Soapweed
Well-known member
TRAIN STORIES by Steve Moreland, February 14, 2016
John Sibbitt recently mentioned riding in a caboose to Omaha with a trainload of cattle when he was just fifteen years old. That had to be quite an exciting experience for a young man, to be the ranch representative for a couple loads of two-year-old steers. Those kind of deals grow a kid up fast.
Many years ago, probably around 1970, I attended the Tri-State Old-Time Cowboys breakfast in Gordon during the Sheridan County Fair. A guest speaker that day was a colorful old rancher from Buffalo, South Dakota by the name of Claude Olson. He told of a similar situation. Several cowboys and ranchers were riding in the caboose of a train hauling cattle to Omaha. One man just happened to have along a bottle of whiskey. Another cowpoke jokingly lamented, "Too bad we don't have some ice." A different guy surprisingly said, "I know where there's some ice. I'll go get a little."
He was gone for a few minutes as he went through the train to another railcar. Soon he was back with the ice, and they all enjoyed a cold drink. The train rumbled on through the night, and another bottle of whiskey emerged. There was a request for more ice. The man made another trip and fulfilled the demand. All was well. A third bottle of whiskey was brought forth, and the man was again asked to go get ice. This time he woefully responded, "I don't think I'd better get any more ice. My brother might not keep."
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One time back in the late 1960's we were trailing cattle home from our summer pasture which was southwest of where the ETV tower is on Highway 61 south of Merriman. Our destination was my parents' Green Valley Hereford Ranch, about eight miles northeast of Merriman. We had approximately three hundred cow/calf pairs, and the crew consisted of my dad, Bob; my younger sisters, Sandra and Sybil; our hired hand, Lloyd McNare; myself; and another young cowboy. We had angled the cattle across Mrs. Bowring's summer pasture, and to save mileage for the cattle, had let the wires down on a fence just south of Highway 20. My mom and baby sister, Nancy Jean, were in the car and Mom had on the hazard lights of the car to flag traffic at our turn-off. The cattle were strung out for quite a distance and were headed for home. Dad dropped back to staple the fence wires. The cattle crossed the highway without mishap and were nearing the railroad track. Looking off to the west we could see a train headed our way.
Trains didn't move nearly as fast on the Chicago Northwestern line that paralleled Highway 20 as they do on the railroad that parallels Highway 2, but still we had to hurry. I opened the gates and we all got behind the cattle to hustle them along. We just got the last calf across the tracks before the train blew its whistle and rumbled by. Mom and Nancy in the car, and Dad on his horse, were still on the other side of the train. The cattle spooked and headed north on a high lope. It was necessary to turn the cattle through a gate going east, and it looked like they might stampede right on by. We galloped ahead and were fiercely trying to turn the cattle. As we rode wild and hard, it was apparent that the young cowboy was not with us. I wondered where he had gone, but was too busy to think much about it.
The cattle went through the gate and began to slow down. We breathed a sigh of relief, and noticed the other rider trotting up to join us. He gave his report, "There were 119 cars on that train."
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Joe and Martha Vinton and their children lived on a ranch a couple miles northeast of Eli, Nebraska. This place gained notoriety on July 10, 1977 when a tornado devastated their buildings, but before this the kids would walk from the ranch to the Eli School. On one occasion, sometime in 1968, the kids took a different route than usual and crossed the railroad tracks at another location. Darned if they didn't find a boot with the foot-bone still in it. They stopped to show the teacher their find, and then proceeded on another quarter mile to the Eli Store, owned by Guy Belsky. Guy and his daughter, Lois Gaskins, were both in the store. Lois still recalls Little Joe coming in with a human head under his arm, and his brother Fred was carrying the boot, containing bones and a sock. Guy called Clyde Weber, who was the Cherry County Deputy Sheriff living in Merriman. Clyde and others investigated, and it was determined the body was that of a hobo who had been riding the train. When the train went through Merriman a few months before, it was noted there were two hoboes on board. When it arrived in Valentine, there was only one. The thought was that the hoboes had been in a fight, and one hobo pushed the other off the train. I'm not sure if the body was ever properly identified or not.
John Sibbitt recently mentioned riding in a caboose to Omaha with a trainload of cattle when he was just fifteen years old. That had to be quite an exciting experience for a young man, to be the ranch representative for a couple loads of two-year-old steers. Those kind of deals grow a kid up fast.
Many years ago, probably around 1970, I attended the Tri-State Old-Time Cowboys breakfast in Gordon during the Sheridan County Fair. A guest speaker that day was a colorful old rancher from Buffalo, South Dakota by the name of Claude Olson. He told of a similar situation. Several cowboys and ranchers were riding in the caboose of a train hauling cattle to Omaha. One man just happened to have along a bottle of whiskey. Another cowpoke jokingly lamented, "Too bad we don't have some ice." A different guy surprisingly said, "I know where there's some ice. I'll go get a little."
He was gone for a few minutes as he went through the train to another railcar. Soon he was back with the ice, and they all enjoyed a cold drink. The train rumbled on through the night, and another bottle of whiskey emerged. There was a request for more ice. The man made another trip and fulfilled the demand. All was well. A third bottle of whiskey was brought forth, and the man was again asked to go get ice. This time he woefully responded, "I don't think I'd better get any more ice. My brother might not keep."
****************
One time back in the late 1960's we were trailing cattle home from our summer pasture which was southwest of where the ETV tower is on Highway 61 south of Merriman. Our destination was my parents' Green Valley Hereford Ranch, about eight miles northeast of Merriman. We had approximately three hundred cow/calf pairs, and the crew consisted of my dad, Bob; my younger sisters, Sandra and Sybil; our hired hand, Lloyd McNare; myself; and another young cowboy. We had angled the cattle across Mrs. Bowring's summer pasture, and to save mileage for the cattle, had let the wires down on a fence just south of Highway 20. My mom and baby sister, Nancy Jean, were in the car and Mom had on the hazard lights of the car to flag traffic at our turn-off. The cattle were strung out for quite a distance and were headed for home. Dad dropped back to staple the fence wires. The cattle crossed the highway without mishap and were nearing the railroad track. Looking off to the west we could see a train headed our way.
Trains didn't move nearly as fast on the Chicago Northwestern line that paralleled Highway 20 as they do on the railroad that parallels Highway 2, but still we had to hurry. I opened the gates and we all got behind the cattle to hustle them along. We just got the last calf across the tracks before the train blew its whistle and rumbled by. Mom and Nancy in the car, and Dad on his horse, were still on the other side of the train. The cattle spooked and headed north on a high lope. It was necessary to turn the cattle through a gate going east, and it looked like they might stampede right on by. We galloped ahead and were fiercely trying to turn the cattle. As we rode wild and hard, it was apparent that the young cowboy was not with us. I wondered where he had gone, but was too busy to think much about it.
The cattle went through the gate and began to slow down. We breathed a sigh of relief, and noticed the other rider trotting up to join us. He gave his report, "There were 119 cars on that train."
**********************
Joe and Martha Vinton and their children lived on a ranch a couple miles northeast of Eli, Nebraska. This place gained notoriety on July 10, 1977 when a tornado devastated their buildings, but before this the kids would walk from the ranch to the Eli School. On one occasion, sometime in 1968, the kids took a different route than usual and crossed the railroad tracks at another location. Darned if they didn't find a boot with the foot-bone still in it. They stopped to show the teacher their find, and then proceeded on another quarter mile to the Eli Store, owned by Guy Belsky. Guy and his daughter, Lois Gaskins, were both in the store. Lois still recalls Little Joe coming in with a human head under his arm, and his brother Fred was carrying the boot, containing bones and a sock. Guy called Clyde Weber, who was the Cherry County Deputy Sheriff living in Merriman. Clyde and others investigated, and it was determined the body was that of a hobo who had been riding the train. When the train went through Merriman a few months before, it was noted there were two hoboes on board. When it arrived in Valentine, there was only one. The thought was that the hoboes had been in a fight, and one hobo pushed the other off the train. I'm not sure if the body was ever properly identified or not.