|
|
Shelby County |
Home 1915 History Index |
|
|
Shelby County |
Home 1915 History Index |
CHAPTER VIII - REMINISCENCES OF THE PIONEERS (CONT'D)
One of the ablest and most entertaining writers on topics of early pioneer experiences in Shelby and Harrison counties, is Hon. G. Smith Stantion, now a well known attorney of New York City. In the early sixties, shortly after his graduation from the Columbia College Law School, Mr. Stanton started for western Iowa, where, on account of his health, he had decided to start a stock ranch on a large tract of land left him in Harrison county by the will of his grandfather, Judge Daniel Cady. This tract of land was in the valley of the Pigeon river, twenty miles from Woodbine and a few miles from Portsmouth, Iowa, from which point Mr. Stanton later shipped cattle. Through the kindness of Mr. Stanton, who had written a very entertaining volume entitled, “When the Wildwood Was in Flower,” descriptive of his fifteen years’ experience on this western ranch, the author of this history is enabled to give the readers thereof some interesting excerpts touching early days in Shelby county.
In a very kindly letter to this author, he says: “Your letter of the 18th received and was dated the day I entered by seventieth year. * * * Shelby county seems as dear to me as old Harrison, as my farm, being only two miles from the Shelby county line and as there was nobody except Mr. Bosley between my place and Harlan, my stock ranged in that direction and I have ridden over every foot of the county from my place to Harlan and beyond. When I first saw Harlan a few wooden buildings composed it. I hope, before I pass in my checks, I may see the old farm on the Pigeon once more, as there Mrs. Stanton and I passed our early married life.” Several pages of this book deal with incidents in the life of W. B. Cuppy, a very early pioneer resident of Cuppy’s Grove, who was then familiarly known as “Bill” Cuppy. It appears that during the war Cuppy had been drafted and Byron C. Adams, of Harrison county, better known to shippers of live stock to Chicago as “By” Adams, had been appointed a deputy provost marshal for the purpose of rounding up drafted men including Cuppy. It appears that Cuppy got away from “By” Adams and thereby hangs this tale quoted from Mr. Stanton’s book at page 26. This was the story that Cuppy told Mr. Stanton upon his return from Missouri whither he had gone: “Before Adams started for Cuppy, friends told ‘By’ he would never bring Cuppy back, and that he should be mighty careful not to let Cuppy get the drop on him, for Bill was a bad man. The story Bill told me was as follows: He knew he had been drafted and was expecting ‘By’ any day. It was in the fall of the year and Cuppy had a corn field he was trying to husk out. He expected to take a little trip thereafter, and was hoping that ‘By’ would not show up until the work was done and he had gotten away. One afternoon while Cuppy was working might and main ripping husks and throwing corn against the extra sideboard, he saw the smiling countenance of the deputy provost marshal coming down between two rows of corn. The two men were acquaninted, so the greeting was mutual. “Cuppy explained the situation to ‘By,’ stating that he was perfectly willing to go back with him, but he was awfully anxious to get that field of corn in the crib and that it would take only another day’s work. From what they told ‘By’ about Cuppy, the deputy provost marshal concluded that was an easy way out of it. For company’s sake and to help matters along, ‘By’ who was a good corn husker, took one row and Cuppy another. The next morning ‘By’ was up bright and early ready to finish the job and start with his prisoner for Council Bluffs. The afternoon was nearly gone as the last ear of corn was shoveled into the crib. ‘By’ agreed with a suggestion of Cuppy’s, that they had better not start over the dreary waste between the Nishnabotna and Boyer rivers at that time of day. ‘By’ and Cuppy played cards until about midnight. As ‘By’ came down to breakfast the next morning, instead of meeting Cuppy, he found the following note at his plate: “‘By,’ when we meet again, I shall insist on paying you for helping me husk out that field of corn. In haste, ‘Bill.’” “It seems that while the deputy provost marshal was sweetly snoring the night away, Cuppy was behind his best span of horses heading for Missouri to make an old friend a long visit. “ ‘By’s’ story of the event didn’t agree with Cuppy’s, and I always thought that Cuppy’s version of the circumstances of his arrest was told as a joke on the deputy provost marshal, as Bill Cuppy never ran away from anything, but there seemed to be enough in it to silence ‘By’ when he opened up the Jeddo City story.” (A joke on Mr. Stanton which Adams was very fond of telling.)v I also quote from page 32 of “When the Wildwood Was in Flower”: “Before the days of the railroads the mail was carried across Iowa by relays. A relay was from one county seat to that of an adjoining one. The mail route between Harlan in Shelby county and Magnolia in Harrison county, a distance of fifty miles, passed through my land. I was a little out of the direct line, but on account of a shallow ford across the Pigeon river, which ran through my place, the mail route made a slight detour. My place was about half way between Harlan and Magnolia, and the mail-carriers generally stopped with me for dinner, and I was glad they did, as they brought ‘the latest news from the front.’ The mail-carrier’s outfit consisted of a horse and a buckboard. They generally carried a half dozen pouches. Everybody in those days went armed, as bands of Indians occasionally circled around, and horse and cattle thieves were on the lookout to catch you napping. Colt’s revolvers were the means of defense. “One day when the carrier was due from the East, I was out with some of the boys in search of a couple of two-year-olds we hadn’t seen with the herd for several days. We were leisurely loping along, when off to the east on a divide about a mile away we saw the mail-carrier with his horse on the jump followed by a pack of wolves. We saw him throw something overboard, which stopped the pack for a minute or two. It was a mail bag. We started in full gallop for the ford, and as we came up the bank we saw the mail-carrier coming at breakneck speed down a long hollow leading to the ford, with the pack at his heels. It was lucky for him that his horse had good wind and was sure-footed, or it might have been a case for the coroner, although I believe if the fellow had stood his ground he might have scared them off. Where he made a mistake was that all he carried as a means of defense was an old horse-pistol. We fired our revolvers as we rode up the hollow, hoping to attract the attention of the wolves, which it seemed we did, for they slackened their pace and as we came up they slunk away. “The horse was all foam and the carrier as white as a sheet. I helped him to the ranch, sending the boys back on the trail to gather up the scattered mail. That night the carrier told us he wouldn’t cross that prairie again for the proceeds of all the star routes in the state. And, sure enough, that was his last trip. I didn’t blame him, as it was a lonely twenty-five miles, without a habitation. He must have told the man who took his job of his experience, for when the new mail-carrier arrived his outfit looked like a battleship. He had guns and ammunition enough to kill all the wolves in the state. “The fellow the wolves took after told us the only thing that saved his life was that about a mile back from where we saw him he shot one of the wolves and the pack stopped to eat it up.” A very interesting bit of information, which Mr. Stanton gives in his work, is that of one of his neighbors, named Braden, whose sole occupation was the raising of circus horses. He says, at page 47 of the said work: “The handsome and peculiar marked horses of the circuses today trace their blood to the Braden breed of horses that roamed in the sixties over the prairies of Harrison and Shelby counties, Iowa. Agents from the great circuses constantly visited Braden to supply their shows with fancy colored stock. Stallions, brood mares and colts roamed at will over that vast expanse. None of them was even halter-broken. They were really a band of wild horses. Braden always kept a supply of rock salt near his ranch which brought the herd around at stated intervals. It was a hopeless task hunting for the herd, and prospective buyers would stop with Braden in his hut until the herd made its accustomed round. All the settlers raised horses, and for the lack of yards they were turned loose to roam with the Braden gang. They stuck together, for horses, like individuals, soon learn that numbers are the source of protection. One of the peculiarities of a horse is that night is the time he roams; what little rest he takes is in the day. One of the grandest sights I ever saw was on a moonlight night as the Braden gang of horses on the run passed up the valley of the Pigeon. As the moon shone on the variegated colors they looked like the charge of some ghostly cavalry. “The Braden gang of horses were constantly being diminished by the horse thief, but a fight that took place on the headwaters of the Pigeon in the summer of 1869 in a measure blue-penciled that occupation. While I was entertaining at dinner old Braden and one William Cuppy, mentioned aforesaid, the mail-carrier from the East came in and reported seeing some horse thieves running the Braden gang. When he saw the herd it was crossing the Mosquito river and heading west pursued by the horse thieves. Braden proposed to intercept them. He calculated that the herd would head for home and cross the Pigeon at its headwaters. As both Cuppy and myself had horses running with the Braden gang, we readily accepted the proposition. With two of my helpers, Braden, Cuppy and myself started on horseback up the valley of the Pigeon. We were all armed with Colt’s revolvers. As we came in sight of Hall’s Grove, which is near the headwaters of the Pigeon, we saw the herd heading southwest towards the Braden corral. A little curl of smoke was seen ascending from the grove. We surmised that the horse thieves had stopped for something to eat. As we started down the hollow which led to the grove, we could see some of Braden’s horses straining at the end of lariats. Braden was a man of powerful physique, being over six feet tall, built in proportion and fearing nothing. The sight fired the old man to fury. With a revolver in each hand and his horse on the jump, down the incline toward the grove old Braden went. Cuppy, the helpers and myself followed. All but Braden dismounted and fought the horse thieves from behind horses and trees, but the old man stayed in the saddle. About all we could see of him was his bald head dodging around amongst the brush. With such a target, how he ever escaped with his life has always been a mystery to me. When the ‘smoke of battle’ cleared away, two of the horse thieves lay dead on the ground, the others escaping over the prairie. Braden was shot twice and also one of the helpers, all flesh wounds. The uninjured helper was up in ‘first aid to the injured,’ and he bound up Braden and the other helper’s wounds, and we headed for Doctor Cole’s home, in the Boyer valley, twenty-five miles away. The fight at Hall’s Grove was passed along the line, and from that time on horse thieves gave the Braden gang of horses a clear course. As settlers poured in and spools of barbed wire were unwound along the section lines cutting off the range, the old man saw his occupation gone and retired to his hut to die, and the ‘Braden gang of horses’ became a memory.”
|
