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Rock Bluff Ferry I went to work for a man by the name of Smith, who had the Rock Bluff Ferry rented from the owners, who were Jim Shannon then living on the old road between Colbert Ferry and Sherman, a point now on the western boundary of Denison, Texas, and Bud Randolph, who had married an Indian girl and was living on the Indian Territory side of the river about two and one-half miles to the north, close to the cattle trail. Rock Bluff Ferry was the main cattle crossing, a good many immigrant wagons crossing there. Smith offered me $30 per month with board, such as it was. He had another fellow with him and a Mexican who helped to run the boat by oars. They were poor hands and I did not know much, but had some knowledge, for I had made a few voyages with two of my uncles who were ship captains. After a few days Smith left the whole thing with me and would go off on his pony, sometimes not coming back again until night. There was a large lot fenced with logs and trees cut down making a good place in which to hold the cattle should they not take to the water, and at the lower end a large rock jutted into the river making practically a chute for the cattle to go into swimming water at the first jump. I would take the skiff and keep the cattle straightened out across the river while the other men kept them crowded up. Often they would go to "milling," that is, going around in a circle; then we had to break the mill, sometimes with me in the skiff, and sometimes by swimming to punch out a leader, which was dangerous work, but the wilder the cattle were, the easier it was to put them across We put across from one to four herds a day, though there were days when we had none to cross. We got along well, until one day the river took a quick rise while we were eating dinner. The boat being only tied to a stob, floated off, and the skiff being fast to the boat it went too, and so we had nothing to follow it with. When Smith came back that night we told him about our bad luck. He said that he would head the boat off. He took all the money with him that night—forgetting to pay any of us—and I suppose he is still trying to head off the boat. However, I sent word to the owners, and found that Smith had forgotten to pay them the last month's rent. The owners in a few days went up on the Washita river to hew out gunwales from cottonwood trees, but before they went I proposed to cut lumber and build a skiff so that I could put cattle across. By sending the chuck wagon around by Colbert's The owners agreed, telling me to keep what I made, and so I kept on putting the cattle across. Well, I had $10 when I came here, and after buying the lumber and paying for the hauling, I had 25 cents left. I put across cattle, horses and men until I had made $60. About this time the owners came back from the Washita. They had heard that the boat had hung up on a drift at Sowell's Bluff and they wanted me to go with them to get the boat back. While we were away a man by the name of Dave Toomey took charge of the ferry. We were gone about a week. Jim Shannon borrowed my $60 to help pay expenses, and told me when we got back to keep all the money until we got even, but when we got back I found that I had lost all of my clothes except what were on my back. My introduction to Texas was surely tough. It was nearing the end of cattle driving, but the largest herd was yet to come. One morning two men rode down, looked the place over and told me they had a herd of 7900 or more to put across. They asked me to take everything out of the way as they were going to stampede the cattle and run them across. Soon we heard them shooting and whooping then followed the roar of the cattle coming down the road, horns and hoofs a-pounding. Into the water they went nearly damming the river, but they did not lose one, and it surely was a sight to see that many cattle on such a wild run. Everything went along smoothly but the owners never forgot to come every day or two, and ask for what money I had, which kept me broke. We had many comical and serious troubles with which to contend. One night the boys all went up to Preston, then a small village, and yet a small village, to get some tobacco and I was left by myself. We had no beds, only shake-downs on the floor, and had no guns, so I kept the old axe by my side at night. That night I heard some one come to the door and give it a push, then walk around the house and stop at the chimney. The chinking was pretty well knocked out, so one could see into the shack. I lay there just as long as I could stand it, thinking that some one was looking through at me. Then I got up with the axe in my hand, opened the door, slipped around the way the footsteps went and when I got to the chimney corner up jumped a big black object. My hat went one way, and the axe the other. It was a big hog. I was looking for a man, not an animal. The owners wanted me to run the outfit another year but would not pay enough wages so they got two brothers by name of Nichols to manage it. Just about that time Charles Gooding and another man told me one day to bring over the skiff as they wished to speak with me. Gooding then introduced me to B. F. Colbert who wanted me to run his ferry. Chronicles
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