Soapweed
Well-known member
This is a story written by my grandmother's brother, Joy J. Fairhead. He was JF Ranch's grandfather.
Change in the Weather story by Joy J. Fairhead, written in 1983 about an even that took place in 1917.
It was 1917 and the World War I was on. The United States had entered the war. Boys were enlisting and a draft was being talked of. My brother Leigh and I wanted to go to France.
My father sold our ranch to Foster Kent; it now belongs to Jay Cole.
Leigh and I tried to enlist, but we both failed the physical. I was flat-footed, and Leigh was a little hard of hearing due to Scarlet Fever, so we had to wait for the draft. We punched cows for Ed Ross and Ben Roberts, moving cattle from their ranches to their large Indian leases, the headquarters of which was Pretty Hip creek on the Pine Ridge Reservation. On one of these drives we were taking a bunch of 1,000 big steers from Ben Robert's ranch west of Merriman to Pretty Hip. It was the 6th day of October. The weather had been just like spring and we had been dressed for summer. It was so warm we made no time; the cattle had their tongues out and we rested a lot.
We made our camp on Little White River. Ben was with us, also Chris Perreten, Leigh and I, and John Markley had the wagon. Ben told John to night herd until 11:00 p.m. I was to take over until 2:00 a.m., then Leigh and Chris were to night herd until morning.
This day had been what we called a weather breeder. We had just gotten to bed at dusk, when a big black cloud came up in the northwest, and it swept across the sky. The cattle, tired, had bedded down. The wind came up and was terribly cold. We slipped down into our bedrolls a little further. We heard the cattle moving, and the night herder was talking to them. We all got up, saddled our horses, and went to help. Those cattle sensed the storm coming and headed south on a trot. We got them back to the camp ground, sang and talked to them, and got them bedded down again. By that time, it was bitter cold. I stayed on with the night herder, and was never so cold in my life. All I wore was Levis, shirt, summer underwear, hat, chaps, gloves, and boots. I tied a bandana over my ears and put on my black slicker, which ever cowboy carried.
I was riding a wonderful little black horse, but got so cold and stiff I had to walk and lead him. I thought I saw come cattle walking away from the herd so decided to get on, but being so cold I was slow and awkward. My horse gave a buck, and I landed behind the saddle. I know my slicker must have slipped over his tail. Talk about bucking! I lost my reins, and in the effort to stay on I got hold of my saddle and stuck my spurs into his flanks. I don't know how long I stayed on, but long enough that he bucked out into the herd and then threw me off.
The cattle were running, bucking, and in a turmoil and all coming by me, jumping over me, knocking me down and up again, hitting me, and tramping until the thousand head were gone on the run, headed south again for the Sandhills. I could hear John yelling; I could hear the cattle's feet pounding, until all was quiet. My horse had run away. I was stunned and all mixed up in the directions. I thought the north wind had changed; everything was wrong, but afterward sometime I finally found camp. I got on Ben's horse, a big white, and started with the wind. I knew I was wrong in my directions. The cattle had run four miles before John got them stopped. I could hear him yelling at the cattle. They were back in the Sandhills. I rode around the herd, and John said, "Where have you been, and what in the heck happened?"
We started the cattle north again and about the time we got back, Leigh and Chris were out looking for us. They took over, and we went to bed. One word about Chris Perreten, I think he was one of the best cowhands I ever worked with.
Well, I never put in such a night, so cold and beat up, and I couldn't get warm in bed. I promised myself, if I ever lived through this, I'd never punch cows again. We were in our saddles again at daybreak. I rode around to where Leigh and Chris were; each said, "This is it. I'm though with this kind of life." Leigh had frozen his ears and they didn't heal for a year, until he had a doctor sear the edges, and then they healed.
That morning was too cold to eat, so we moved on. We crossed Little White River on ice that was warm running water the night before. We ate breakfast that morning at a little new town called Martin, South Dakota. On this October 7, 1917, it was 10 degrees below zero. We bought some warm long handles and again headed north. Chris and John quit that fall, but Leigh and I didn't know any better, I guess, and later went back to ranching.
Change in the Weather story by Joy J. Fairhead, written in 1983 about an even that took place in 1917.
It was 1917 and the World War I was on. The United States had entered the war. Boys were enlisting and a draft was being talked of. My brother Leigh and I wanted to go to France.
My father sold our ranch to Foster Kent; it now belongs to Jay Cole.
Leigh and I tried to enlist, but we both failed the physical. I was flat-footed, and Leigh was a little hard of hearing due to Scarlet Fever, so we had to wait for the draft. We punched cows for Ed Ross and Ben Roberts, moving cattle from their ranches to their large Indian leases, the headquarters of which was Pretty Hip creek on the Pine Ridge Reservation. On one of these drives we were taking a bunch of 1,000 big steers from Ben Robert's ranch west of Merriman to Pretty Hip. It was the 6th day of October. The weather had been just like spring and we had been dressed for summer. It was so warm we made no time; the cattle had their tongues out and we rested a lot.
We made our camp on Little White River. Ben was with us, also Chris Perreten, Leigh and I, and John Markley had the wagon. Ben told John to night herd until 11:00 p.m. I was to take over until 2:00 a.m., then Leigh and Chris were to night herd until morning.
This day had been what we called a weather breeder. We had just gotten to bed at dusk, when a big black cloud came up in the northwest, and it swept across the sky. The cattle, tired, had bedded down. The wind came up and was terribly cold. We slipped down into our bedrolls a little further. We heard the cattle moving, and the night herder was talking to them. We all got up, saddled our horses, and went to help. Those cattle sensed the storm coming and headed south on a trot. We got them back to the camp ground, sang and talked to them, and got them bedded down again. By that time, it was bitter cold. I stayed on with the night herder, and was never so cold in my life. All I wore was Levis, shirt, summer underwear, hat, chaps, gloves, and boots. I tied a bandana over my ears and put on my black slicker, which ever cowboy carried.
I was riding a wonderful little black horse, but got so cold and stiff I had to walk and lead him. I thought I saw come cattle walking away from the herd so decided to get on, but being so cold I was slow and awkward. My horse gave a buck, and I landed behind the saddle. I know my slicker must have slipped over his tail. Talk about bucking! I lost my reins, and in the effort to stay on I got hold of my saddle and stuck my spurs into his flanks. I don't know how long I stayed on, but long enough that he bucked out into the herd and then threw me off.
The cattle were running, bucking, and in a turmoil and all coming by me, jumping over me, knocking me down and up again, hitting me, and tramping until the thousand head were gone on the run, headed south again for the Sandhills. I could hear John yelling; I could hear the cattle's feet pounding, until all was quiet. My horse had run away. I was stunned and all mixed up in the directions. I thought the north wind had changed; everything was wrong, but afterward sometime I finally found camp. I got on Ben's horse, a big white, and started with the wind. I knew I was wrong in my directions. The cattle had run four miles before John got them stopped. I could hear him yelling at the cattle. They were back in the Sandhills. I rode around the herd, and John said, "Where have you been, and what in the heck happened?"
We started the cattle north again and about the time we got back, Leigh and Chris were out looking for us. They took over, and we went to bed. One word about Chris Perreten, I think he was one of the best cowhands I ever worked with.
Well, I never put in such a night, so cold and beat up, and I couldn't get warm in bed. I promised myself, if I ever lived through this, I'd never punch cows again. We were in our saddles again at daybreak. I rode around to where Leigh and Chris were; each said, "This is it. I'm though with this kind of life." Leigh had frozen his ears and they didn't heal for a year, until he had a doctor sear the edges, and then they healed.
That morning was too cold to eat, so we moved on. We crossed Little White River on ice that was warm running water the night before. We ate breakfast that morning at a little new town called Martin, South Dakota. On this October 7, 1917, it was 10 degrees below zero. We bought some warm long handles and again headed north. Chris and John quit that fall, but Leigh and I didn't know any better, I guess, and later went back to ranching.
