Bradford Robbins Grimes

BRADFORD ROBBINS GRIMES

Bradford Robbins Grimes, (familiarly known as “B. R.”), grandson of Captain Dick and eldest son of William Bradford Grimes, was born in Texas on the Tres Palacios ranch September 29, 1857. He married Daisy Ferguson of Emporia, Kansas, March 11, 1908. They make their home in Ashland, Kansas to be near their Oklahoma ranch, or in the pioneer Ferguson home in Emporia, or resting in the balmy coast country of Texas near the old Grimes ranch.

Young Bradford’s life as a boy followed the usual pattern of the child on a ranch in a pioneer country. His playmates were children of retainers or of the colored folk, mostly slaves. There were the usual adventures in swimming, sailing a boat, learning to ride and rope and no luxuries such as those of today’s favored child. As other children came into the family, each in turn was nursed and cared for by a colored “mammy.”

Schooling came mostly from a governess brought out from Boston. One term’s attendance was two or three miles distant in the Hawley church, near Deming’s Bridge. The teacher-preacher Charles N. Pierce, by name, is remembered by his one-time pupil as a tall sparely built man who wore a long linen duster and rode a red roan stallion to school. The stallion “Red” by name frequently broke his chain rope and created a disturbance among other tethered horses. At the cry “Red is loose,” the entire school fled to assist in corralling him.

One girl, Mattie by name, was his chief opponent. Once she whispered asking the correct spelling of a word. He told her incorrectly, then spelling it correctly moved ahead. He still thinks of this with remorse.

The Grimes father and mother were ever mindful of the religious and cultural ethics of the home, and Bradford knew from earliest years a fineness in character building that has remained throughout his life.

It was the custom of the elder Grimes to gather the family and servants into the living room for a Sunday afternoon service. This included the prayers as set forth in the Episcopal Prayer Book, and the reading of a long dry sermon from the collection of an English rector. This was rather tiresome to small Bradford sitting on a high straight back chair with bare legs dangling. On one occasion when all the beautiful out-of-doors was whispering and beckoning him out, he essayed a “get-away.” Quietly on hands and knees, he was half way across the dining room floor, when the not unmindful father, opened the door. A greatly humiliated boy was returned to his chair to remain to the end.

He made a contract with his father to sweep the store, (a neighborhood convenience maintained on the ranch,) for 10 cents a month. Bradford soon knew he had made a bad bargain but the father held him to his contract. He learned two valuable lessons,-first give careful thought before making a contract, and second a habit of tidiness.

A trip to Galveston, 100 miles away, was an exciting adventure. From the ranch landing a passenger went by sailboat, the Sea Gull, to the Gulf and then by steamer to the City. Accompanying his father on a trip, Bradford had all of 10 cents to spend. He bought a cocoanut. His father sent his purchases back by freight. Not so Bradford! He carried the precious cocoanut all the way back under his arm. The steamer, with all its freight was lost.

Bradford’s cocoanut was saved and brought home in triumph.

BRADFORD ROBBINS GRIMES

To New York

August 1870 marks a great change in the young boy’s life. He left parents, brothers, sisters and the ranch for far away New York, to live with an aunt and uncle and attend school. It was six years before his return. Six years in which were many days of homesick longings, yet days of study, pleasure and change.

The journey, accompanied by his Aunt Fanny, required three weeks. It followed the usual way from the ranch in Indianola, via sailboat and steamer to Galveston. Bradford recalls the coast steamer, long in services as the S. S. Harlan, and the courtesy of having supper in one of the upper decks with the Captain. More especially, he recalls, the piece de resistance, real sardines, (no Maine shiners”) and a new and most delicious food to him.

Another Gulf steamer carried the young passenger from Galveston to New Orleans, then by Mississippi river “side wheeler” to Cairo, Illinois; and the journey completed by rail to New York.

There was new experiences, new scenes, and the opening of a new world to the small-bewildered lad.

In New Orleans, he was greatly concerned about his trunk. He hunted until he found it on the wharf, hired a Negro to put it on the “side wheeler,” while the check remained in his pocket. He was innocently unconscious of its connection with the trunk.

True to the traditional appetite of a boy, he says, “When we got on the river and had pink blanc-mange for desert, I knew we were really living.”

No better home could ever have been had for the small earnest Texas boy than that of his Aunt Emily and Uncle Harry Childs in New York City. He was welcomed as their own and became as one with the other three cousins May, Emily, and Harry Jr. Here he found love, kindness, example, and precept in their guidance through five years of his teen age. Added to this was the never failing interest of his mother in hid mental and moral growth. Her frequent letters were replete with words of her own or clippings of good advice. He felt of supreme importance the wise counsel of his Uncle Harry. He respected and cherished him in life, reveres his memory in death.

Schooling now began in earnest, Young Bradford enrolled in the large five story boy’s school on 13th Street, known as Grammar School 35, having an enrollment of four thousand. Backward at first, as he must have been from his inadequate foundation, he advanced rapidly to the standard of others. One teacher projects into memory. Miss Arabella Field is remembered as exacting in requirements and strict in discipline, yet one for whom all the boys had the highest esteem. He recalls her praise of his original theme quite unfamiliar to a city boy. He recalls also the boy’s voices in song in morning assembly singing “Jerusalem the Golden”.

There were educational advantages outside school. There were frequent visits to Central Park, The Art Museum, the Musicals, or the theatre Wallacks or Booths, all of which were encouraged by his Aunt and Uncle. He confesses, though, while a daily listener to classical music, it never replaced his preference for the rhythmic waltz or gavotte. Strauss’ Blue Danube has ever remained his favorite. One evening, when he had the choice of seeing Sarah Bernhardt, or the Georgia Minstrels, he chose the Minstrels. He had, also, dancing instructions from the best master in the city. Summer vacations were spent part time with grandfather and grandmother Robbins in Hartford, Connecticut. Here, he had for pals his six months’ older Uncle Philemon Robbins, and Collie Colt, son of the founder and owner of Colts Arms Company.

Completing in four years, the work of Grammar School 35, it was followed by a year’s commercial courses at the College of the City of New York.

Growing in mental stature throughout these five years, Young Bradford, the lad, had become Mr. Bradford, a man 6 feet tall. While talking a physical examination at the College, he dropped in a faint. The physician recommended a summer in the West, so he left New York expecting and intending to return. “The best laid plans o’mice and men, “Gang aft agley.” He never returned to New York other than on business trips.

BRADFORD ROBBINS GRIMES

The Texas Drive

As directed by his father, he met him and the Texas Drive at Great Bind, Kansas, June 23, 1875. Having attained the stature of a man, his father assigned him for all future, the work of a man. He began the life of a cattleman, first in the service of his father and later for himself and a business he continues to follow.

The Grimes herd was summering on the free Kansas grass, to be moved later to winter quarters in the Indian Territory south of the present town of Kiowa. Throughout the nine months following June 23, Bradford never knew the comfort of a bed or any home comfort. He with other hands, slept in the open and cooked over a campfire. Winter began early. Bitter snow swept across the prairies. He recounts the cruel cold nights, when he slept on the ground, perhaps under a bank or in a hole dug back in a hill side and morning found him stiff and exhausted.

Picture courtesy of Robert M. Davant & Matagorda County Museum.

By the first of the year and the ultimate settling of the herd for the winter, he returned, after an absence of six years, to the loved mother, family and home on the Tres Palacios ranch.

His father made him “top hand” and at nineteen, the summer of 1876, he mad his first trip up the trail. It was while on this trip, his mother died. Her death was unknown to him for several weeks.

Altogether, he made three Trail trips. His first as a hand; salary $25 a month and grub; the next as “Boss Man” in charge of the herd. Salary $100 month and grub. The third trip on the trail and not included in this sketch, his father put him boss of two herds, 5000 in all, with salary $150 a month and grub. One of these trips was a drive of 1500 miles from the Gulf to Dakota.

The story of this trip as told to a friend, Adam Darling, is as follows.

BRADFORD ROBBINS GRIMES

On the Trail-Gulf to Dakota

“The WBG ranch kept from eight to ten men busy branding the year around. The annual roundup began in early Spring for it was traditional that herds start north not later than the first week in April. The Chisholm Trail lay about ten miles distant from the ranch. Let me tell you about a drive I made to North Dakota.

“One day my father told me I was to be top man or trail boss in charge of twenty-five hundred head of cattle he was sending to our ranch in North Dakota, and that he would pay me twenty-five dollars a month, and grub. Of course, I felt mighty important as any boy in his early twenties would.

“When we started the round-up thirty or forty men covered an area fifteen miles wide and rode between the different creeks, Juanita, Colorado, Caranchua, Tres Palacios and others. It didn’t take so very long before we had three thousand or more head milling and bellowing close to the ranch, but it took us some time to cut out those we were to drive north and brand them with our trail brand “G.” In addition to the WBG ranch brand they already carried.

“All cattlemen used a trail brand as an extra precaution and for quick identification of stock that might stray, become stolen, or get mixed with other herds on the way.

“We also rounded up a remuda of one hundred extra horses which were pretty wild. We placed them in corrals so that they could become acquainted with each other and lose some of their wild notions before becoming a part of the trail outfit.”

“A remuda was always placed in charge of a horse wrangler who accompanied a drive and remained at the rear of the herd. He was responsible for them. At night he tied the horse he was riding with a long rope, which he attached to his arm so that if the main bunch strayed while he was asleep, as it always did, his horse would start to follow it, pull the rope and awaken him.

“When the cattle were to be counted, six men formed a lane through which the animals passed, sometimes singly, sometimes, two, three, or four at a time. We used peas, beans, or tied knots in strings to keep tab of the number of head. When twenty-five hundred had been accounted for we turned the others loose and headed them for the range.

“When all was in readiness for the drive to begin, our crew consisted of fourteen riders, Oz, our colored cook, who was in charge of the four mule chuck wagon, the horse wrangler, who would not only have to look after the remuda but rotate remounts for those horses that would become galled or tired out, and myself. Seventeen men in all.

“Oz was one of our slaves. Where he got the name of Osborn Williams I never knew until he told me one day he had “just picked it up.” He was a flat-nosed fellow, a fine cook, and a happy spirit. I can hear him singing, and I can hear the tunes he played on his ten cent harmonicas which he always carried with him.

“My father had furnished me with money with which to buy foodstuffs to replenish our larder on the way. Oz always felt very important to when telling me what was needed. And he was an important member of the crew, for upon him rested the responsibility for having meals ready to bolster up the riders who were often tired out from lack of sleep and hard riding, enervated by the hot dustladen winds that blinded them and the cattle alike, or wearied by rains that made the trail a quagmire and the going (trebly) terribly hard.

Picture courtesy of Robert M. Davant & Matagorda County Museum.

“When we left the ranch we had about one thousand pounds of food supplies consisting of, in part, green coffee, which we parched in a dutch oven, several sacks of sugar and flour, bacon, rice, hominy, beans, and dried fruits. Oz always had soda biscuits and flapjacks on the menu. Of course, we didn’t have any printed menus. We just took what Oz gave us and ate it or went hungry. Eggs were a few and great luxury. Rabbits, prairie chickens, and antelope could be killed along the way if you were a good shot. As I’ve said before, I don’t believe I was ever considered a good marksman. ‘

“The smell of frying, bacon, the odor of “dried salt,” which was the name we gave pork slabs, and the aroma of boiling coffee, never failed to whet our appetites. We used tin cups and tin plates.

“A twenty to thirty gallon barrel was lashed on either side of the chuck wagon and filled with water for drinking purposes. As we didn’t have any ice you can readily understand how warm the water became. A poncho, or dried hide, was slung under the wagon and filled with kindling. It was the duty of Oz to replenish the supply of kindling with dried chips picked up along the way as in many districts wood was priceless, and we had to use it sparingly. But it was water first, last, all the time for man and beast alike.

“The crew ate in turns as they changed shifts, and Oz knew he would be busy from sunup to sundown, and lots of times the boys would wake him up at night and tell him they had to have grub.

“Our average move did not exceed twelve miles per day. We always timed a drive so as to reach a creek at about noon and another before dark, at which times we would throw the herd off the trail to graze and water. When the noon stop was made we left the herd in charge of just a sufficient number of me to handle it while Oz went on ahead several miles and prepared dinner for the others. When the men with the cattle reached Oz he was ready for them and the others would be turned over to the boys who had already had their dinner and the trek continued. Nightriders took charge immediately after supper.

“Each rider had a yellow slicker, or rain coat, two blankets and a tarpaulin which he laid on the ground, if damp, or used with his blankets when nights were cold. And each had his favorite horse.

“The trail was about on-fourth mile wide and deeply rutted by the hoofs of the cattle which were always wild and hard to handle at the start, but much more docile by the time we reached Austin, Texas. Unless stampeded, they held the trail fairly well. Always at the start one animal would take it upon itself to be the leader of the herd, and no matter how often we stopped for water and feed that critter would head the bunch again when we started.

“We left the ranch on afternoon at about four o’clock. Fifteen hundred miles lay ahead of us. None of us knew that we would, but we hoped to reach our destination alive. Dust storms, tornados, Indians, and renegades, were no strangers in those days. We bedded down the first night we were out, and sunrise next morning saw us well under way. We timed the day’s drive so as to reach the Navidad River before sundown. We reached it that evening, threw the herd off the trail and bedded down for the night. In due time we passed close to Lockhart, Texas, and while the herd continued its way, Oz and I bought about one hundred dollars worth of supplies. Lockhart was then a nondescript settlement of a few hundred people.”

“We reached Austin, Texas, about one hundred and fifty miles from the ranch without anything special happening. I paid of and turned back six riders as the cattle were giving little trouble. Some of the boys who received part pay bought overalls or shirts, or other wearing apparel, while others visited the saloons and returned to outfit in a more-or-less worse for wear condition but still quite able to sit in their saddles and nurse the herd. We remained in Austin thirty-six hours during which time additional foodstuffs were bought. The city then had a population of between twenty and twenty-five thousand people.”

“Leaving Austin, we passed close to Temple, Texas, without stopping, and when we reached Fort Worth, about four hundred miles from home, we rested the stock and purchased enough grub to carry us through to Dodge, Kansas.”

“When we crossed the Red River at Doan’s Ferry, so-called after a man by that name who operated the ferry, we found ourselves in what was spoken of in those days as The Beautiful Indian Territory.”

“Quanah Parker, a half-breed, was head of the Comanche tribe. Quanah was waiting for us when we stepped onto his land. I knew what was expected of me and did not hesitate to hand him fifteen good dollars as a pourboire for good will, which would permit me to feed and water the herd without being molested as we passed through the Territory. He was most polite, spoke excellent English, and when thanking me he assured me we would not be harassed by his tribesmen. I have always believed he must have had scouts out who promptly reported to him when a herd would reach the river. He always met them on the north bank and collected tribute.”

“When Indians asked cattlemen for an animal they asked in wohaw, a word they had picked up from the bullwhacker’s call to their long string of oxen freighting to different army posts. “ Gee” turned the lead oxen to the right, “Wohaw” swung them to the left. It was therefore easy for the Indians to connect “wohaw” with beef, or cattle.”

“A few days after I had settled with Quanah we were bedding down for the night at Cache Creek when several Comanches rode up and demanded wohaw. Their spokesman was a little yellow-faced half-breed and as evil looking as you can imagine. I didn’t appreciate the demand for I felt I had already settled with Quanah and that should be all that could be expected. I told the Indian I had nothing to give him. He didn’t seem to care what I said, and when I finally told him I had made peace with his chief it had no effect. His demands became more insistent and I became equally stubborn. In the end, he evidently thought he could win me over by being more polite. He began to palaver and addressing me we with the customary Indian salutation, said: “You heap good chief.” “You good Texan.”

“I emphatically denied the compliment. I thought I might scare him by letting him think I was the worst bad hombre ever turned loose on the cattle trail, and would stand no nonsense. But he wasn’t taken aback. He continued to tell me what a heap good chief I was until I decided to get rid of him by riding to the rear of the herd. But when he rode alongside me I wondered what the outcome of the interview would be. I bandied words with him as we rode. Before we reached the tail end of the herd one of my riders overtook us and told me the other Indians were talking about cutting the herd. I immediately rode back to find the Indians bunched together and holding a pow wow.”

“It wasn’t long before the Indians demanded, in one voice, “wohaw” and looked at me in such a way that I felt cold chills running up and down my spine. Because of my inexperience I determined to take a chance, I again refused the demands. Had I been wise I would have given them a steer and they would have been satisfied, while my refusal to do so might have as I afterwards realized resulted in having the herd stampeded. Ringed by my riders, who had their revolvers ready to shoot, we talked and argued until I finally told them that if they caused me any trouble they would have to make peace with Quanah. Whether or not Quanah would or would not do anything, I didn’t know, but having taken a stand I was determined to maintain it. What effect Quanah’s name had on them, I don’t know to this day. Anyway, they finally decided to leave. I returned to camp and laid down.”

“I became conscious during the night that some one was moving close by. Opening my eyes I saw that evil looking spokesman creeping up to my horse. Reaching it, he drew my revolver from the saddle moral, a receptacle for odds and ends, where I had foolishly left it. I could see him twisting the barrel around to see if its chambers were loaded, and they were. I thought, for sure my last hour had come. I sat up. My movement caused him to look my way.”

“You good chief, me good chief, he remarked, meaningly, and his ugly look emphasized his words.”

“I made no reply, and when my silence must have nettled him he continued to assure me in lurid language that I was a good chief.”

“You shoot me die, Me shoot, Me die. All same you die,” he bluntly informed me, and I jumped to the conclusion that he thought I had another gun. I didn’t tell him I didn’t have one.

BRADFORD ROBBINS GRIMES

On the Trail-Gulf to Dakota
Continued

“It was probably just as well, if not better, that I was unarmed for I would have been tempted to shoot that red devil right then and there. Nevertheless, as I had not threatened to shoot him I was plumb locoed when he spoke of killing me. If he shot, I knew I’d never know what hit me. I wished I had given him the entire herd. It was the first and last time for me to leave my revolver where I could not reach it. I didn’t dare call for assistance lest he shoot and I be beyond the necessity of having it. I watched him in silence as he again twirled the barrel, so slowly that I knew he was debating just what he should do. I was helpless and knew it, but he didn’t. Just what that red skin was prompted to do after scaring me to death I’ll never know. He dropped the revolver into the moral, glared viciously at me and hurling a score of choice epithets upon my innocent head walked off.”

“Upon later occasions when an Indian asked for wohaw, I gave him a steer or a cow without argument, even though I had already paid tribute to his chief.”

“The Indians must have been hungry all the time. They invariably showed up at mealtime. The morning following my experience with the Comanches, a band of Arapahoe’s appeared for breakfast. Of course, we could have dispensed with their presence but we didn’t even suggest they go for reasons you’ll now readily understand. The Arapaho’s may not have been as wild as the Comanches but they were wild enough. Having been a party to the 1867 treaty with the government they evidently thought they were Sunday school children in comparison with their Comanche brothers. During the meal they ate ravenously. Oz was sure we wouldn’t have anything left. One of them spoke of the Comanches saying: “Him go, go all time. Me sit down.”

“Having had enough of Indians to last me a life time I readily agreed that his tribe was much more peaceful one than the Comanches, and I didn’t stretch the truth. When they were through eating they asked for wohaw and I very willingly gave them a calf. When they had parted I told them they were good Indians but didn’t add I hoped I’d never see them again.”

“Cache Creek was not as shallow as I would have liked. However, I decided to ford the herd. Fortunately, it got across without the loss of a single head. But Oz and his chuck wagon didn’t fare so well, although he knew his mules and his mules knew him.”

“The north bank was steep. Oz was confident the mules could climb it. Four men as riders ran ropes from the pommels of their saddles to the wagon to assist the mules which forded the stream in safety, and with vociferous shouts, in which Oz, from his seat on the wagon, joined lustily, were encouraged in their efforts to climb the bank. Just as the brink was reached one of the riders failed to do his share of the pulling and in less time than it takes to tell the entire outfit was a tangled mess in the river. Oz came up sputtering. He hollered his head off at the mules and the riders alike. The adjectives he used while we were rescuing him and his precious mules, and afterwards while we were retrieving what we could of the supplies brought laughs from everybody and materially eased the situation. But Oz couldn’t be prevailed upon to attempt the ford again at the same place.

“I ain’t aiming to take more ‘n one bath this trip,” he observed, ‘onless I takes it of mah own free will.”

“We had to go down stream quite a distance before we found a place to suit him.”

“Stampedes invariably occurred at night. Very often slight sounds such as a horse shaking itself and making the stirrups rattle, or a rabbit might try to weave its way through the herd, was all that was needed to cause the sea of flesh to become terrified and break loose.”

“But it was when thunder crashed, streaks of lightening flashed, and a deluge of rain fell that cattle forgot to be ladies and gentlemen and became panic stricken. It was then a real stampede where the herd was sweeping across the prairie. And it was then that the intelligence of the cow pony demonstrated itself. Each rider had his special night horse, usually a white one as that color could be more easily seen, and chosen because of his intelligence. They could see through rain and darkness what their riders could not see. They could stop and turn on a dime to follow a recalcitrant critter, and knowing they could the men had to anticipate their every move and be prepared not to be thrown to the ground. My men were not the dressed-up-for-the-occasion cowboys. They were riders who knew what to do in a crisis without being told, and did it.”

“My first experience handling a night stampede which was caused by the premeditated acts of others was shortly after we left Cache Creek.”

“Cattle thieves, or timber wolves, as they were called, would lie in wait in a timber clump and watch their chance to steal as many head from a herd as they felt they could safely handle. They branded them with their own brands.”

“One night when we were bedded down the herd began to get restless, a sure sign to a cow hand that something was wrong. Before we could find out what was disturbing them, the herd started off across the country in all directions on a real rampage. With tails up, they tore here, there and everywhere, bellowing with fear. It took us all night and the next day to round them up and another day to count them. Our loss was small. On some of those recovered were fresh brands which convinced us we had been the victims of cattle thieves whose deserted camp we later found in a nearby wood and who, had the stampede not occurred would have waited until we had gone on our way and then disposed of the stolen cattle as their property.”

“That stampede didn’t help the herd which continued to be restless for several days and doubled the work of the riders.”

“It wasn’t long before we met another band of Arapahoes. I was riding about a mile ahead of the herd when the Indians accosted me. I recognized one of the band as having been one of those who had breakfast with us. He pointed me out to the others, saying: “Him Chief,” whereupon one of them greeted me: “You Chief? Howdy, John.”

“How,” I returned, and we got down to business.”

“They didn’t want wohaw. They wanted money. I gave them three dollars which satisfied them and me. And I had come to the conclusion it didn’t pay to do much, if any, arguing.”

“As there were always many herds on the trail they had to be kept a safe distance apart to prevent being merged. We frequently saw the campfires of outfits ahead, and upon one occasion those of my men who were off duty and I rode forward and joined in an impromptu dance. Men in slickers represented the women. Harmonicas furnished the music, and to the tunes of the Arkansaw Traveler, The Irish Washerwoman, and others I’ve forgotten, we danced all night.”

“At Fort Supply, a government post located near the junction of Beaver River and Wolf Creek, we passed onto the Dodge fork of the trail. As there were quite a number of soldiers stationed at the Fort, a stage coach operated between it and Dodge, a distance of about one hundred miles. Upon reaching Clark Creek post office, a lone building stocked with odds and ends, we forded the Cimarron River to get into Kansas.”

Picture courtesy of Robert M. Davant & Matagorda County Museum.

“We reached Dodge the later part of July with the herd in good condition, although we had lost about one hundred head that had dropped on the way and including those lost in the stampede I’ve told you about.”

“Only two of the riders and the horse wrangler decided to leave the outfit, they having lived up to their agreement to accompany the herd as far as Dodge. I paid the riders off in full and they started back to the ranch.”

“The horse wrangler was a Mexican by the name of Ortiz. After buying him a ticket, which I told him I’d give him when he was ready to leave, I gave him ten dollars and a credit slip for the balance due him, which he could cash at our store. I did this because I knew he was a booze fighter and wouldn’t have a cent left when ready to leave.”

“When train time came I waited for Ortiz to show up. When he failed to appear I started out to hunt for him. My search which took, me into all the saloons and through the redlight district, was without result. No one had seen him and to this day, I have never learned what became of him. I have always believed he was lured to the banks of the Arkansas River and murdered by men who knew he had left the herd and must have thought he had a considerable sum of money on his person. Or, perhaps he found a resting place in Boot Hill.”

“Dodge was a wide open border town of tents, slab board shacks, and unpainted buildings. Gambling, wine, women, and song ruled it. Its population consisted of a hodgepodge of humanity, the worst element predominating. Brawls were many. Life was cheap. Murders were frequent, and yet no body thought anything was wrong. Unmarked graves dotted a nearby area known as Boot Hill, so named because those unfortunates who died with their boots on were unceremoniously buried there. To-day, Boot Hill lies in the heart of Dodge City, Kansas, as a memorial to the good and bad men who rest under its sod. Tourists view it with much curiosity and no doubt try to conjure up what must have happened during the days when the inhabitants of the town facetiously told each other: “They planted him in Boot Hill.”

“It was in Dodge that every advantage was taken of the innocence of the cowboy. The worst liquor, marked cards, loaded dice, and rigged gambling devices of every kind beset him on all sides. He never had a chance. Like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter he was fleeced not only of his money, but all too frequently of his entire outfit, gun, saddle, and even his cherished pony.”

“Our camp was on Mulberry Creek, about ten miles distant from town. Early one evening a youth whose name I never learned, drifted into camp for supper and to spend the night. He was in his early twenties and a likeable fellow. It was while he was asleep that a man rode up and shot him without a word of warning, and as quickly rode back to town. When the Marshall demanded his surrender he refused to give himself up and was shot in turn. Before his death he said he killed the boy because he believed he had been following him all the way from Texas, a belief no one shared. Both filled graves on Boot Hill.

“Pasturage was limitless and free. We remained on Mulberry Creek for about two months during which time I bought and sold before continuing north to Ogallala, Nebraska, where I was to turn the herd, which now consisted of three thousand head, over the foreman of our Hot Springs, N. D. ranch.

“We reached Ogallala without trouble and while there I contracted with the Yankton, N.D. Indian Agent to deliver six hundred head of four year old steers on the Missouri River, ninety miles north of Yankton, a drive I’ll never forget.

“The steers were as rambunctious a bunch of critters as I ever handled in all my experience on the range. They stampeded nightly for six consecutive nights. It seemed to all of us we were never out of our saddles. Just what got into those sea lions I don’t know. Perhaps they knew they were headed for the end of the trail that had no turning. But we finally reached the Agency and my job was finished. Some of these steers driven all the way from Texas became so foot sore, we roped them and bound the feet with rags. On this trip we once drove 50 miles without water for the cattle.

“After arranging to return to Oz and the riders to the ranch I disposed of the remuda, chuck wagon and mules, for two thousand dollars which, with a check for sixteen thousand dollars received for the steers. I placed in my belt and started for Kansas City to bank both and incidentally enjoy the bright lights before returning to Texas. I reached home Christmas Eve, or just nine months after starting north. Following the trail was always a man’s job,” Braddie concluded.

BRADFORD ROBBINS GRIMES

Horse Stealing

“Horse thieves,” he finally resumed, “multiplied rapidly as the years passed. Those in Texas brought their bands into Kansas and shipped them to different eastern markets, while those in Kansas took their animals into Texas and shipped them to New Orleans. Very frequently the thieves swapped their horses when they met and so saved themselves a long ride.

“One winter I was running about four thousand head of mixed stock in the Indian Territory, close to the Kansas border. I had cut the herd in two, and about thirty-five miles separated the units. At about dusk one evening Barney O’Connor, one of my riders, and I were riding from the south to the north camp when we saw a group of men bunched in a draw about a mile distant to our left. We assumed they were Indians “making medicine” or, to be more explicit holding a pow wow, as no whites other than those wintering their stock in the Territory were supposed to be in it, and we saw no cattle.

“As the trail we were following did not run in the direction of the group we paid no attention to it until Barney happened to look back just in time to see the men deploy and ride toward us. This unfriendly maneuver not only surprised but convinced us they were Indians on the warpath, otherwise they would have ridden in groups or single file. Having a good lead we didn’t wait for them to catch up with us but galloped forward at full speed.

“I was in the lead with five horses attached to a long rope, Barney was in the rear keeping them speeded up. When one of the animals became entangled in the rope, fell, and snarled up the others, we didn’t waste any time trying to straighten them out but kept on going. We thought, of course, our pursuers would be glad to have the horses but when they didn’t pay any attention to them and kept after us we were dead sure they were after our scalps. It seemed to us the faster we rode the faster they rode. We couldn’t shake them off, much less lessen the distance between us. We were glad to be able to hold that.

“The chase of five miles ended when we reached the dugout of a nester which we entered quicker than it takes to tell. Its owner was absent but there were several guns, and rifles of the old fashioned octagon-barrel ram-rod type. Each of us loaded a gun and waited for whatever was to happen. When the riders came to a halt about two hundred yards from us we saw they were whites. They could have shot at us, but they didn’t. Barney was so hopping mad he wanted to shoot right then and there but I told him there were too many against us and that we had better wait for developments.

“We could see the men talking with one another and concluded they were renegades for at that time all the riff-raff white of the country was making the territory their hideout. However, it wasn’t long before one of the men came forward with a white handkerchief tied to the barrel of his gun, and we stepped into the open. When he reached us, the fellow said they believed us to be horse thieves when they saw us riding by with the horses, and were doubly sure when we galloped off; that they would had shot us as we rode had they been able to get within firing distance; that lynching was too good for us and that we might as well give ourselves up. By this time our other men had ridden up; they proved to be Kansas vigilantes who were determined to put a stop to horse stealing. We told them who and what we were and offered to take them to our camp to prove our statements. They examined the brands on our horses and on the five we so unwillingly left behind. In the end they were satisfied we were peaceful citizens and rode off without even apologizing for their mistake. We didn’t ask them to apologize. We were tickled to death to be alive.”

Cattle Stealing

“Cattle stealing,” Braddie continued, “was indulged in by nesters, nondescripts who lived precariously in Texas, the Indian Territory, and Kansas. Upon more than one occasion I left calves dropped on the Chisholm Trail with different ones with the understanding that they could keep half the number if they’d look after the others until I called for them. Out of anywhere from a dozen to twenty head I’d expect to get when I returned I’d invariably be told all had died except two or three. Of course I knew the man lied, but what could I do? I was always so disgusted that I told him he could keep them.

“It was in Texas that cattlemen suffered the greatest depredation at the hands of cattle thieves, white renegades whose thefts assumed such proportions that the cattlemen formed their own vigilante committees.

“What I’m going to tell you happened way back in the early seventies. I was not a party to the lynching but saw the result.

“A wooded area known as Newell’s Grove had been watched off and on for a long time as it was suspected to be the rendevous of a band of marauders who removed the hides from cattle they killed, took them to Indianola for shipment to eastern points where they sold them for six dollars each. Sometimes they buried the carcasses. If they didn’t they just dumped them into a nearby creek or left them to rot on the prairie.

“The first clue to the identity of the Newell Grove bunch was when a cattleman chanced to see a number of hides being placed aboard one of the Tres Palacios creek boats. He inspected them and convinced himself they had been taken from stolen stock. Further investigation showed that the captain of the boat had known for some time what was going on and had helped the thieves get several prior shipments aboard surreptitiously.

“News of the discovery reached the cattle rustlers who were evidently afraid the captain would tell on them. They visited the boat one night, gagged and bound the captain and tying a small cook stove around his neck dropped him into the creek. But that murder didn’t save them. A few days later the five members of the gang were swinging from the top cross piece of a gate. Yes, I saw them dangling, dead as dead herrings. They were buried with their boots on. There were no repercussions and cattle stealing was no longer a nightmare for the cattlemen in that part of the country.”

Sunday School Outfit

The biography of Bradford R. Grimes will ever remain colorful and real. In casual conversations with friends something of past experiences may suddenly suggest itself. I spent thirty-nine hours in the saddle once hunting water. We had 700 cattle out of water.

He has said, “I started my cowboy life wearing kid gloves, carrying my Prayer-Book and a pocket edition of Shakespeare. The kid gloves were soon discarded, Shakespeare replaced with a six shooter and the Prayer Book found needed practical use. I read the Burial Service for one whom we buried by the wayside.”

The W B G or Grimes outfit was known as the Sunday School Outfit. The hands were not permitted to kill strays. It was the custom of the Elder Grimes to invite them to accompany him to church at any place he might meet the Drive, such as Austin, Ft. Worth, Wichita, Great Bend or Dodge.

BRADFORD ROBBINS GRIMES

Fort Supply to Dodge City

From Ft. Supply to Dodge was considered the hardest part of the Trail. The water was hottest, grass driest and water scarcest. Receiving a message by courier, that necessitated a speedy return to Texas, Bradford started riding on ahead of the herd. His horse gave out and died on the Beaver, Oklahoma. Leaving saddle and equipment by the Trail, he started walking. Passing a camp where a cook had thrown out some corn bread-I gathered the pieces up and put them into my moral. Late in the evening, he caught up with an out-fit encamped for the night, obtained another horse and hurried into Dodge.

Marks of the old Trail may yet be found in Woodward and Harper Counties, Oklahoma, Clark and Ford Counties, Kansas. A surfaced highway follows it now. People riding in swiftly moving cars move over it with no thought of the tired men, horses and millions of trampling hoofs that passed that way a half century ago.

To Oklahoma

With the closing of the open range, Mr. Grimes leased from the government a tract of land south of the Kansas border, known as the Spade Ranch. The Oklahoma opening of April 20, 1889 pushed him farther west into the Cherokee Strip or No Mans Land. This government leased pasture embraced a tract twenty miles east and west, by ten miles north and south, adjacent to Clark County, Kansas. The town of Buffalo, Oklahoma, is on the site of one of his round-up grounds. On Willow Creek, near Peruna, may be seen parts of the dam, he caused to be constructed forty years ago.

The on coming march of settlers reached the climax for free land in 1893, Noon, September 16, 1893, Mr. Grimes fired the shot that sent the rush across the Kansas State line into his last big leased pasture, and along with it went fences, windmills and tanks. Land hungry farmers or land grabbing speculators had small regard for personal property rights.

Mr. Grimes says, “I have never quit the cattle business, though there were times it nearly quit me. As an instance, the fall I turned 1600 big steers on the Dakota range. Come on of those killing winters. I gathered just sixty head in the Spring.”

Ever an optimist, he challenged adversities if and when they came with calm faith and assurance in himself. The writer has many times heard him quote--

“Be like the bird,

That halting a while in flight on

Boughs too light,

Yet sing,

Knowing it hath wings.”

“Be like the bird,

That halting a while in flight on

Boughs too light,

Yet sing,

Knowing it hath wings.”

He speaks pridefully, now, of his comparatively modest holdings, the 1400 acre well equipped ranch five miles north of Buffalo, Oklahoma, and stocked with 200 high grade white face cows, and of his horses and colts that an old time cattle man always wants about him.

He has often said, “I have made it a life rule to give the other fellow a generous deal. Then he wants to comeback.”

One who enjoys life and with good health, he may be found often at the ranch, or visiting or playing bridge with a group of old time friends.

Few are left of Bradford Robbins Grimes’ day and age to tell the cattle story as it was and as he lived it. And all too soon the lure of the prairie with sun bright days and star bright nights; the colorful life of the cowboy; and the fascination of trampling herds will pass into memory with the brave, fearless, generous and warm-hearted men who were a part of it.

As the B. R. Grimes story draws to its close, word comes to him of the death in Texas, May 8, of Antonie Jefferson, Familiarly known as “Twine.”

“Twine” came up the Trail with Mr. Grimes as cook on his third trip. And of him he says, “He was an honor to his race, a remarkable character and cook. He could unharness four mules, start a fire, bake bread and have a meal ready in half an hour, for the first relief off duty.”

He was a retainer of the Grimes’ ranch. His first wife Liza, being the daughter of Aunt Patience one of the earlier slaves and his second wife, Frances, one of the house girls.

Honored and respected in the Tres Palacios community-thru out the more than one hundred years of his life, Mr. Grimes pauses to pay him tribute in the evening of his eventful story.

“And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.”

Copyright 2007 - Present by the Grimes Family All rights reserved
Created Oct. 25, 2007	Updated Dec. 2, 2007

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