TX BIOS:  Frank March
   Selected and converted.American Memory, Library of Congress.
   
   Washington, 1994.
   
   Preceding element provides place and date of transcription only.
   
   This transcription intended to be 99.95% accurate.
   
   For more information about this text and this American Memory
   collection, refer to accompanying matter.
   
   U.S. Work Projects Administration, Federal Writers' Project (Folklore
   Project, Life Histories, 1936-39); Manuscript Division, Library of
   Congress.Copyright status not determined.
   
   00011
   
   Phipps, Woody
   
   Rangelore
   
   Tarrant Co., Dist. #7 [89?]
   
   Page #1
   
   FC
   
   Frank March, 48, was born on Jeff Singleton's, his grandfather, ranch
   in Borden co. Texas. Frank learned to ride at an early age, and took
   the place of a regular cowhand at 10 Yrs. At 18, he was employed by
   the [Tahoka Land & Cattle Co., as a top hand. He attended a railroad
   celebration at 23, and quit the range for more such celebrations. He
   has been with the Ft. Worth Stock Yards since he was 23, and now
   resides at Lake Worth. His story:
   
   "While I'm not as old as some of the old trail hands, I feel I've
   experienced some of the conditions you want to know about. I was born
   right on the West Texas range before they had many houses out there.
   In fact, I was born in a dugout on September the 10th, 1889, in Borden
   county, Texas.
   
   "My grandfather ran a big ranch of about 30,000 head. His brand was
   the 'A Triangle'. To make it, you first burn the A, then burn a
   triangle after it. His name was Jeff Singleton, and he was a great
   Indian fighter. I recall many nights spent in the old dugout while I
   are just a kid, and hearing him tell about his experiences with the
   Indians. If I could remember them now, you'd be able to write a book
   as big in that there, 'Gone With The Wind'.
   
   "I will tell you about something that happened to him while I was a
   kid. Him and Jim Fridge, who later owned a pretty good size ranch in
   Sheckelford county, was out hunting strays. Jim was working as a
   regular cow hand at that time and granddad was short of hands so he
   was out with him. Well, they come across an Indian that must have been
   scouting the place because he was by himself and pretty [?]. He must
   have known all the tricks of Indian warfare because he got/ grand dad
   to shoot all his shells from his six shooter without one hit, then
   charged. When grandad saw the Indian had him, he mounted 00022his hoss
   and took out after Jim, who had run off when he first saw the Indian.
   Jim's mount wasn't so hot, and granddad had about the most hossflesh
   in that country so he could outride either the Indian or Jim.
   
   The Indian almost won the battle because he shot an arrow and it hit
   granddad in the back, and almost on his back bone. He rode on with
   that arrow in his back 'til he caught Jim, had Jim work the arrow out
   of his back, took his six shooter away from him, rode back to the
   Indian and killed him. This didn't do much damage to grandad either
   because he died of old age in 1919.
   
   "As I said, this Indian must have been a scout because a trail hand
   came through, going over into New Mexico to trail drive a herd for the
   [Hat?] Ranch, and said he'd seen Indian sign to the Northeast. This
   meant that a troup of Indians were in our section, and nine chances
   out of ten, they weren't there for any good. We expected that they
   were on the warpath so everybody that went anywhere, carried all the
   guns and shells they could find room for.
   
   "One day, it was necessary for all the hands and granddad to be away
   from the [dquarters?] so they asked my grandmother to go with them.
   She had some clothes to wash and clean so she refused by saying,
   'Reckon as how I been taking care of myself for a long time so I guess
   I'll take my chances right here'.
   
   "They'd been keeping me tied up out in the yard with a long leather
   string harness that they fixed to my shoulders like I've seen dogs in
   the park since then. She took me inside and let me play around for
   awhile. All of a sudden, she grabbed me and stuck me under a box we
   usually kept full of kindling. Then she said, 'If you let out a peep,
   the Indians will get you and cut your hair off 00033right down to the
   skin. Then you'll freeze to death'. I heard her open the door, lock
   it, pick up a board in the roof of the dugout, and come back in. Years
   later, I heard her telling about it and she said that she saw the
   Indians coming, hid me, then went out and locked the door on the
   outside, leaving the key in the door, picked up the board I spoke of,
   and got back into the dugout, hiding in a closet where the ammunition
   and guns were kept. She heard the Indians ride up to the door, walk
   around awhile, then ride off. We all thought that when they seen the
   key in the door, they just figured that the folks were gone but not
   very far, and were afraid to burn the place because that would bring
   all the hands and they'd have a little trouble.
   
   "You know, the kids of nowadays look forward to Christmas and all the
   holidays. I looked forward to the Spring and Fall trips to the closest
   trading post. Abilene, Texas, was the closest for awhile, and that
   meant a 10 day trip, allowing for a days or so to hang around town and
   find out about what the other ranges were doing. I didn't get to go
   because there was always the danger of somebody holding you up,
   drowning in swollen streams, or getting lost. I kept watch for the
   wagons, and when I saw them coming, I'd alarm everybody, get my pony,
   Prince, and go to meet them.
   
   "These [wagonswould?] be loaded with barrels and sacks of grub but I
   looked for just one thing. Under all the sacks, I'd always find a sack
   of candy. They always bought the candy first, and put it on the bottom
   so I'd be willing to help unload what I could carry before I'd take
   off with my prize. The barrels would be filled with whiskey, syrup,
   and any liquid stuff, and the sacks would be coffee, sugar, flour, and
   what could be carried in sacks. 00044They tried to carry everything
   they could in sacks. The barrels in those days weren't so hot. They'd
   come to pieces after so long a trip across a rocky trail. They were
   banded together by wooden bands, whereas, the barrels of today are
   banded [by?] strips of steel. The barrels were half a hogshead, and a
   hogshead. The hogshead barrels were a whole lot bigger than those of
   today.
   
   "I used to be pretty tough as a kid. One of the things I'd do 'til the
   barrels were all broke up, was to get in one and roll down a hill. I
   saw Prince at the bottom of the hill one day, and tried to aim the
   barrel so's I'd roll under him and give him a big scare. I got in and
   got started, bug I didn't figure on Prince seeing me and turning
   around. He turned his tail toward the barrel, and at the right time,
   kicked back. The barrel was just kicked to pieces with that one kick,
   and it was the worst scared kid in that part of the country. It was
   lucky for me that I was so fixed in the barrel at the time of the kick
   that he didn't hurt me.
   
   "I was never allowed to go on the rondups because the cattle scattered
   all over the country. There wasn't a fence in that part of the country
   except where a man had a garden or so, of had a remuda corral so the
   only thing that stopped the critters was grass and water, and shelter
   when the weather got cold. In those days, the grass grew as high as a
   man's knees. [?] stopped the grass was when the cowmen stopped burning
   the mesquites down, and the mesquites took the country over.
   
   "My work 'til I was about 13, was right around the ranch headquarters.
   I took the place of a yard boss and 'tended to the hosses, the few
   milk cows; and brought in the wood when needed.
   
   "After I was 13, about the only home I ever knew was around 00055the
   chuck wagon more than nine months of the year. My only recreation was
   in shooting, riding and roping. I learned to shoot a rabbit or
   anything else while in a fast ride. I learned to rope the same way
   because it was necessary on the range to know these things. I never
   did get to go to town when they went after rations because they were
   always short a hand with the work.
   
   "This thing of living around a chuck wagon gets monotonous but if you
   don't know anything else, you don't mind it so bad. Our food was
   cooked by old Jim, an ex-slave nigger that was the only nigger I ever
   saw 'til I was 23 years old. He was a quite old cuss, just like all
   the rest of the fellows my granddad hired. They'd set around, all
   hunkered up and smoke by the hour when they weren't working. I later
   found out that my granddad had warned them not to talk about the
   outlaws and rustlers and different places they'd been in order not to
   get my feet itching to go someplace. It worked because I never did
   crave to go any place. I didn't care about going to town after they
   told me that they needed men to take care of the cattle and I was a
   man now.
   
   "Our food was mostly, beans, sour-dough biscuits, or 'Sinkers' black
   coffee, and beef or antelope. According to what the cook had to give
   us. The antelope ran in herds and I've seen over 500 in one herd. The
   way we'd do was to shoot a number of them and cure the meat so it'd
   keep. The cook made what we called, 'Jerk'. It was antelope meat after
   it had been dried, and cut into strips. Then we thought we would be
   out all day, we'd take several strips of it in our pockets, and when
   we got hungry, we'd cut off a piece like you do tobacco, and stick it
   into our mouth. We'd chew this 'til the taste left it, spit it out and
   get another chew. It wasn't as 00066good as setting down to eat a meal
   but it had going hungry beat a mile.
   
   "Most ranches had special hosses for different parts of the cow work
   but we trained all our hosses to do any part of the work, some hosses
   wouldn't pick the work up so well, and granddad would sell them off
   with the Fall market roundup. The hosses that stood the test had to
   know how to trail a critter through the herd, stop and set down when
   the noose was about to drop on the critter's head after the waddy had
   thrown it, and other tricks that an ordinary hoss will naturally pick
   up.
   
   "The hoss buster was a man who really know his hosses. There was a
   Dapple Gray stallion that ran with a herd of wild mustangs and sired
   all the wild hosses on the place. He was bought for the purpose of
   breeding these Mustangs, and all the Mustang stallions were trapped
   and sold off.
   
   "When I said, 'Trapped', it might have sounded like they built a trap
   but the business of getting these hosses was to chase them for three
   or four days. The hosses would travel in a circle around where they
   were used to eating and drinking and hanging out. The hoss buster of
   course, was extra weight on his hoss and he couldn't possibly hope to
   catch a wild hoss but he'd have men at different parts of the circle
   with relay hosses. That is, the buster would chase the wild herd 'til
   he neared a man with another hoss, then he'd give the man his hoss,
   mount the other hoss and take up the chase again. This way, the hosses
   would be without water and food for three days or so, and they'd be
   less wary of a trap. Then, the buster would get help, and they'd drive
   the herd into a blind canyon, a canyon that only had one entrance, and
   when these hosses 00077come to the end of the canyon, a man that had
   stayed there for this purpose, would close up the way out. The
   [hosss?] would then find that they'd been trapped in a corral. They'd
   mill wildly around, then the Stallion, who always led the herd, would
   discover the way they come in, and he'd call the mares to him. Since
   he was such good hossflesh, he'd be able to jump the corral but most
   of the others wouldn't be able to do it. When they did, and one of
   them happened to be the one that the hoss buster wanted, he'd crease
   it. That is, he'd shoot the hoss at the base of the mane just behind
   it's ears. That would numb the muscle at the top of the neck, and the
   hoss wouldn't be able to move for long enough to let the hoss wrangler
   hog tie it so it couldn't move 'til they were ready for it to move.
   
   "Because I could use a rope good, I was always used to tie the hosses
   after they'd been creased. One time, after I'd begged so hard to get
   them to let me crease one, I was allowed to do the creasing. Well, I
   creased but too low, so I killed the hoss and it was a beaut. I never
   got another chance to crease another one.
   
   "The hosses were always busted right there where they were bought.
   This was necessary because if they got away before they were busted,
   all the work would be wasted. After the hoss wrangler got them pretty
   well busted, I was allowed to finish the job. I was known as, 'Bronc',
   because I busted so many [?]. That nick name didn't follow me though.
   
   "By the time I was 18 years old, I'd become a regular top cow hand and
   was a fair hoss wrangler. I had a string of eight hosses in the ramuda
   that were as good as the best to be found any where. The reason they
   were so good was because I broke them in myself and I'd never lost a
   hoss by accident. I said by accident 00088I never lost a hoss by any
   means. The way most hosses went on the range was to step in a gopher
   hole while on the run, and break it's leg, [orget ?] gored by a steer,
   or kicked in the head by some critter.
   
   "All this time, I'd been overhearing some of the hands talking about
   other ranches before they knew I was around. I knew by their actions
   that I wasn't supposed to hear what they said, so that just made me
   more interested. I finally grew to know that the [?] Land and Cattle
   company had a big ranch to the Northwest of our place, and I asked my
   [folks?] to let me go up there for a spell. They refused, then I made
   up my mind to go anywhere I wanted to at anytime. Well, my folks were
   as stubborn as I was, and they ended up by saying I could go anywhere
   I wanted to as long as I didn't take anything away that belonged to
   the ranch. That stopped me 'til I saved up about $40.00, and bought a
   good hoss from a roving cow hand.
   
   "The day I left the old home place, All the folks were standing on the
   front porch of the house that had been built in the meantime, and I
   was riding away on a hoss without a saddle, or anything but the
   clothes that covered my back. I don't think I'd have been so
   determined to stick with it if I hadn't have overheard my granddad and
   my dad saying that I wouldn't stick with it because I'd never been
   away from the home range.
   
   "When I reached the place I mentioned, which was really called the 'T
   Bar'. That was their brand, and you make it by first making a T, then
   making a bar after it like this, after I'd been there long enough to
   make the Spring roundup, I found out that the T Bar was so big that it
   covered the territory that is now Lynn, Perry, and Yoakum counties.
   The roundup even went as far as 00099Bronco, New Mexico. The
   headquarters were where the city of Tahoka, Texas, is now. Old Bill
   Patty was ram [rodding?] the spread for the company, and he was one of
   the best all around cow punchers in that section of the country. He
   had to be for it was such a big spread. His job must have been kind of
   like the President of the United States is because the ram rods on
   that spread didn't live very long after taking the reigns over. I use
   to know about four men's names who were foremen over the spread, and
   died several years after taking over.
   
   Besides handling from 30 to a 100 punchers, they had to keep track of
   from 100,000 to 200,000 head of cattle, manage trail drives to
   different sections of the United States, and all the different
   details. Now, I don't now whether the job killed them or not. I just
   know they died like I said they did.
   
   The conditions I spoke of as being on my granddad's ranch were the
   same on the T Bar. The roundups were pretty much the same, the hosses
   were handled the same, the branding and the Fall shipping the same,
   the staying away from the ranch the same except we had dugouts in
   different places where we could go if the weather was very bad. Just
   think of it! Nine months of the year when you didn't see hide nor hair
   of the headquarters. You saw the ram rod, yes. You saw the foremen,
   yes. What you didn't see was any signs of civilization. I put in five
   years on the Bar with about the same routine.
   
   "We boys began to hearing rumors from one, then another about the rail
   road was coming to our section of the country. Well, I knew men who
   were 60 and 70 years old who had never seen a train, nor even tracks.
   I was 23 there, and had never seen all this so my 001010curiosity was
   arroused a-plenty. We finally got word that the railroad was going to
   have a big dance and barbecue when the end of the line reached
   O:Donnell, Texas. Well, that was all I wanted to know. A dance and a
   barbecue! I just made up my mind that I intended to be there for the
   doings.
   
   "One big day, word came out that all the boys that wanted to go could
   take off with pay. Boy!, what a day? We boys from the T Bar made quite
   a company when we got to O:Donnell. We looked like Cox's Army. Every
   one of us had his glad rags on and were ready to play. After we got
   there, we found quite a few there from the other places. At the end of
   the day, there was at least 5,000 people there.
   
   "All the surrounding ranches had even sent their chuck wagons in, and
   the railroad had a dancing pavilion built. Tons of meat was barbecued
   in advance but not near enough for they had to barbecue every day. If
   some loose ropers came through the country at that time, they could
   have sure took many a head with them.
   
   "Of course, there were quite a good many drunks but they were handled
   in a way that would make a Western officer's heart turn pen green with
   envy. A fellow by the name of Buck Teagle, who was one of the best
   shots in the country, weighed about 175 pounds but could throw any man
   he'd ever met in a fair wrestling match, and I guess in a foul too,
   who was made a peace officer by the one armed J.P. The J.P. was an old
   man who was given that place because they never needed a law in the
   town 'til the day of the barbecue proved they'd have to have some kind
   of law. Old Buck had a system with him. He didn't want to hurt anybody
   because he wanted to live there after the doings was over. Truth of
   the matter was, that he'd been rail roaded into the job. The J.P. just
   deputized him and if 001111he'd have refused, he'd have been violating
   the law. It wasn't fair but Buck had a rule that he'd tackle anything
   once, so he took it over. He made the J.P. buy him about 300 foot of
   the strongest lasso rope in the town, then cut it into 10 foot pieces.
   
   "When he found anybody drunk, he'd man handle them 'til he got them to
   a grove of saplings, tie their hands to the tree over their heads,
   then tie their feet to the base of the sapling. They'd hang there 'til
   they got sober enough to be taken down, then Buck would take them
   down. This stunt showed folks that drunks could be handled if a fellow
   used his head and was able to do what Buck was. Somebody in the crowd
   must have been able to write stories because a story about the
   barbecue and a picture of the drunks, about seven of them at one time,
   was shown in the Police Gazette, all hanging from the trees.
   
   "This week of fun spoiled my range career if I was due one because I
   took right out after the barbecue and dance to Fort Worth, and I've
   been here on the Stock Yards ever since. I thought that if a fellow
   could have that much fun at the end of the line, what could he do in
   the middle of the line. Truth of the matter is, I've never had so much
   fun anywhere as I had there that day at O:Donnell. I've had to work as
   hard, or harder to make a living right here. The only difference from
   this life, as I see it, you see lots of people, and they're all trying
   to dig you out of what you have if you have anything and if you don't
   have anything, they don't care anything about you.
   
   "Out there in the open, you live the healthiest life a man could
   possibly live. You only ate the food that was good for you, and every
   man was for you. If you needed anything, you could have all that
   anybody had if it was necessary.

************************************************************************
USGENWEB ARCHIVES NOTICE:  These electronic pages may NOT be reproduced 
in any format for profit or presentation by any other organization or
persons.  Persons or organizations desiring to use this material, must
obtain the written consent of the contributor, or the legal representative
of the submitter, and contact the listed USGenWeb archivist with proof of
this consent. The submitter has given permission to the USGenWeb Archives
to store the file permanently for free access.

http://www.usgwarchives.net/

Thanks to the Library of Congress
http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/wpaintro/txcat.html
***********************************************************************