of my experiences and in meeting and remembering the cowmen of Texas. My association with them has always been a real pleasure, and when I have the good fortune of attending the Annual Roundup, the pleasure it gives me to meet the familiar faces and shake hands with the boys is worth a great deal more than it costs any of us to keep the Association alive.

EXPERIENCES OF THE TRAIL AND OTHERWISE

By M. J. Ripps, San Antonio, Texas

There are "a great many ways of killing a dog without choking him with butter," as the old saying goes. In handling cattle there are also many different ways which may lead to the same result; and, again, one way, or cause, may lead to many and varied results.

No doubt many of my old-time friends and cattle punchers have here related their experiences handling cattle on the trail in a graphic and interesting way; but as there are so many "spooks and ghosts" to play Hail Columbia with cattle, I shall take the liberty of adding a few of the experiences that I was privileged, or "forced," to go through with, for the benefit of the younger set of cowboys and our dear friends, the readers.

A river changes its course in the course of time; likewise, the channels of trade are changed with the passing of the days, which the following trip will illustrate.

I think it was about February 10, 1876, that J. W. Schelcher, Dick McRae, Manuel Cuero and I, with Louis Enderle as our foreman, went into Frio County, Texas, and gathered about 1,000 head of cattle and brought them up to the True-heart ranch on the San Antonio River. Here we finished the herd by adding another 800 head. This herd was the Joe Shiner property, and right here will state how these cattle were bought. Cattle were always bought by the head, and the price per head varied.

according to the age and class of the animal. There were no cattle sold over the scale," and platform scales for this purpose were not even dreamed of as a medium in the sale of cattle. Now, in gathering these cattle on different ranches we came across cattle that had strayed from other ranches, and their owner not being present, we would send him word that we had one steer, a cow, or a number of his cattle, as the case may have been, and paid him the prevailing price. This was within the law and in use quite generally. Cattle that had no brand or mark-well, that was not our fault. But it is remarkable the way these cattle persisted in following the herd. Naturally, our sympathy was with them. The ranches where we gathered the cattle had some very wild stockoutlaws and to get them called for strategy and cunning. These outlaw cattle would generally graze to themselves and come to water at night, especially if they scented danger or having seen a human being. There was a price on their head of $2.00 for a big steer, $1.50 for a cow, and from there on down to 50 cents per head delivered in the herd. To accomplish this we would watch around the watering places on moonlight nights and rope them. This netted us more money than we were able to make "by the month." After we had roped an animal we would lead or drag him into the herd, or otherwise we would tie the animal down, and after we had several of them tied we would bring a bunch of cattle and, with the bunch, bring them into the main herd. This was great sport, and it was very dangerous as well.

We started the 1,800 head and got as far as Goat Creek, north of Kerrville, without any serious trouble. We herded them at night in three reliefs, and generally kept five horses under saddle all night in case of emergency. One night I was herding, and about midnight a bunch of wild hogs ran into the herd and stampeded the cattle. We were camped near a field close to a big flat, or prairie. The cattle headed for a lane, with me in the

lead unable to hold them. The boys at camp heard the noise and came to my assistance, and were able then to control them. We lost only one steer, which was crippled in the back. At the head of the Perdernales River we killed a calf for fresh meat for the men in camp. An old bull smelled the blood and started bellowing and pawing the ground. He made a great to-do about it, and it acted as a "war whoop does to the braves." In the stampede that followed some 300 head got separated from the main herd and ran about a mile. We overtook them towards morning and brought the whole herd together without losing any. From there on to Fort McKavett we did not have any more trouble. Here I quit the herd, as I was offered a better proposition.

A second herd was started by Joe Shiner in 1878, with Louis Enderle as foreman and the same crew as on the previous trip; besides he had three or four darkies with the herd. I joined them at San Antonio, bound for Kansas City. We had a stampede on a creek near Kerrville, and it took us half of the next day to round up the 100 head that had scattered. In Coleman County Joe Shiner sold the herd to Bill Fraser and we delivered the cattle at Wichita, Kansas.

Another trip in 1898, I recall, when Manuel Lopez, Little Pete Tafolla and I, and a little boy leading the pack horse, went to Wetmore, Texas, and, with the assistance of the Classen Bros., rounded up 300 head of steers. We were to meet a bunch of 600 steers en route overland from Hondo, throw the two bunches together and take them to the feed pens at Seguin, Texas, for Short & Saunders. However, after I had my 300 head gathered I received word to take them to Austin and deliver to John Sheehan, as he had bought them. The first night we made New Braunfels, Texas, but could get no pens. An old German sold us a load of corn-fodder and some corn for our horses, so we herded all night in the open. The second night we penned them in the railroad pens at San

Marcos and took them out on the prairie next morning. Our cattle stampeded, running across a cornfield, but, being in November, did not do any damage. The herd reached Kyle, Texas, about noon and we stopped to cook a meal. A man rode up and asked if we needed any help. We were more than glad to hire him, and asked him about a pen for the night at Buda, Texas. He said there was only one pen, and it was engaged for the night. This made us feel bad, and we were thinking of sending a man ahead to arrange for some place for us to stop. Our visitor spoke up and said that he had engaged the pen he spoke of, and that he had been sent out by John Sheehan to meet us. That afternoon a passing train stampeded our herd, but we checked them in a lane. We penned at Buda that night and next day headed for Austin. When we got to the Colorado River we found it on a rise. We were not allowed to cross cattle on the bridge, so we had to swim for it. Two of my men stayed with me and the third, a "cold-footer," crossed on the bridge. The cattle swam across all right and were delivered as ordered, without being any short.

One winter George Saunders and Ripps were feeding 1,800 head of cattle in their pens at San Antonio, and these cattle had to be guarded at night. One night a Mexican named Victorian and myself were herding when the cattle broke the fence for a distance of 100 yards. The cattle ran in a southerly direction, sweeping Victorian's horse with them. The cattle ran some five miles, with me in the lead and unable to check them. They finally broke into a pasture where I was able to turn them, and stayed with them until daylight, when relief came. The other relief man, who did not stampede with the cattle, did not show up until next day. Twelve men came out to help me bring back the cattle and it was some job. There were seven head missing next morning.

In 1880 and 1881 I went on a trail of a different nature by becoming a member of a surveying outfit to blaze the

right of way for the Southern Pacific Railway from San Antonio west to the Rio Grande River. Two men joined the outfit with me at San Antonio, and the crew consisted of seventeen men. We surveyed as far as Uvalde, when we got orders to arm ourselves and keep our eyes "peeled" for Indians. This was too much for the two men who had joined with me, and so they quit. We continued the survey, and were about 128 miles west of San Antonio, when the government sent twenty soldiers to us as an escort. At the Nenecatchie Mountains we had our first experience with the redskins. They came in the night and tried to steal our mules and horses by stampeding them. We had our guards, or outposts, stationed some distance from camp and they exchanged shots, but none of our men were hurt. At San Felipe, on the Rio Grande, Rangers took the place of the soldiers and acted as our protectors. While we were camped at the McKenzie Crossing on the Rio Grande, the Indians made another attempt to get our horses, but were routed by the Rangers. From there on we did not see any more Indians until we came to Eagle's Nest, on the Rio Grande. We were camped some 350 feet above the level of the river bed, and were cutting out a trail wide enough for a burro to pass with a cask, or small barrel on either side, to transport water from the river. We had stopped for the noon hour when we noticed nine Indians, seven bucks and two squaws. They had evidently descended to the river bottom some miles above and were wending their way to a point directly in front of us, where they could get to the water. They were coming in single file, some ten feet apart, and were in full war paint, the Indian in the rear being the guard. The eight went to water to satisfy their thirst, while one stood guard. Then the guard went to drink while one of the squaws stood guard, and she spied us, as we could tell from her gestures. When she gave the alarm they took to their horses and disappeared up the river. As we were not looking for