USA > Nebraska > Furnas County > Pioneer stories of Furnas County, Nebraska > Part 9
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WM. T. McGUIRE
1 will omit speaking about my pioneer school days, but in passing I can- not refrain from paying a compliment to Mrs. John Brainard, Mrs. Cornelius Decker, and Miss Ally Hill-
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man, who were my instructors for five years. They labored hard, faithfully, and capably in teaching me the fundamental principles of the three R's, and wasted no time on the fads and ge-gaws as teachers do today. After a few months at Norton under Prof. Joel Simmons, conditions made it necessary that I quit the common school and finish my education in the academy of experience and the university of hard knocks.
Lest I forget I will state how two of the Sam Bass bunch were captured as told to me in later years by Tug Wilson, one of the detectives. (Perhaps W. T. Collings will reeall Wilson who worked for the Anglo-American Cattle Co.) In substance he said that one afternoon a number of men were seated on the porch of a hotel in Hayes City, Kas. Among them was a U. S. Marshal. Two cowboys, heavily armed and leading a pack horse, rode up. Dismounting, they threw the bridle reins to the ground, walked in and ordered something to eat. Soon they reappeared, mounted and rode away. It was then noticed that the pack horse, the larg- est and fattest of the trio, showed great weariness, almost to the point of collapse. This should not have been as the bed-paek was small compared with the riders, saddles, and trappings which the two smaller horses carried with ease. The marshal said, "Boys, we'll have them return as our guests for tonight and get better acquainted." Hle swore in four aides, armed and dressed in the role of cowboys, to throw off suspicion of attack. They made a big detonr far in advance of the riders, and then turned and met them from the front with a cordial greeting of cowboys. After a brief talk they were invited to spend the night at the cow camp, a few miles away. This they consented to do. Well at ease, chatting, rolling cigarettes, completely off their guard, six- shooters clicked with the order "hands up." There was nothing to do but obey. Disarmed and searched, two deputies led their horses while three rode behind. Arriving in town the bed pack was removed and found to contain $60,000 in gold in the original scaled packages. The two men captured, without the firing of a gun, proved to be Joel Collins and "Old Dad," two of the most desperate characters that ever camped on the Sappa or that Texas ever knew.
The Indian scare of 1878 has been spoken of by other writ- ers, and I would not allude to it had it not been for an incident of much concern to me. In that raid I lost a boy comrade, as fine a lad as I ever knew. The fall of that year was featured with
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ideal weather. Sister and I were going to school at Norton. It was at this time a small pioneer village without railroad or telegraph communication, but no longer will her people be start- led with the thrilling news that "the Indians are coming," as they were thirty-five years ago. It has been reported for several days that about 300 Cheyennes had left their reservation in the Indian territory with their war paint on. and were coming north to help their old friends, Setting Bull and Crazy Horse, who were
Looking southeast from the Court House cupola in 1888. The C. D. Stearns residence in the foreground. The E. D. Jones residence, sur- rounded by trees, is now occupied by W. O. Butler. Residences of C. H. Wilson, G. S. Williamson, and H. F. Merwin in the distance.
getting what they richly deserved from Generals Terry and Miles. Early in the morning scores of teams began to come into town on a dead run. Some drove on through to beat the band and never did return. From north, west and south people con- tinned to flock in during the day the seare was on. About 1 o'clock my mother and brother, a lad of eight years, drove in. By this time mother had caught the fever and was as much excited as any of them. She asked me to get a horse and go out after father, who would not come with her. Some thought it danger- cus, and others said it would be alright if I had a gun. So Mr. Kenyon, the blacksmith, offered me his six-shooter, and said.
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"Kid, if you'll get powder and caps I'll mould some bullets." When ready, he handed me the gun and I rode away. I met more teams coming pell mell. They had some bedding in, with the family piled on top, who were geting the joy ride of their lives. Some stopped and inquired where I was going and ad- vised me to turn back. Others seemed to have troubles all their own and drove hurriedly by. The twenty-one miles was made in short time. 1 forded the Sappa on a gallop and rode up to the house. Father was not there. I noticed that the chickens were digging around on a plot of ground where they did not dare trespass before. The cattle were scattered. I went to several of the neighbors. All were gone. I hastened back, and, going down a draw, the head of Robinson branch, I rode upon two an- telope. They jumped up not more than ten feet away and gazed at me with their black beady eyes. I thought how nice it would be to give my seat in the saddle to a dead antelope, and walk to town a few miles away. I slipped off and took sure aim. There was an awful report followed by a cloud of smoke that made one think of a prairie fire. After collecting myself I discovered that the antelope was unhurt, although all six shots had gone off at onee. Disgusted with such a gun in a supposed Indian country, I caught my horse and rode to town. Later it developed that father. in company with others, had gone west as far as Oberlin to reconnoiter. There was a great hub-bub in town. The fall term of court was on. That day they had on trial the Cummings and Landis murder case from the Solomon. Court had just con- vened for an evening session when two men rushed in and. in an excited way, told the judge that in coming down the Prairie Dog from old Leota they had passed south of the Indian camp of about 100 lodges and tepees. The usual dignity of court was abandoned, and all joined in the fright of the moment. Women and children were ordered assembled at the rock house of Wil- liam Rogers. Men got their teams and grouped their wagons around it. The attack was not looked for before daylight. Out- side guards were posted. I have no idea of the number of peo- ple there, but it was a helpless mass of humanity in the event of an attack. An inventory of the firearms emphasized the fact that the energies of the people had been more devoted to the de- velopment of a new country than that of war. There were two shotguns of the loose powder type, and the Colts I have spoken about. Louis K. Pratt, afterward district judge, had the dis-
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tinction of being the only man who carried a Spencer carbine, that had in its magazine only two shells, which, happily, he did not have the occasion to use. Many amusing things happened that night. but I will spare the mirth of the reader by not re- ferring to them. After sun up a detail accompanied the two men to the place. where they had seen the Indian camp. And lo, there stood the silent objects of their scare-about 150 shocks of cane.
During this time the Indians passed north and about fifty miles west. They did not travel in a body, but in squads, which gave them a wider range for pillage. At one schoolhouse they cuffed the little ones about and maltreated the teacher. whose name I will withhold. When found she was more dead than alive. After long suffering in a hospital in Kansas City. she re- covered. They crossed the Beaver in the morning at head water. where Mr. Abbott and his son Arthur, my friend. were holding a bunch of cattle. It was the custom to keep up one saddle horse at night, which Arthur used to round up the day horses while his father got breakfast. Shortly after Arthur rode away. Mr. Abbott went to the spring. a few rods from the dugout. Sud- denly leaden pelletts began to buzz around him. Looking south ne could see the reds on a hill. Stepping inside the house he worked his Winchester rapidly as long as there was an Indian in sight. Then he waited and watched for Arthur to come, but Arthur did not come. In the afternoon some boys from the K. P. ranch rode up to break the news to the gray-haired father that they had found Arthur down the valley shot and scalped. his new Denver saddle cut to bits, and a poor, sore-backed pony the indians had left instead of his horse. At a deserted homestead they cut feather ticks open, in which they mixed Hour and mo- lasses. At another place they picked the feathers off of chickens and those that had not died were running about in a nude condi- tion when the owners returned. This was presumably the work of the squaws for they seem to have that cruel desire io torture and mutilate. At still another place, where the people Hed. on their return they could locate their former home by the sev- (ral heaps of ashes. So it was across the states, a distance of over 500 miles. the rascals left a trail of murder. arson and theft. In the summer of 1879 the renegades were taken back to the In- dian territory under a colored military escort, Major North in command. They camped for the night on Squaw crook in full view of our place. The Indians received no greater punishment
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er all of their deeds than told to be "heap good," and they would be clothed and fed by the generous hand of Uncle Sam.
Father sold his farm near Waukon, Iowa, and, being a reader of the New York Tribune, assimilated enough of its teachings to undertake the task of chasing the setting sun toward the free government lands. He had no particular destination in view, but a slight leaning for Colorado. On May 2nd, the start was made west. A long tedious trip across the state to the Missouri rvier opposite Nebraska City. A boat landed us on the Nebraska side. After many stops and delays, we camped one night at the forks of the Beaver and Sappa. The next morning the large prairie schooner, drawn by four big oxen. moved slowly west- ward toward the divide between the ereeks last named. The day was very hot, and the water supply on hand limited, so the thirst of three "kids" grew amazingly. At a point directly south, father stopped the team and pointing north said to mother, "That is Beaver City over there in the Beaver valley, the only town be- tween here and Denver." For a better view, I got up on a wheel and looked with eyes keener of vision than now, and could see no churches, brick blocks, high school building, or court house with well kept grounds. Through the hazy mist of the prairie I could not discern the stars and stripes floating from the cupola of the Times-Tribune building, or the beautiful park with its stately trees and the bandstand where Bryan stood, or other evidenees of thrift and progress that would attract the eye of the stranger now. I could see only a few small objects that father said were houses, and that was Beaver City in August, 1873.
Some buffalo, elk and antelope crossed the trail ahead of us that afternoon, but I didn't see any moose. (I'm told that they are plentiful now.) We made a dry eamp for the night about six miles southwest of where Hendley now stands. The night was musical with the sound produced by buffalo or lobo wolves. The morning dawned hot and sultry. More buffalo were in sight and many antelope. Father thought best to pull farther south on the creek and wait a few days until the weather got cooler, and then continue our trip to Colorado, Denver being the initial point. We went down the ridge where the fine farms of John Jones and S F. Parsons are now growing erops more valuable than prairie dogs, prickly pears, and buffalo grass, into the Sappa valley. The only habitation in sight was that of John O'Brien, a log house on the creek. This place is now owned by
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Ben Miller. There were a few dugouts up and down the stream, but could not be seen until you were upon them. For some rea- son the days lengthened into two weeks. In the meantime hunt- ers brought the news that a hunting party of Pawnees had met their old enemy, the Ogalallas, one of the seven branches of the great Sioux nation, on the headwaters of the Frenchman. After iwo days of fighting the former were defeated and many of their ponies taken. Sore and sullen over the misfortunes of war. they headed west and south and tried to cover their loss by steal- ing stock from the immigrants. So father concluded that he might go farther and fare worse, and to use his own words, "The longer I stay in this beautiful valley the better I like it." In it he made his home for nearly forty-one years, until the final som- mons came to cross the Great Divide.
Father pre-empted a quarter section less than eighty rods From our camp. It is now owned by Mrs. E. Broquet. A few vears liter he homesteaded a quarter on the Sappa, which is still owned by mother. Between looking after the stock afoot, swat- ting rattle snakes, and picking cactus out of my feet. I got pretty well acquainted with all the swimming pools for quite a distance along the creek. Many of these plunges were more than fifteen feet deep; something that would hardly seem possible now. This deep water was the home of good sized fish. otter and beaver. The preek contained many drifts of wood, and the busy beaver kept a1ding to them every night, by cutting trees along the banks. A very rank growth of bluestem covered the first bottom, out of which wild turkeys would come to take a strut on the short grass of the upland. The Sappa was the most heavily timbered of all of the tributaries of the Republiem, and a few years later porta- ble saw mills worked the largest trees into huber.
One day when father was bnikling our first log house, we heard shooting. Looking south we saw a herd of buffalo coming. Some hunters were concealed in the timber on the Sappa, and shot into the herd as it crossed. On they came and passed west of the house a few rods. We watched the big shaggy fellows lope by. One big one stopped, walked in a circle and fell. The rear of the Herd was made up of cows and calves. The cows were pushing some of the younger calves along with all of their might. The last one no sooner passed, than I scampered out to what } sup- posed was a dead one. I no sooner jumped on his wool hump, than up he jumped and with high, uncertain step made another
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circle, and then crashed to earth to rise no more. I shall not for- get my first buffalo ride, and a good warming that night for being so adventurous helped to fix it in my memory. About 40 rods an- other buffalo dropped, and a little farther on another. The hunt- ors came up with a wagon, and father helped them with the skin- ning, and got the hides, which came in good use, as you will see later on. The hunters took only the hind quarters. We had all the meat we wanted and the coyotes got the rest. The poor bison were sorely worried that fall by hunters, both foreign and domes- tic. They carried on this merciless slaughter in many cases not for food or any useful purpose, but for the sport of the chase. By the spring of 1874 the buffalo and elk had disappeared from this part of the Sappa valley.
I discovered an Indian cave, which when opened revealed a motley assortment of trinkets, such as were buried with redmen in the early days-tomahawks, bows and arrows, leg and arm bracelets, blankets, beads and other articles, some of which were in the last stages of decay and others in a good state of preserva- tion. There were four skeletons in this cave. The Indians also buried their dead in trees, of which I found two. One must have been a chief or brave of some note judging from still apparent evidences of state with which he had been interred and the num- ber of ponies which had been killed under the tree to carry him to the happy hunting grounds.
When father got his new house finished it was 16x20, plast- cred inside and out. Mother whitewashed the walls with native lime. We were shy windows and humber to make doors, so buffa- lo hides were used the first winter, and the earthen floor was car- peted with the same kind of material and a few coon and antelope hides to give it a rich setting. A large fire place added comfort and cheer to the home. For a light we used a saucer and wick filled with badger oil, and when company came, candles made from buffalo tallow were used. There being no school, father bought me a bunch of traps from a hunter, and suffice to say the first shipment of furs to Kearney netted $83. The same amount and quality would bring $300 now.
One morning as mother was getting breakfast, and not know- ing anyone was near, the buffalo hide door was pushed open and in stepped five Indians. A big plate of steaming griddle cakes caught their eyes, and they forgot to say "how 'co-lo." The cakes and a dish of juicy antelope meat soon disappeared.
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Mother kept on baking cakes and the batter dongh was soon gone and her patience also. Making a pass at the nearest Indian with the batter spoon, he backed toward the door trying to ex- plain, "Heap friends," but she didn't take kindly to his talk, as they had eaten her breakfast and she had to prepare another. They had a camp on the creek and did not return. That after- woon they moved, for which we were thankful. as Father was away down the creek. While gone he bought some cattle of John Manning and Moses McCarthy. For some time we enjoyed the luxury of receiving our mail about once every month and it was received with profuse thanks. Now the rural carrier must be Johnny on the spot every twenty-four hours, and gets no thanks tor it.
About this time the young ladies of the neighborhood were casting sly glances at a dashing young collegian from Haddon- field, N. J., who had come to ride on the ranch of his uncle on the head waters of the Sappa. He was straight as a gun barrel and of perfect physique. The soft fresh complexion that he brought from the east was soon ex- changed for the tan of the plains. He was an apt pupil and took quickly to the new conditions. His unerring aim, cleverness with the rope. and the skill with which he handled his mount. gentle or otherwise. cansed old knights of the saddle to sit up and take notice. I'm Building at the southeast corner of the square used for a court house, hotel, and store rooms at various times. Torn down in 1894 when the Norris block was erected. sure that an article from his pen would be interesting to the big family of readers of the Times-Tribune.
As I have a trip in prospect for the coming summer, and hope to meet many of the old friends, I say adieu until such time as I can extend to them the glad hand.
WM. T. McGUIRE.
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CHAPTER XV
I. S. Meyers Started Out For "Nebraska or Bust," Arrived Safely and Has Not "Busted" Up To Date
I have been eagerly reading the stories of the pioneer settlers of Furnas county. although I claim to be an early settler, and further, I claim to have done my part manfully in the development of our county. And the people of Furnas county have honored
I. S. MEYERS
me by electing me to the office of county commissioner for two terms (six years), and I sure filled my office with honor.
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Ilaving sold my farm in Ogle county, Illinois, in the fall of 1871, I concluded to be a homesteader. In the spring of 1872 I started in company with my brother, J. HI. Meyers, and a young man by the name of Reybuck, for Nebraska, this being on the 29th day of April. Having four horses on a new wagon, chicken coop bolted on the side and two cows leading behind. (Yes, the finest cows I ever owned). We put an inscription on our cover, "Nebraska or Bust." After traveling three days our cows gave out. Too fat to travel. What to do we did not know. " Well," I said, "Boys I must sell my fine cows, that is all." So I began to look for a buyer. I stopped where a man had a lot of cattle and offered my cows for sale. Hle did not even want to come out in the road and look at them, but I insisted so hard for him to look them over that he did so. He said, "They are better than anything in my herd." "Well. he said, "What do you want for your cows?" I told him I was offered $75 for the two before i started, but I thought I would sure make a sale so I said, "I will take $60 for the two." Ile saw I was stuck and must sell, as I could not take them any farther, so he offered me $30 for the two. What could I do but take this offer? So I said, "Now boys, our inscription will surely come true at this rate." But we felt free and relieved just the same, and then we could roll on in fine shape.
About central Iowa we caught up with a string of seven Teams all headed for Nebraska. They were driving about thirty head of cattle, loose. We traveled together for a few days, and I found out that two teams were coming to the Beaver and Sappa valleys. The people are the ones that had the herd of eat- tle. Their names were John and Riley Craig. They said to me. "Why did you not bring cattle?" I said, "I started with two leading behind and had to sell them." He says, "If you buy a few cattle, my boys will drive them and it will cost you nothing." So I began to inquire for cows and soon had two, one for $33.00. the other for $35.00, and then we were fixed to come ahead.
We landed in the Sappa Valley, near Stamford, about the 8th day of June, 1872, stopping with a friend of Mr. Craig's, John Jones. Here we concluded to make our camp until we located. so we unloaded our wagon. We hired a surveyor by the name of Galen James, who lived not far from Mr. Jones, and started up the Sappa Valley. We went as far west as where Devizes now is. Not liking the Sappa valley for the reason the stream had such deep banks, and the timber so hard to get out. we
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crossed over the divide to the Beaver valley. We were more fa- vorably impressed with the creek and timber, the land and soil being the same on both streams, so we all located in the Beaver valley, just west of where the town of Hendley now is. The day of our location was the 12th day of June, 1872, and I have re- sided on that land ever since, until the year 1900, when I moved to Hendley, but I still own my homestead and other lands that I purchased after. So the inscription on the wagon has not come true, for I am not busted yet.
After locating our claims and having them surveyed out by Galen James, whom we hired at $5 per day, we returned to Mr. Jones' place where we had left onr cattle and all our outfit. We then started west to our claims. The first night we camped on Mr. Craig's place, the farm now owned by G. D. Meyer. That night a very large herd of buffalo came down across the bottom where our cattle were bedded down, stampeding the whole herd. My two yoke of work cattle (I had not yoked them) were in the bunch. Next morning we found our cattle in small lots from 5 to 7 miles up and down the Beaver valley. None seemed to be hurt, but after searching and hunting for three or four days, we were short two head. One of these being one of my cows, and one of Mr. Craig's best cows. We gave up the hunt for cattle and went on our claims, and began the preparations for building log houses. I had left my wife and child in Illinois and was anx- louis to get a home ready for them to come. I hired a man by the name of Jenkins, who lived just east of Stamford, to help me build. The house I built was 14x16, one and one-half stories high, with an addition of one story 10x12. It took until about the 21st or 22nd of July to complete the same, excepting door and windows. These I would bring from the railroad, when I brought my wife from Grand Island. We had just nicely started to build when there came a big Indian scare, and the settlers flocked together, but it soon passed over. This so annoyed Mr. Craig and family that they would not stay in this country. I bought a few of his cattle which were sore-footed ; some of his implements ; a stove, and bedsteads, and he turned back.
We were camped on my farm on a small flat in the timber, at the mouth of a big draw. I built my cattle corral in this timber. One night while we were building there came a heavy rain, and we being so tired, did not hear it. We were sleeping in covered wagons, having a tent outside, where we kept our
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stuff. The next morning when we awoke the water was over hub deep, and my cattle corral was floated away. Our cow was tied to a heavy pole. she being "boss" of the rest, and she Was nearly drowned. A young man by the name of John Foss swam in and cut her loose and saved her. We then began to look after the things in our tent. I found that my trunk in which all the money I had brought with me (over $1,200.00 in cash ) had Hoated away. The trunk, bedsteads, and everything we had in the tent were gone. I ran down along the creek, and finally saw my trunk floating down stream. Fealled Mr. Foss, as I could not swim, and he soon had it ashore. That was sure close to a "bust up" and I began to think the inscription on our wagen cover was ill luck to me. But we kept on building. One day there came a bunch of buffalo so close to the house where we were chopping and working that I took the gun, took a rest on the corner of the house and killed one. Ile was standing on the ground where the Lynden cemetery now is located.
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