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Settlement of Southwest Kansas
For several years
after Western Kansas was being opened for settlement, the counties
in this region remained unorganized and had no population except
the cattlemen. They were the lords of the land, but had no interest
in it except as it provided grass and water for their stock. They
ranged their cattle over thousands of acres without the restriction
of a single fence, but they were doomed to witness a marvelous change
in the country.
The supremacy of the cattlemen was of short duration. The railroad
company, which had been the prime means of beginning the cattle
industry, was also the chief inducement for people to come in and
homestead the land. Just as soon as it was known that the Indians
had abandoned this region people all over the United States began
to study the maps of Western Kansas.
The spring of 1878 opened with plentiful moisture. As far as the
eye could reach the short-grass plains were covered with a carpet
of green, unmarked by roads and highways. Not a sign of civilization
except the iron rails of the Santa Fe railroad. Not a tree or a
shrub was here to break the vision, nothing in sight but the great
herds of Texas cattle grazing at will in this vacant "back yard"
of Kansas settlement.
But the eyes of the cowboys who guarded the herds began anxiously
to watch the distant horizon, for they had heard the rumors of coming
settlers. As the days passed, sure enough, tiny dust clouds appeared
far to the east and grew, and soon they could discern covered wagons
lumbering slowly, but steadily advancing over the maze of cattle
trails. As the hours passed they could hear the shouts of the drivers
above the creaking wagons urging their sweating horses or ox teams
and tired domestic possibilities. They were not dismayed by the
fact that it was sparingly watered by the few creeks and the Arkansas
river, which was usually dry several months of the year. Scarcer
and scarcer grew the timber as they made their way west, until all
that there was grew on the islands in the river, beyond the reach
of annual prairie fires. But they did not complain because the land
before them lay bare to all the garish sunshine of the year, with
out the shadow of a tree or the seclusion of primeval forests. Their
eyes roamed in every direction and they were not dismayed when they
saw only the townsites of ants and prairie dogs rising in dwarf
mounds above the level height of the close-curled buffalo grass.
They were thinking of a time in the future, when the buffalo grass
would be replaced by tame grasses and by fields of golden grain.
They dreamed of cities which would spring up to replace that debris
of animal and insect architecture, which alone had littered the
landscape for centuries.
To the landless it seemed a great boon to have the opportunity to
settle upon government land and acquire fee simple title to a quarter
section of land for a mere living upon it. Even many who had farms
or places of business in the east decided they could better their
conditions by disposing of their property and settling upon the
cheap, yet fertile land of the west. Briefly, it may be stated that
the heads of families, or persons over 21 years of age, were entitled
under the acts of congress to 480 acres of land, 160 as a homestead,
160 as pre-emption, and 160 as timber claim. Only 320 acres, however,
could be entered at the same time. Five years' residence was required
on a homestead claim before patent could be issued. The settler
had six months after he filed on land before establishing a residence
and commencing his improvements. He might also be temporarily absent
six months. Preemption required immediate settlement. After six
months, cattle toward the valleys of the Pawnee or Arkansas rivers.
And they could see written across the canvas tops in crude letters,
"WESTERN KANSAS OR BUST".
The vanguard of grangers had arrived. They were hardy pioneers,
looking for a home, a place to settle and rear their families. They
were not daunted by the great vacant expanses of rolling prairie
and level plains. Even though it looked like a barren waste, they
knew it held by paying $1.25 per acre, patent could be secured.
Within limits of railroad land, $2.50 per acre was paid. No settlement
was required under the timber culture act. The claimant was required
to break five acres of land during the first year, five acres during
the second year, and cultivate the first five, and the third year
plant five acres to trees, tree seeds or cuttings. All this could
be done by an agent, and a non-resident could acquire title to land
under the provision of this act. Since there was only one timber
claim in each government township, and it could be owned by a non-resident,
this class of claims were soon all taken up. But the job of plowing
and cultivating the timber claims supplied some of the settlers
with money so they could stay on their homesteads. In many cases,
in lieu of payment for their labor, they were given title to the
timber claim.
Naturally, the cattlemen were resentful of the coming of the settlers
and homesteaders who kept arriving singly and in groups during the
years of 1878 and `79. Coming in wagons, or dropping off the trains
along the railroad sidings of the Santa Fe, they were met by the
cowboys, who did their best to discourage them from settling here.
"Say, let us tell you something," they would begin. "It never rains
out there and you will starve to death. Dodge City is as far west
as civilization will ever go, and that place is hardly a fit place
for a civilized man with a family." From that time on there was
a struggle between the grangers and the cattlemen as to who would
occupy the land.
In 1878 there was a sprinkling of homesteaders scattered over the
prairies, and the next year, 1879, many more filed on claims. Nature
seemed to favor the efforts of those first settlers, even if the
cattlemen didn't. Everything planted that first year yielded bountifully,
and the country gave out every promise to those desiring to make
permanent settlement. Towns were established and dugouts and sod
houses of homesteaders dotted the plains, where they lived as snug
as "wasps" in their mud houses. James Craig came to Garden City
in March, 1879, and he tells how they located the claims:
"I found Buffalo Jones and Bill Stapelton on the job ready to show
people over the country, and locate them on government land, and
for some time after my arrival they did a thriving business. I remember
driving around with Jones and Stapelton locating people. The land
office at that time was located at Larned, and Jones received a
report every day of all land located the previous day. We would
start out in the morning with perhaps six or eight people who wanted
to locate. It was my job when we started from a known corner to
count the revolutions of the wheel of the vehicle we were riding
in. A handkerchief tied to a wheel and knowing the distance around
the wheel was a quick way to measure between the corners, and of
keeping track of the section, township and range. We could tell
the prospective settler just how far we were from Garden City."
It has been said of that first year that it was a "will o' the wist
which lured hundreds of homesteaders into this region, only to have
their hopes blasted by drouth during the next succeeding years."
The dry weather set in the fall of 1878, continued all through the
year of 1879, and with little intermission during 1880-81-82.
In those years, in spite of the fact that the settlers congregated
to pray for rain and for relief from climatic conditions, it never
rained, and the country looked like a parched desert. The very grass
would crunch and fall to powder beneath the feet of the settlers.
At the end of four years, few of the first enthusiastic people who
had taken claims were left. Even as the "Arabs quietly folded their
tents and moved away", so did the first settlers, but instead of
folding up tents, they unfolded their old canvas tops and spread
them back in place over the weather-beaten wagon bows. Beneath the
old sign "WESTERN KANSAS OR BUST" they scrawled in bright new letters,
"Busted by God", and the heads of the famishing horses that were
hitched to those "ships of the Great Plains" were headed back east
toward "wife's folks".
It has been said that all who remained did so because they couldn't
get away. But that is not true. Those who kept on did so because
they could, and because they wanted to. They had a persistence born
partly of faith in the country and partly of a dogged determination
to stick to their possessions to the end. They refused to be beaten
by climate or any other circumstance.
Many had come into the country well dressed, but after two or three
years their clothing was worn out and they had not the means to
buy new. Socks became a luxury. Blue jeans covered the worn cloth
trousers of the men and they were not particular as to the style
of their coats. Their stiff derby hats were dented and battered
but continued to do service. The women made over the good clothes
they had brought with them for their growing children, and for themselves
made new cotton dresses. And then as their plight became known boxes
and barrels of clothing began arriving from relatives and benevolent
organizations in the east. These donations were hailed with delight,
although the housewives were often filled with despair and disappointment
when they tried to fit out their families with "used and discarded
clothing."
But it was not so much a question of what to wear, as what to eat?
The Rev. A. C. McKeever, a pioneer of Finney county, recently said
in an address to the old settlers at Garden City:
"There were times when the flowers did not bloom, the grass did
not get green, and the larder was low. If it had not been for the
jack rabbits and the wild ducks and geese, a great many of the early
settlers would have found it much harder.
"I remember hearing about a case in the early days of a man who
had come out west to make his fortune. He had faith, he was ambitious,
and he worked hard. The report went out through Ohio, Indiana and
Illinois that the people were starving to death on the plains, and
the good people of Ohio sent a young man out here to investigate,
and provided a purse whereby the suffering might be relieved. This
young fellow from Ohio came to the man who had staked his all to
make his fortune. Of course he did not want to turn over the money
to anyone who was not in need, so he was very careful in his investigation
and cautious in his movements. He asked the settler how he was getting
along, and true to the policy of the early settlers, he was told
what a wonderful country it was, and how delightful to live in such
rarefied air, and told about the beautiful sunsets. Then the would-be-benefactor
asked him where they got their provisions, and told him that word
had gone out that the settlers were starving and that a carload
of provisions had been sent out for those in need, but he was so
glad to learn there was no need here. The settler was silent for
a few minutes, then he said, "Well, you know, we got along fine
last year and expected to this year, but our dog died, and you know,
it takes a damned good dog to catch rabbits.'"
There was little money in the country among the settlers, except
the pension checks received from the government by the civil war
soldiers. The chief industry among the homesteaders was picking
up buffalo and cattle bones of which there appeared to be an inexhaustible
supply all over the prairies, and hundreds of loads were brought
in to points along the railroad to be shipped, for which the settlers
received five or six dollars a ton.
Mrs. H. W. Crow recalls how her husband and Sim Buckles would go
far out on the prairie to gather bones. There were no roads or trails
to follow and in order to find their way back to Garden City, they
would tie a log under the wagon low enough to drag on the ground
to make a mark, so they could follow it home. They would also haul
in "buffalo chips" and rick them up like hay stacks to keep them
dry for winter fuel.
Another source of income which was obtained in a hard but thrilling
way was the catching of wild horses, which were shipped east. In
1880 two men from Pennsylvania came out to Garden City to buy up
wild horses to take backeast and sell at retail. They had no difficulty
in buying two car loads of fine horses, but a difficulty arose when
they offered a $1000 bill in payment. It was impossible to get it
changed, and they finally had to go to Larned where the United States
land office was located.
In those days C. J. Jones, the Craig brothers and others would go
out antelope hunting. They would fix up sleds so they could get
over the ground quickly and it was an easy way to haul in the game.
They usually returned with a few, or perhaps a number, and would
ship them to Topeka or Kansas City, receiving four or five dollars
apiece for them.
N. F. Weeks, who with his brother, J. W. Weeks, located at Garden
City May 3, 1878, has left a written record of some of those early
hunting trips:
"About 1879 white-tailed deer were more or less plentiful in the
sand hills, and Jones and others made frequent trips into the sand
hills. Jones was always accompanied by his favorite stag hound.
On one of these trips I accompanied him, and reaching a place where
the Dan Larmor ranch was afterwards located, a fine buck was sighted
and the hounds took up the chase. We were riding in a platform spring
wagon, Jones driving and I holding the gun. As the chase warmed
up Jones kept urging the team to greater speed. It was a mad rush
across the hills, the wagon swayed and bounced and at times it almost
upset. The deer headed for the Island in the river. Finally we struck
some particularly rough and boggy ground and we both took headers
from the wagons. Jones managed to land on his feet and kept on running.
Just how I struck the ground I have never been able to tell, for
it was like being hit by a cyclone, but I saw Jones plunging into
the water and heard him shouting to bring the gun. I finally reached
the island where the dog was holding the deer and Jones dispatched
it with a bullet.
"Parts of the wagon and pieces of the harness were scattered for
miles down the river and the wagon had to be sent to Sterling for
repairs. That did not bother Jones in the least, he got what he
went after and did not count the cost. Jones always had a lot of
hunting dogs and when he was unable to supply them with meat they
formed the habit of raiding the butcher shops of Halsey and Butts,
and frequently would carry off a whole quarter of beef, for which
Jones would pay without question. One of his favorite hounds disappeared
once and he went to Colorado in search of him, thinking he had followed
some emigrant wagon off, but the dog was never found.
"Early in the fall of 1879 Jones suggested a hunt in the Cimarron
river country for buffalo. At that time he had a large number of
wolf and stag hounds, and others of like character, and recently
having secured a high-grade pup, he wanted to try it out on big
game. So accompanied by my brother, Joe Weeks, and George Edwards,
son of Jesse Edwards, we left Garden City with two wagons. I rode
with Jones and we traveled southwest toward the Cimarron. Antelope
were plentiful in the sand hills, and we soon sighted a large herd.
I shall never forget that sight. The sun was just coming up and
its first rays fell on the brownish-red and white of the grazing
animals. Immediately the hunting instincts were aroused, every muscle
became taut, every nerve in the man seemed to quiver with excitement,
and his eyes snapped and glittered as only a man's will when the
instincts of the true hunter are aroused.
"On getting within fair shooting distance he could have bagged several
easily, but he wanted to see his dogs perform, and suggested that
he would cripple an antelope, and then the dogs and the pup would
be turned loose. This was done, the leashes were unloosed, and with
loud baying the dogs took after the startled and fleeing antelope.
Some time elapsed and the older dogs returned to the wagons, but
much to Mr. Jones' anxiety the pup failed to show up, so telling
the other men to continue their journey to the Cimarron we started
in search of the pup. All day we kept up the search, but the pup
was never seen again.
"Our water supply gave out and late in the day we headed for the
Cimarron where we expected to find water. About nine or ten o'clock
that night we came up to the other members of the party. Their supply
of water was also exhausted and the river was entirely dry. This
was a serious situation. Our horses were already in an exhausted
condition, and it was a two days' drive to the Arkansas. There was
no water on the way, nothing but the sun-scorched prairie sage brush
and withered grass. Early the next day we started and our progress
was necessarily slow.
"We made camp the first night, and fortunately there occurred that
rare phenomena of the plains, a dew fell, and eating the dew-covered
grass our horses were somewhat refreshed. We were all suffering
from thirst, and we ate nothing but crackers all day, and by eating
them slowly, a saliva would be started in our dry and parched mouths.
Late in the day what a glorious sight unfolded itself. There ahead
of us was the Arkansas river, and the water glistened in the sunlight.
It was a joyous, life-inspiring scene, and man and beasts quickened
their steps. Reaching the water, all rushed to partake of its blessed
relief. It was warm and unpalatable, but it quenched the burning
thirst. The horses drank with avidity, and when they had had enough
for the time, they could not be forced from the river, and finally
one of Edwards' horses died. During the torture of those days, Jones
was the guiding spirit."
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