENING

Cheyenne Canyon would not attract attention in the mountains, but on the "boundless prairie" it hits the semblance of the colossal.

It lies five miles east of Benkelman and one mile north of the Republican River. The peculiar topography and the exceptional vegetation marks it for attention. The big spring bursting forth from the head of this formation sends forth a stream of clear, cold water and forms a rivulet two or three feet wide, which flows southward to join the Republican river. For fifty yards on each side of the rivulet, and for a quarter of a mile south of the spring, trees, shrubbery and green grass grows luxuriantly. Those require more water than is necessary for the prairie vegetation including the hardy brown buffalo grass.

"How did it receive it's name?" was asked of "Old Mose" Collins, who answered the inquiry by telling the following episode.

"In the fall of 1876," said the old scout, "the Cheyenne Indians, who were "corralled" in the Indian territory, now Oklahoma, hearing the 'call of the wild' and being ever willing to obey its mandates stealthily stole from the reservation and took a northerly course for the stalking grounds where game was plentiful. Two thousand bucks, squaws and children comprised the party."

After being in the open for several days and killing all the buffalo and antelope for present needs, they began to feel the license of liberty and started on the war path against their ancient enemy, the white men, and to committing all kinds of depredations. Coming upon covered wagon trains and small settlements, the "red devils" killed and scalped men, women and children, and stripped the

outer clothing that is, the dresses—from the bodies of the women. Then seizing horses, wagons, provinder and provisions, they proceeded on their way over a country, which for ages had been their undisputed possessions for hunting grounds. A trail of death and devastation was left in their wake, and at each massacre the outer clothing of the women formed part of their booty.

Finally the soldiers awoke from their lethargy and to their duty and started post haste after the redskins. Soon they were in an unknown country and traveling new trails. "Scouts had to be employed," said Mose, "and I was one of them selected in this capacity as I had ridden all over that country and knew the trail and watering places.”

On northward went the Indians and on northward trailed the soldiers, over that trackless waste and no difficulty was experienced in following the trails of blood and carnage. The Indians crossed the Republican river near where Max is located and hit the trail for the Canyon—that "oasis in the desert," here they remained for three days to permit their horses to rest and recuperate. The soldiers and Scouts imagined this would be their course, so they double quickened their pace for the Canyon and, on coming near their rendezvous, they learned from other cowmen, that the Indians had left the place the day before and had gone northward.

“Into the canyon rode the scouts and soldiers,” continued the old Cowman. "The appearance can never be forgotten. The Indian boys and girls had torn the outer clothing of the women victims into long strips of about an inch in width. Then up the trees they climbed and tied one end of each streamer to the different twigs, branches and limbs of the trees, permitting the other end of the streamers to be free. Thousands of such rags were tied thusly, and when the scouts and soldiers entered the canyon at the south end, the gentle breeze that was blowing caused the variegated colored streamers to flutter and reminded the observers of birds flitting aimlessly about. By using the imagination just a little, it seemed as though those streamers were trying to attract attention and impress the newcomers with their animation and assumed life. It was a semi-weird aspect producing an uncanny feeling, in view of the thought of the former owners of those rags and the manner of their respective murder, which thought and feeling was only relieved by leaving those haunts and environs.”

Since that raid the location has borne the name of Cheyenne Canyon.

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The Roundup

The semi-annual roundup, occurring twice a year served the double purpose of collecting the fat cattle for market and the calves and mavericks for branding; the latter was as essential as the former. No legal identification could be made without branding, as the cattle were permitted to run at large. Unbranded cattle were called mavericks. When found roaming the prairie, they were driven into a corral, by any rancher, and branded; he could make legal demand thereafter for his property, This was in harmony with the law, and the custom of the range. The only deviation from the established rule was during the roundups. Then they were apportioned to the ranches, in the ratio of the total number of mavericks collected. In this proportion they were branded and delivered to the different ranches. Calves running with the cows were branded with similar designations of the mother.

The actual roundup would continue for two or three weeks and the preparatory work would consume as much time. There was food to purchase; extra cowmen to employ; bronchos to bust and train; bridles, saddles, blankets to collect and overhaul; branding irons to collect, repair and store at the center; rope of the proper size had to be selected and made into lariats and lassos. The word “lasso” was a misnomer on the prairie and used only by the “tenderfoot.” The cowpuncher called it his “rope.”

The actual date of the beginning of the roundup was known to the ranchers long in advance of the start, and the simultaneous movements during the progress of the roundup could be likened to a perfect and well oiled machine in its workings as they were well planned by ranchmen, expert in organization work. From the circumference of the imaginary circle, the start would be made for the center. forty or fifty miles away. Efforts were made to rounding up all of the cattle found within that imaginary enclosure and driving them to the center. But the word "center" was unknown to the cowmen, as they would say, "the meeting place."

During the roundup they would live in the great open out of doors and feed from the tail-end of chuck wagons. One or more of those traveling restaurants with cooks and an abundance of chuck or grub followed in the wake of each ranch outfit. Imagine, if you can, “flap-jacks," six or eight inches across and five or six of them eaten by each man, with the necessary butter and sorghum molasses, together with bacon, beans, and potatoes, and in addition a great quantity of black coffee was drunk. Only those who have followed the roundups can realize or vouch for such feats. The strenuous life out in the open permitted such indulgences without fear of indigestion.

When night overtook the roundup, it would find them prepared to corral the cattle wherever they happened to be and it was done systematically. The work would be divided and those assigned for “night riding” would ride constantly around the herds to keep them from stampeding or straying away. Others would roll in their blankets and lie down anywhere on the prairie and grab a few hours of much needed sleep. The watch would be changed in the night and those who had been sleeping would relieve their companions in the saddle who would likewise grab an equal amount of rest. And they slept – no wakeful nights bothered them.

With the break of day, breakfast would be served and before sunup, the roundup would be moving. The movements of the different sectors were so well timed in their progress that they would reach Benkelman during the same half day, with thousands of cattle bellowing and scampering about in their wild and frantic endeavor to get away from their captors. The herds were corralled in the wide open bottom on both sides of the Republican river where they were held until the necessary cutting out, shipping and branding had been accomplished. Those herds huddled together would cover a territory one and one-half miles wide by five to ten miles in length.

What a time for reunion those roundups proved to be. What advantages were taken of these opportunities to renew old acquaintanceship. Some ranchmen and cowpunchers had not met for a year or two, while others found that two or three years had passed since they had had a drink together. Their actions at such times could not be compared with the average meeting of men after a long absence, but they resembled college mates returning to school after a long summer vacation. The spontaneousness in greeting and the extravagant unconventionality produced a merry heart, even with the onlooking stranger. They were hail fellows well met, who took the more strenuous activities of life lightly and without worry. Scores of cowmen were necessary to corral so many cattle, on so large an open space, but it should not be presumed that they worked all of the time; they had an abundance of time off of duty.

The saloon was the busiest spot in town on such occasions and the necessity of keeping it open day and night was met and the convivial nature of Cowpunchers found satisfaction in diversion. Poker games were going constantly and dances were held regularly. At times, favorite cow ponies were selected for races, which produced much amusement and fierce betting. Hundreds of dollars would change hands after each race.

The actual branding of cattle attracted attention even though it was a cruel and inhuman means of torture. The most expert were in demand for such trials, and their dexterities were worth witnessing in the branding corral. For instance, a calf or a maverick would be selected from among the herd, and into the bunch the roper or Cowman would ride for the purpose of "stirring them up", and when they would begin to move about, the rope would be thrown in such a way as to catch the selected critter by the hind leg. Then, suddenly wheeling the cow pony, the bellowing, struggling and unwilling animal would be dragged to a spot a few paces to the rear where it would be grabbed by the head and feet and held securely, while another would slap on the hot branding iron. At such times, cow ponies exhibited their training and showed as much skill in their work as the Cowpunchers.

When the work of the roundup was finally completed and the last shipments of fat cattle had been made, the remainder of the corralled cattle would be released to wander at will until the time of the next roundup, and the Cowmen disperse to the several ranches, most of which were many miles away.

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Epilogue

The American pioneers and their indomitable characters have always attracted attention. No weaklings found place in their category. Halting and hesitating tactics had no appeal to them. The positive, drastic and determined composed their ranks. Their courage was an inspiration to all mankind and qualities of moral force kindled fires of admiration, which were examples worthy of emulation.

To the critics, the cynic and the suit finder, they were coarse, cruel and illiterate plebians unworthy of consideration. Perfection in human nature has never been attained in human nature, so with them and their pessimistic notions we are not concerned.

Pioneer settlers have always been recognized as positive attributes on the frontier fields of conquest. Found on the eastern or western seaboards or far into the remote interior, those stalwarts of the frontiers were always inflexible instability of character. The generation in which they lived contributed little to their worth; they walked a highway of their own. There locations were, more or less, accidental. Such circumstances did not change the innate and resolute qualities of their wills. Their firm resolutions and drastic determinations remained unbending to opposition and indecision.

Visions of future greatness of communities were their landmarks. Onward, still westward, they drove their resolute ways, until the last frontier fell beneath their conquering tread and submitted to the deals of human civilization. Four elements of character possessed them and were their guiding stars–to secure lands for homes, to better educate and support their families, to divorce themselves from congested eastern conventionalities, and to live in communities where they might breathe the air of liberty untrammeled. Those principles were paramount and took possession of their wills. The phantasmagoria on the western horizon lured them onward toward the setting sun.

Much has been written to laud the arts and doings of the far eastern pioneers and to place them on pinnacles, high above their western contemporaries. Without robbing localities or early settlers of deserved glory, it is well to remember that the same qualities of hardship were endured and the same class of obstacles were overcome by the western pioneers as were met and conquered on the earlier frontiers. But pioneer settlers west of the Appalachian system have had none to sing their praises, with ability to compare with the ballads of heroism sung of the far eastern settlers. Notwithstanding that handicap and lack of attention, the western frontiersman plodded along in the even tenor of their respective ways and successfully reached their objectives. Their acts and doings are worthy of applause and laudation even though they have been "unhonored and unsung." Such qualities of character were theirs, by right of possession, and such ideals controlled the strenuous activities of the pioneer settlers on the broad expanse of Dundy county, Nebr.

But alas! Their little days work is done; "their tents have been folded" and "they have gone down the valley, one by one, to that undiscovered country, from whose bourn no traveler returns." Then speak gently, sleep lightly and draw the curtain, as we are in the reverie of the memory of the departed. Death's clammy hand has been laid heavily upon them; he has claimed them for his own. Silence reigns about their melancholy abodes.

If their names are desired, hie away to the cemeteries and there scrutinize the fading letterings on the old tombstones. In the books, meager accounts of their activities are to be found. In the erected communities, we see their monuments.

What more could they expect? What more could they wish? They builded for future generations and their foundations were well laid.

Denver, Colo., April 14, 1925.
(The End.)

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This article was donated and transcribed by Bill Hardwick.

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