Cowboys and Cattleland by H. H. Halsell

Author:H. H. Halsell [Halsell, H. H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Criminals & Outlaws, Rich & Famous, Social Science, Ethnic Studies, Native American Studies, History, United States, 19th Century
ISBN: 9781789120264
Google: tDxODwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Pickle Partners Publishing
Published: 2018-02-27T04:21:38+00:00

CHAPTER XVIII—DEALING WITH CATTLE THIEVES

Good Samaritan Cowboys

One of the boldest deeds I can ever think of was one performed by O. D. Halsell in the year 1885 while our cattle were ranging on the south side of the Cimarron. At this time there was a soldier camp in a large grove of timber in the bend of the Cimarron about five miles northeast of the present city of Guthrie. On a certain day O. D. was riding through the range, and at a point about three miles south of the soldier camp he found the head of a big four-year-old steer of his. The steer had just been slaughtered and loaded into a wagon. Trailing the wagon, he found it led into the soldier camp. The captain’s tent was in the center of the camp. O. D. rode up to the tent and called him out. He said, “You have no right to hold cattle in Oklahoma.” O. D. said, “I may not, but you have no right to eat my beef steers.” The Captain then asked him what he was going to do about it. O. D. said, “I am giving you five minutes to pay me forty-five dollars, or I’ll kill you.” That old Captain looked at him, saw he meant it, and handed him the forty-five dollars. Steers were worth at that time about half that amount. The Captain happened to be a brave man and admired a brave one.

How old-time cowboys die. There was in our camp on the Cimarron a cowboy who went by the name of Bednego; we never knew what his real name was. This boy was taken sick with pneumonia, and we had him hauled to Pawnee Agency, where there was an agency doctor. O. D. and I took time about staying with him. The agency was fifty miles from our camp. While I was on duty with him he became so bad that the doctor said: “Your man is dying and won’t live until morning. You had better find out where his people are and ask him if he wants to send any word or message to them.” I dreaded the job of telling this old boy but had to do it. Our cook was also devoted to Bednego and was sitting on the end of his bed. The boy was propped up with pillows and looked to me to be dying. About all he could take was buttermilk, and he always loved that drink. I sat on the bed and began to break the news as gently as possible to him. I said, “Bednego, you know we are your friends, and we will stay with you till the last, but you are a very sick man and may not get well. We will do all we can for you; but we want to know, should you not get well, is there any word you want to send to your folks.” It seemed to hurt his feelings to think we were weakening when he had no idea of giving up the fight.

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