One man’s tale of hardships and rowdy times

Edited by Jim Fish

Ozona—The days when cattle were driven north to the railheads and markets in Kansas and Chicago are long gone, as well as those who endured the hardships of that rowdy time. However, we have a few first-hand accounts of the experience that give us some idea of the hardships, hair-raising experiences, and pleasures of those pioneer days. S.H. Grantland of Camp Wood, Texas, is one such cowboy who told the following tale of his experience to A.W. Hunter in 1929.

“Uncle Sam,” as Mr. Hunter affectionately called S.H. Grantland, was a native Texan, born in the town of Goliad in 1851. When he was two years old, the family moved to Alabama, where his father bought a plantation. At the age of nine, he and his three brothers were orphaned and sent back to Goliad to reside with relatives.

"Goliad in those days was a small place, a typical Texas town," Grantland said. "The six-shooter was the law of the land, and everybody went armed. There were several saloons and plenty of gambling. I made my home with Grandmother Looney. At the outbreak of the war, my brothers, who were older than I, entered the Confederate service in Reed's company. Being too young, I was left behind to look after the slaves on Grandmother's farm. During the war, times were hard and money scarce. Calico was a dollar a yard, and coffee was mighty hard to get. Pilonces, my favorite sweets, sold at fifty cents each. I didn't get many because half dollars, like coffee, were also scarce.

"After the war closed, I went to work, punching cattle for T.B. Malone. It was the custom of that time for cowmen to send out a hand on the range to represent him in the procedure of branding mavericks. There were no fences in those days and the country in the spring was usually full of unbranded cattle. I was paid five dollars per month. The second spring another man offered me fifteen dollars a month to work for him. I turned him down, as I had made a verbal contract with Malone. In some way the matter reached Malone's ears, and he told me that he appreciated my staying with him as he needed help, and besides raising my wages, he was going to put me in charge of a shipment of cattle he was soon to send to New Orleans. He did so, and a warm friendship sprang up between me and T. B. Malone, which grew throughout intervening years. His house was my home for several years, and I was never treated better by anyone than this good man and his family.

"Goliad in those wild times had quite a few celebrated characters. There was Sally Skull, a celebrated female character, who often made visits to our town. She was a horse trader, and her cowboys were principally Mexicans. Sally wore a couple of .45s on her belt and was said to be a crack shot. She always rode a powerful horse and spoke Spanish like a native. Who she really was and where she came from was a mystery to many. It was a current rumor that Sally was a northern woman, a member of a wealthy, cultured family, and became disappointed in a love affair, became embittered, and lit out for Texas. What finally became of her I do not know. Another famous character that frequented Goliad was the notorious Jack Helms, who it is said had several notches decorating his gun. Helms met the usual fate of the gunman in a fight with Jim Taylor at Rancho. Bill Sutton often visited Goliad in those days. Sutton was one of the principals in the later Taylor-Sutton feud in which several men lost their lives.

"My trail driving experiences began in 1869. That was a long time ago, and I am pretty sure that I was among the very first trail drivers from that section of Texas. We left Gonzales County in March, starting with a herd of 1200 big steers from the mouth of Peach Creek. Our destination was Abilene, Kansas," Grantland said. "In the crew were Ollie Treadwell, Mercer McKinney, Frank Rollins, Ed Crawford, Gaston Cobbler, Charley Turk, McCormick, Columbus Carroll, George Reyno, and me.

"The herd belonged to Columbus and Jake Carroll. Our herd passed through Belton, then a small town. We crossed the Red River at Sherman. Swam the cattle across [the] Red River. Passing through the Chickasaw and Cherokee nations we saw many tame Indians. We crossed the Arkansas river on what was known as the old Shawnee trail. When we reached the river, the Arkansas was up and was rising. Carroll said to us, 'Boys, we have swum everything up to now, and this stream ought to be crossed, but I ain't going to tell you boys to swim this one. I can't swim a lick in the world, but we will have to go across or fall back, and besides there are twenty or thirty herds behind us, and if this herd stampedes and gets mixed up with the others, we will be cutting out cattle all year.' Ed Crawford, who was always ready for any emergency, fight, or frolic, spoke and said, 'Let's go cross, fellers. Danged if I don't always get plenty tired cutting out cattle.' That sealed it. 

“We put into the river. I was on the right-hand point and Ed was pointing at the herd on the left. Before starting the herd in, we dismounted, pulled off all our clothes, took our saddles off our horses, and with nothing but our hats on, mounted our horses barebacked. We got the herd across with little trouble. The boys that were supposed to be following on my side trailing the herd across the swollen stream got cold feet and did not put into the river, and I had to swim my horse hack and forth until the bulk of the herd got across. Finally, my horse gave out, and I had to take it to the water. I swam to the shore and got out by grabbing a willow limb. About three hundred yards below there was an island in the river on which about five hundred steers landed, along with my horse. After resting for a few minutes, I swam to the island, got on my horse, shoved the cattle off, swam them across and joined the main herd, along with Crawford. This was in July. The boys on the other side of the river were building a raft on which to cross, and which besides its cargo of human freight, also carried our bedrolls, provisions, and most needed of all just then mine and Crawford's duds.

"We got the herd across all okay, but there we were with no more clothes on than Adam had in the Garden of Eden. Ed mentioned this and wound up by saying that even at that we had Adam bested, because we were horseback. Well, Adam had shade trees and fig bushes to protect him from the July sun, and we had nothing but our hats. And besides that herd had to be held at any cost. All day long we rode, and each minute the sun got hotter, and the blisters grew bigger. During our herd riding we discovered a plum thicket loaded with ripe luscious, juicy plums. We stayed in the plum thicket for an hour or so, while our herd was grazing and headed in the right direction. Leaving the plums, we struck out to point the herd, and in reaching the top of a hill and looking down in the valley, Ed discovered a party of about five hundred Indians. Ed suggested that we retreat to the brush. I said 'No.' Let's stay put. The Indians came up and one of them shook hands with Ed and tried to shake hands with me but my horse being skittish he had to give it up. They rode into the herd and shot down twelve steers, skinned them, and packed them off.

"Along about 6 o'clock in the evening the raft came across and Ed and I got some relief. We needed relief. We were sunburned, blistered, saddle-skinned and briar-scratched. The next morning, we started the herd on its way and had traveled only a few miles when we met another bunch of Indians. The chief of this bunch wanted a tax for crossing the herd through his country," Grantland said. "Carroll dissented and refused the request, informing him that he had donated twelve steers already. This chief spoke excellent English and informed Carroll that their wives and children were starving and almost destitute and must have fresh meat. Carroll, after consulting with owners of other herds that were behind us, consented to give the Indians some beeves, provided the Indians would keep out of the herds. This was agreed to and the herd owners sent men into the herds and cut out steers that were sore-footed and road-foundered, and turned them over to the Indians, who were very well satisfied. This ended our trouble with Indians.

"We reached the Smoky River and found it bank full. Securing skiffs, we embarked in them, swimming our horses alongside. The herd had already been started across. Arrived at Abilene without any mishap, where Carroll sold the steers at $15. We trail drivers got $1 a day and board, with our horses furnished us. Abilene was a small burg then. The population was about three hundred. The town had three or four saloons, and two or three stores. Whiskey was five cents a drink. Some of the boys saw their first railroad at Abilene. And some saw their first sod houses there.

"In 1870 I went up the trail with another herd from Goliad for Malone & Ursery. In '71 I helped trail another herd to Abilene for Malone & Rutledge. My next trip was in 1880 with a mixed herd of 5,574 animals to Dodge City. This herd belonged to Hank Sullivan of Victoria. Dodge then was a small place, but it was sure wild and wooly. The destination of this herd was the Big Horn country, but I only contracted to go with it as far as Dodge City. Among the others who sent herds from the Goliad section in those times were Joe Collins, Jim Reed, Bill Butler, Mr. Whetstone, Shanghai Pierce, and others who I do not now recall.

"This covers my trail driving experience. I was among the first to go up the trail, and at times it was a ticklish job. No blazed trails and Indians ever so often. We had the old North star, youthful spirits, and even with the dangers and other hazards, we had worlds of fun all the way from Goliad to Kansas," he said,