History of Custer County, Nebraska; a narrative of the past, with special emphasis upon the pioneer period of the county's history, its social, commercial, educational, religous, and civic developement from the early days to the present time, Part 48

Author: Gaston, William Levi, 1865- [from old catalog]; Humphrey, Augustin R., 1859- [from old catalog]
Publication date: 1919
Publisher: Lincoln, Neb., Western publishing and engraving company
Number of Pages: 1180

USA > Nebraska > Custer County > History of Custer County, Nebraska; a narrative of the past, with special emphasis upon the pioneer period of the county's history, its social, commercial, educational, religous, and civic developement from the early days to the present time > Part 48

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To the eastward flows the North Loup. To the southward flows the South Loup. Where the foes of my dead father Dwell and hunt among the canons. Kill the buffalo by hundreds. Kill the dark friends of Winneta, Killed the brave chief, Navasota, Will you go and bring a token From the spot where sleeps my father ? Bring his bow and bring his quiver. Bring his quiver full of arrows. That the Paducahs may not use them To slay more friends of poor Winneta ; Ere another moon grows darkened You may return and wed Winneta."

Then arose the Eagle Feather. Cast his eyes upon the maiden, "I will go and do your bidding." Seized his tomahawk and scalp-knife. Fastened them into his girdle.

Fastened then his bow and quiver. A new quiver full of arrows. Strode he out into the moonlight. 'Mid the war whoop of the red men, Walked away adown the valley. Walked he on until the sunrise Found him hurrying southward, westward, To the Niobrara valley.

Stopped at night beneath the cedars. Made a fire of withered branches. Slept beside the campfire soundly. Slept until the wild birds called him.

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Called him to pursue his journey By their sweet songs in the morning, Welcoming the pleasant sunrise. Southward, westward. Eagle Feather Hurried on to do the bidding Of the dark-eyed Indian maiden. For five days the Eagle Feather Journeyed on toward the South Loup. Slept at night beside the streamlet ; Tired, weary, on the last night Made his fire beside the Muddy ; Laid him down to rest and slumber, Heeding not the howling coyote Warning him of coming danger, Warning him his foes were near him ; Slept and dreamed of home and kindred.

Dreamed he saw the dark-eyed maiden Coming down the path to meet him. Coming down to greet her lover, To receive the bow and quiver : Dreamed he on till almost sunrise. When the war whoop echoed wildly Through the canons on the prairies, Echoed up and down the Muddy. Waked he then among their yelling. For his foes had found him sleeping. Then they scalped the Eagle Feather. For they numbered near a hundred : Forced him then to tell his errand. Then they took his bow and quiver. Took his bow and broke it rudely, Threw it down to warn the Sioux tribe That they'd slain their Eagle Feather.

Then they took their suffering prisoner With them far beyond the South Loup. Let him die and soon forgot him. Many moons grew bright and darkened, Yet the Eagle Feather came not. Never came to claim his promise. Never more returned to meet her. "He must be dead." she murmured lowly, "Or he would come to poor Winneta. Farewell, Eagle Feather, farewell. Your Winneta's heart is breaking, Breaking for her Indian lover. I will go away in sadness To the wigwam of my mother. Lay me down, and sleep the death sleep.

"In the spirit land I'll meet him. Meet him and my brave old father : In the hunting grounds of the red men, Happy land of the Great Spirit. Will commune with Eagle Feather In the land beyond the sunset." Years have passed and left the traces

Of the Sioux and the Dakotas. Westward they have journeyed farther. And their tribes are growing smaller, Their hunting grounds are now rich corn-fields For the white man's plow and reaper ; And their cabins dot the prairie, And they cut away the cedars, Frighten all the elk and bison From Nebraska's fair prairies.

Years swept by, the pale-faced settlers On the prairies of Nebraska. On the swiftly flowing South Loup. Built their cabins on the North Loup, 'Hunted on the Niobrara. Built their cabins on the Muddy. Near the place where Eagle Feather, The young chief of the Dakotas, Met his fate by the Paducahs, Came the pale-face, walking slowly. Thinking of the growing city They were building on the Muddy, For many men had come together. Brought their wives and children with them. To populate fair Custer county.

And the people of the Muddy Now must name this fair young city. For a new name searched they often. Oft rejected, half discouraged, While out walking on the Muddy Came he where the bow lay broken : Pondered he of how it came there. All alone beside the Muddy. Pondered he, this pale-faced Hewitt, As he homeward walked more quickly, "I have found a bow that's broken.' Said he to his fair wife waiting, "An Indian bow that has been broken And left beside the Muddy river. Let us name our city for it,

Name our city Broken Bow : Sent the name, it was accepted. Never was a name just like it. Never one half so romantic. Full of wonder came each stranger. "Such a strange name for a city," Said each stranger when they heard it. Broken Bow. in Custer county, Built beside the Muddy river. Near beside those wondrous cañons Where the Indian tribes had waged war. Where the coyote warned the red chief. While he dreamed of dark Winneta ; Where he suffered death by torture, Left to us his Broken Bow.

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HISTORY OF CUSTER COUNTY, NEBRASKA

A. J. MC ARTIIUR, M. D.

A. J. Mc. Arthur was born in Hocking county, Ohio. May 6. 1862. He was educated in the public schools of Ohio, in the high school at Maryville, Missouri, and in the Northwestern Normal at Stanberry, Missouri. He gradu- ated from the Missouri Medical College. St. Louis. Misouri, in March, 1891. He located first at Maryville, hut moved later to Wester- ville. Nebraska. He practiced there and at Weissert for many years -till bad health forced him to discontinue.

Dr. McArthur came to Broken Bow in Au- gust, 1916, in order to put his children in the high school. Aside from the practice of medi- cine. he has given considerable attention to literature, and he has been a contributor to eastern magazines. A few years ago he was party to a joint debate with a Catholic priest, in the columns of the World-Herald, which at- tracted state wide attention. For the last few years he has been a regular contributor to the Truth Secker, of New York.

When the war first began there appeared in that publication a series of articles of unusual literary ability, signed "George Sibel." They were powerfully pro-German, but so skillfully prepared that their object was not at once ap- parent. As soon as the United States had de- clared war Dr. McArthur wrote an article for the Truth Secker calling attention to the char- acter of these articles. This brought a reply. and he finally charged Mr. Sibel openly with not being a loyal citizen, reviewed the articles as they appeared, and quoted his previous work to such purpose, that the articles soon ceased to appear.

The Doctor's Custer county prize article follows :

PRIZE ARTICLE

During the early part of 1906 the Custer County Chief offered a prize for the best Cus- ter county article in which the advantages and resources of the county should be exploited. F. M. Currie. Alpha Morgan, and George Mair were selected as awarding judges, and by their decision the following article. 'written by Dr. A. J. McArthur, was given first place.

CUSTER COUNTY

"J. Proctor Knott once humorously stated that the city of Duluth is exactly in the center of the universe, and for proof adduced the fact that the horizon came down to meet the earth at exactly the same distance. in all directions. This is equally true of Custer county, but it is further true that Custer county is the center of the most central state in the Union, which, in its turn, is the most central country in the first continent on the globe. To the unsophis- ticated eastern tenderfoot, who, in a lifetime. never ventures beyond the purliens of his town- ship. central Nebraska is only a barren. windy waste, scorned by the flocks of cranes and geese as they hasten over, and peopled only by rattlesnakes and skulking coyotes.

"'Happy is the country that has no history." for it means peace and prosperity. What a sight it would be to one of these men. who every morning of his life has taken his little basket and gone out to feed his dozen shoats. if he could visit an average Custer county farm, to see the farmer hitch a stout team to a big wagon, scoop in fifty bushels of corn and drive into the feed yard with the morning rations of a quarter-acre of hogs. Then to realize that this is only the commencement of the morning chores - that there are more hogs and per- haps hundreds of cattle still to be fed. When he looks at the alfalfa meadow, dotted with scores of stacks, looking in the distance like the tented bivouac of an army, he will remem- ber how, for years. he has carefully fed old Dobbin a little timothy sprinkled with water to guard against the heaves, and pitied 'those who dwelt in desert places.'

"The name of Custer county and the name of her metropolis, Broken Bow, conjure visions of clashing interest and border strife, but the strife has long since ceased. The Indian. in token of defeat, has cast down his broken bow and passed on to the west, and where once roamed the majestic herds of buffalo are now found the matchless herds of fine cattle.

"We have often wondered if the residents of Custer county ever think upon her stupenduous possibilities or speculate upon her future. We have an empire within our borders. Custer

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county contains more than one and one-half millions acres of land. Larger than some of the states, larger than some of the monarchies of antiquity, the history of whose people and their deeds of valor is now taught in our pub- lic schools. Indefinitely larger, if measured by the lavish ensemblage of natural resources of this, 'The Great American Desert.'

"Many farmers can remember with what misgivings they first ventured into Custer coun- ty, twenty-five years ago! Timidly, tentatively, looking back, but dreading the derision that

"And now Custer county is about to realize her hopes, to stand free from the calumny of her traducers. When it takes half a train to haul a man's stock to market, he is past the place where you can argue with him about his pros- perity or raise the ghost of his long-forgotten doubts as to his country. Long misunderstood and reviled, farmers are coming to understand that Custer county is mighty, but benign, if her moods and peculiarities are respected. She has shown her contempt for long-haired prophets and rain-makers, and has settled down to cer- tain crops, equal to any produced in the Missis- sippi valley.

"The great activity in real estate and the rapid advance in value of land, shows that farmers are beginning to appreciate the coun- try, but Custer county land is still ridiculously cheap. Eastern men who come here are made suspicious by the mean prices that farmers put on their land. We simply have not the nerve or the sense to ask for it what it is worth. Real- estate men are growing rich buying from the unwary and in a few days selling again, often

for nearly double the purchase price. Think how rapidly the country is developing, all be- cause of a better understanding of the climate and soil. Only a few years ago it was com- monly believed that winter wheat could not be grown here. Now it is a staple crop and the yield equal to that of the northern wheat belt. How long since every farmer believed that the native grass was the only forage or pasture that would grow here? Now there are num- bers of grasses that only need a start to thrive here and outyield the native grass five to one. awaited them there, they found the Eldorado . In annual grasses we have never in any other of their dreams: soil which, 'tickled with a hoe, laughed with a bounteous harvest,' and which, after a quarter of a century of cultivation, is the same soil still. Expecting to find man wan- dering, insane from thirst, they found a water course every ten miles, a climate that gave new life and strength, cool nights that snatched the languor from the most wearied limbs, and -- and fleas. Some turned back, of course. Nature would furnish the grist, but Nature would not grind it, so they went back to their wives' folks" to gather hickory-nuts and persimmons.

country seen such profusion of varieties or such rank growth.

"A few years ago farmers were raising little patches of alfalfa in their gardens, indifferent, without confidence, saving a little seed to sow the next year. Now it is the staff of the coun- try, ranking right with corn in all around util- ity. The yield of alfalfa is almost past belief. One acre will feed twenty hogs through the entire summer, and it defies the frost till late in the fall. If mowed and carefully saved, an acre of alfalfa will make from eight to twelve tons of hay. Brome grass is proving itself to be a close second, with the added advantage that it may be pastured at any time with im- punity.

"With the coming of these things is come the honey bee. With ordinary care bees in- crease very rapidly and produce honey in plenty, and of fine quality. They care nothing for wire fences and will garner from your neighbor's fields as well as from your own - and will go a long way to do it. In a short time this country will outclass all others in bee culture, and the production of honey.

"Nearly all kinds of fruits are now grown here, not only 'successfully,' but with profit. A 'lick and a promise' will not grow corn, nor will it grow fruit trees. Neither do fruit trees, especially when young, make good pastures for cows. But the right varieties, properly planted and properly cared for, will produce fruit of any kind. Who thought of strawberries some years ago? Now farmers raise them by the bushel.

"The whole secret, in Custer county, is in

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knowing the climate and soil, and a reasonable care of the crop. It would not be fair to omit the most important crop of all - the babies. For no other crop is the soil so productive. Families of ten or a dozen are found on every section, and upon no other crop does the future greatness of this county so much depend.

"Nothing else so completes a man's satisfac- tion with Custer county, as a visit to the home of his boyhood. There will come the home- sickness - the longing to go back - 'back to Grigsby's Station, back where we used to be so happy and so pore.' He will go and come again. entirely disillusioned of the sylvan and elysian memories that he has cherished, and wondering how people there manage to make a living. They don't. The New England states are dotted with hundreds of deserted farms, so worthless and so numerous that they are be- coming a huge problem to be solved by the people of these states.

"Great as Custer county has come to be. she is still in the early morning of her life, a toddling infant just quitting the threshold of her nursery for a life of strenuous endeavor and great achievement. With the accumulated wealth of ages in her soil, a matchless climate, skies as blue as Italy's, stars as bright as any that ever looked down upon ancient Egypt. peopled by men and women whose restless en- ergy would not brook the sterile parsimony of other lands, she is like the block of fine marble that only awaits the hand of the sculptor to release the angel imprisoned within.'

GEORGE B. MAIR

George B. Mair, descriptive writer, editor, and poet, deserves a prominent place in the literary annals of this western county. He was a resident of long years in the Callaway district. where he made a newspaper record that might well be envied by most any quill pusher. A few years ago he was elected clerk of the district court, and from that time he made his home in the county seat until the fall of 1917, when he removed with his family to Oakland, California, where he now resides.

In his irrational moments George indulged

in poetry, and the following song of the river is a rare contribution to Custer literature.

THE SOUTH LOUP RIVER

[ By George B. Mair ]

In the heart of Niobrara. .

Rushing onward like an arrow Speeding from the bow,

Flows the laughing South Loup river,

While its rippling waters ever Murmur soft and low.

How I love to sit and ponder On its bank, just over yonder, When the setting sun

Throws a sort of dreamy sadness

O'er the stream which danced with gladness. Ere the day was done.

Then to me it tells the story Of a long departed glory. In the days gone by :

Of the valley flower-scented. Where the painted savage tented Neath the autumn sky;

Of the dusky Indian maiden. And her lover, coming laden lIomeward from the chase.

Laying at her feet his treasure While her smile reflects the pleasure Beaming in her face.

Far adown the sloping valley 1 can see the warriors rally. And the council fire.

Where the wise men of the nation Meet in solemn consultation. While the squaws retire.

Then the war whoop of the savage. As he sallies forth to ravage The village of his foe : Followed by the noise of battle And the ever-changing rattle Of the twanging bow.

Then I see the braves returning : And the ruddy camp-fire burning By the river side.

Lights their wild and savage dancing. As it flickers in the glancing Waters of the tide.

Then again the ceaseless chatter Of the dancing, eddying water, Ever faint and low.

Strikes my fancy like the rushing. Rumbling war-tread of the crushing Herds of buffalo.

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And I see their dark brown masses, Surging through the canyon passes. As I almost dream : When they rush with noisy clatter. Deep into the cooling water Of the grateful stream.

And a thousand fancies hover 'Round the hazy hills, and over Every landscape scene, And the laughing South Loup river. Floweth on and on forever Thro' its valleys green.

But I wake from out my dreaming, And I find the waters gleaming. Ever, as of yore : But the council fire has vanished. And the savage has been banished Hence, forever more.

And the dusky Indian maiden From the banks with flowers laden. Long ago has gone, And upon the far horizon I no longer see the bison Coming swiftly on.

Gone the wigwams and the dances And the olden time romances Of the hunting grounds. Where the white man's lowing cattle And the harvester's fierce rattle Make discordant sounds.

Fields of waving corn are growing, And the south-land breeze is blowing O'er wheat fields of gold : But the laughing South Loup river Floweth on and on forever As it did of old.

HARRY B. ISZARD

Harry B. Iszard is entitled to be styled one of the literary persons of Custer county. He has been a resident of the county for the last fourteen years and during that time has been a very prolific writer. The story and news pages of the Custer County Chief attest the versatility of his pencil and the fascination of his style.

Mr. Iszard began as a newspaper man on the Leadville Democrat-Herald, under the tu- torage of the locally famous "Cad" Davis. Later he worked on the Denver papers, where his writings attracted both notice and comment throughout the mountain state. His Denver

work was responsible for a staff position on one of the Omaha papers, where he did two or three years' work. Aside from newspaper work he has been a contributor to magazines, and in the field of short stories has distin- guished himself to the extent of putting a Cus- ter county name into the list of literary pro- ducers. From his desk in the Chief office the local county stories come forth with a pungent flavor that makes them remarkably readable. Harry, as he is familiarly called by his friends. has the faculty of infusing into an otherwise dry article a rich vein of subtle humor. He tells his story differently and contrasts his style in such a way that both are called unique.

A year or so ago he ran in the Chief a series of attractive articles which he styled "Tabu- lated Knocks" and which attracted the atten- tion of state writers and newspaper men.

TABULATED KNOCKS

In the articles entitled "Tabulated Knocks" he introduces the different members of the "Hammer-Fan Family." Each member of the family figures, in his or her respective comic role. to the hilarity and delight of the reader.

Below is given Mr. Iszard's introduction of "Miss Hammer-Fan." who, with "Bosom Friend." puts in an hour at the picture-show.

Scene : Either of the picture theatres. Time : Any old night between eight and ten o'clock. ( Miss Hammer-Fan and Bosom Friend ap- proach the box-office window. )

Miss H. F. ( frantically pawing her purse for small coins ) - "Wait a minute, Beulah. this is my treat -that is, it will be if I can ever find those two dimes. ( Still pawing. ) What on earth has become of them? Oh. here they are under this sample of silk. ( Produces two dimes and pushes them in at the window. The two girls enter the theatre and block up the aisle while surveying the house. ) We've missed the first of this reel and our regular seats are occupied, as usual. It would be an act of common courtesy for them to keep our seats all the time, considering the amount of money we spend in the house every week."

Bosom Friend (indicating seats ) -"Let's sit here and maybe we can keep on our hats. ( .As they seat themselves there is a sharp ca- nine yelp and the bosom friend screams.) Mercy! What was that?"

Miss H. F. (wearily) - "You've only

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kicked a dog, that's all. They come in here and chase themselves all over the place. It's a wonder the house wouldn't furnish pillows for them to sleep on. ( Two school boys enter, drop into seats back of them and commence making comments. ) Now we'll have some music."

First boy (in a stage whisper ) - "Lamp the head dresses in front, ain't they giddy ?"

Second boy (in a squeaky voice ) - "Hats off. please."

Miss H. F. ( turning half around ) -"Mind your own business, you little animals." (Both boys giggle. )

First boy ( solemnly ) - "What kind of an animal are you, Chink ?"

Second boy - "I'm a cat. I am: meow, phist !"

First boy - "Do cats wear hats?"

Bosom Friend ( resignedly ) - "Oh, we might as well; they'll give us no peace until we do." ( Takes her hat off. )

Miss H. F. ( viciously) - "I hate to humor the little beasts. ( Also removes her hat. ) Now you two shut up or I'll have you fired." ( Boys giggle and subside. )

Bosom Friend - "What's the name of this reel ?"

Miss II. F. - "Dunno, but I'm sure I saw it in Omaha three months ago. We never get anything until late here. Honest to goodness. they ran some stuff this month that I saw in Chicago nearly two years ago. Oh, there's the name: 'The Pink Puppy.' Yep. it's the same thing I saw in Omaha."

Bosom Friend - "That isn't 'Pink Puppy.' it's 'Pink Poppy.

Miss H. F. - "Well, it's wrong, anyway; poppies are red. at least so I have always un- derstood. Now watch this hateful old thing what he is doing. He's jealous of the young hotel clerk and in order to put him in bad with the plumber's daughter, he steals an artificial flower from - Bingo! To be sure. the film would have to part just at the critical moment. Now we can sit back and twiddle our thumbs for five or ten minutes while they are gluing it together. That's the trouble up here. every- thing is so ancient that it drops to pieces al- most before they can get it on the machine. Say, kid, you should have seen the 'Tango l'angle': they had it in Grand Island last week. Kerry Worrigan does the leading part and he's just the sweetest thing -

Bosom Friend ( disdainfully ) -"Kerry Worrigan isn't in the same class at all with Marsh Cocopello."

Miss H. F. ( with careful sarcasm ) -"If he was he would sure be a 'dead one.' "

Bosom Friend ( with heat ) - "Worrigan is a joke."

Miss H. F. ( putting on more pressure ) - "And Cocopello is an 'also ran.'

Bosom Friend ( with a sniff ) - "Looks like it when the University people have been on their knees for years begging him to come over to them."

Miss H. F. - "Nothing doing. The Linseed outfit would have dropped him long ago if he hadn't been tied to them by an iron-clad con- tract. ( Spitefully ) I wish I hadn't paid your way in here."

Bosom Friend ( calmly ) -"You didn't. That dime was coming to me; it's one you borrowed two weeks ago."

First boy ( from behind) - "Sic 'em, Bow- ser.

Second boy - "I'll bet on the 'catty' one."

Second boy ( quoting at random) -" 'Tis the friend of my childhood's days."

Miss H. F. ( as the photoplay is resumed) - "They've got it fixed - and it's about time. Maybe the chorus back of us will now take a rest. See those two big rummys down there with their heads together. Wonder how they expect us to see anything? Must think we belong to the X-ray family. Look, here is where the hotel clerk pushes him off of the cliff into the water. Zowie, what a splash. I'll bet those people who do the water stunts have colds in their heads all the time. I met a moving picture actor in Denver last year and he told me that the managers made them do all sorts of horrible things and some of the men in his company almost drank themselves to death, in order to keep up their courage. One actor had a bottle of booze behind a rock and when he went to get a drink there was a rattlesnake coiled up. The poor fellow thought he was seeing things and ran screech- ing to camp and they had to put him in a hospital. ( Suddenly stops and sniffs the air.) I smell somebody's feet. ( A young man sitting next to the girls turns a painful red and tries to push himself through the wall. ) Don't you, Beulah?"

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History of Custer County, Nebraska; a narrative of the past, with special emphasis upon the pioneer period of the county's history, its social, commercial, educational, religous, and civic developement from the early days to the present time, Part 48

Author: Gaston, William Levi, 1865- [from old catalog]; Humphrey, Augustin R., 1859- [from old catalog] Publication date: 1919 Publisher: Lincoln, Neb., Western publishing and engraving company Number of Pages: 1180

Author: Gaston, William Levi, 1865- [from old catalog]; Humphrey, Augustin R., 1859- [from old catalog]
Publication date: 1919
Publisher: Lincoln, Neb., Western publishing and engraving company
Number of Pages: 1180