Texas Cowboy; Or Fifteen Years on the Hurricane Deck of a Spanish Pony — Preface
A TEXAS COW BOY
OR
FIFTEEN YEARS ON THE HURRICANE
DECK OF A SPANISH PONY.
TAKEN FROM REAL LIFE BY
Chas.
A.
Siringo.
AN OLD STOVE UP COW PUNCHER WHO
HAS SPENT NEARLY A LIFE TIME ON THE
GREAT WESTERN
CATTLE RANGES.
GLOBE LITHOGRAPHING & PRINTING CO.
CHICAGO
Illustration: REPRESENTATION OF LIFE IN A COW CAMP.
Illustration: THE AUTHOR, IN COW BOY UNIFORM.
A TEXAS COW BOY
OR,
FIFTEEN YEARS
ON THE
Hurricane Deck of a Spanish Pony.
TAKEN FROM REAL LIFE
BY
CHAS.
A.
SIRINGO,
AN OLD STOVE UP "COW PUNCHER," WHO HAS SPENT
NEARLY TWENTY YEARS ON THE GREAT
WESTERN CATTLE RANGES.
M. UMBDENSTOCK & CO.
, Publishers, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.
1885. Illustration: THE AUTHOR after he became stove-up--financially, as well as otherwise.
INDEX.
CHAPTER.
PAGE.
I.
My Boyhood Days 13 II.
My Introduction to the late war 20 III.
My First Lesson in Cow Punching 31 IV.
My second experience in St. Louis 43 V.
A New experience 53 VI.
Adopted and sent to school 61 VII.
Back at last to the Lone Star State 68 VIII.
Learning to rope wild steers 75 IX.
Owning my first cattle 84 X.
A start up the Chisholm trail 95 XI.
Buys a boat and becomes a sailor 103 XII.
Back to my favorite occupation, that of a wild and woolly Cow Boy 112 XIII.
Mother and I meet at last 119 XIV.
On a tare in Wichita, Kansas 129 XV.
A lonely trip down the Cimeron 141 XVI.
My first experience roping a Buffalo 150 XVII.
An exciting trip after thieves 158 XVIII.
Seven weeks among Indians 164 XIX.
A lonely ride of eleven hundred miles 176 XX.
Another start up the Chisholm trail 186 XXI.
A trip which terminated in the capture of "Billy the Kid" 196 XXII.
Billy the Kid's capture 215 XXIII.
A trip to the Rio Grande on a mule 223 XXIV.
Waylaid by unknown parties 231 XXV.
Lost on the Staked Plains 239 XXVI.
A trip down the Reo Pecos 255 XXVII.
A true sketch of "Billy the Kid's" life 269 XXVIII.
Wrestling with a dose of Small Pox on the Llano Esticado 285 XXIX.
In love with a Mexican girl 299 XXX.
A sudden leap from Cow Boy to Merchant 309 Copyrighted by CHAS.
A.
SIRINGO, Caldwell, Kans.
All rights reserved.
PREFACE.
My excuse for writing this book is money--and lots of it.
I suppose the above would suffice, but as time is not very precious I will continue and tell how the idea of writing a book first got into my head: While ranching on the Indian Territory line, close to Caldwell, Kansas, in the winter of '82 and '83, we boys--there being nine of us--made an iron-clad rule that whoever was heard swearing or caught picking grey backs off and throwing them on the floor without first killing them, should pay a fine of ten cents for each and every offense.
The proceeds to be used for buying choice literature--something that would have a tendency to raise us above the average cow-puncher.
Just twenty-four hours after making this rule we had three dollars in the pot--or at least in my pocket, I having been appointed treasurer.
As I was going to town that night to see my Sunday girl, I proposed to the boys that, while up there, I send the money off for a years subscription to some good newspaper.
The question then came up, what paper shall it be?
We finally agreed to leave it to a vote--each man to write the one of his choice on a slip of paper and drop it in a hat.
There being two young Texans present who could neither read nor write, we let them _speak_ their choice after the rest of us got our votes deposited.
At the word given them to cut loose they both yelled "Police Gazette", and on asking why they voted for that wicked Sheet, they both replied as though with one voice: "Cause we can read the pictures."
We found, on counting the votes that the Police Gazette had won, so it was subscribed for.
With the first copy that arrived was the beginning of a continued story, entitled "Potts turning Paris inside out."
Mr. Potts, the hero, was an old stove-up New York preacher, who had made a raise of several hundred thousand dollars and was over in Paris blowing it in.
I became interested in the story, and envied Mr. Potts very much.
I wished for a few hundred thousand so I could do likewise; I lay awake one whole night trying to study up a plan by which I could make the desired amount.
But, thinks I, what can an uneducated cow puncher do now-a-days to make such a vast sum?
In trying to solve the question my mind darted back a few years, when, if I had taken time by the forelock, I might have now been wallowing in wealth with the rest of the big cattle kings--or to use a more appropriate name, cattle thieves.
But alas!
thought I, the days of honorable cattle stealing is past, and I must turn my mind into a healthier channel.
The next morning while awaiting breakfast I happened to pick up a small scrap of paper and read: "To the young man of high aims literature offers big inducements, providing he gets into an untrodden field."
That night I lay awake again, trying to locate some "cussed" untrodden field, where, as an author, I might soar on high--to the extent of a few hundred thousand at least.
At last, just as our pet rooster, "Deacon Bates" was crowing for day, I found a field that I had never heard of any one trampling over--a "nigger" love story.
So that night I launched out on my new novel, the title of which was, "A pair of two-legged coons."
My heroine, Miss Patsy Washington was one shade darker than the ace of spades, while her lover, Mr. Andrew Jackson, was three colors darker than herself.
My plot was laid in African Bend on the Colorado river in Southern Texas.
Everything went on nicely, until about half way through the first chapter, when Mr. Jackson was convicted and sent to Huntsville for stealing a neighbors hog; and while I was trying to find a substitute for him, old Patsy flew the track and eloped with a Yankee carpet-bagger.
That was more than I could endure, so picking up the manuscript I threw it into the fire.
Thus ended my first attempt at Authorship.
I then began figuring up an easier field for my inexperienced pen, and finally hit upon the idea of writing a history of my own short, but rugged life, which dear reader you have before you.
But whether it will bring me in "shekels" enough to capsize Paris remains yet to be "disskivered" as the Negro says.
A TEXAS COW BOY.
CHAPTER I.
