Most of the herds were crossed at a place called Judith Landing, an old steamboat landing in the early days. It was afterwards named Claggot.
There was a man by the name of Bill Norris who had a store and saloon there, and for a few years, while these herds were crossing, he reaped a rich harvest off the cowboys. Charlie Russell helped swim some of those herds and he told me he believed Bill made his own whiskey and must have made it especially for swimming cattle, as when a cowboy got about three drinks of that whiskey the Missouri River looked like a very small creek. It made him plenty brave. There must have been some truth in what Charlie said, as I cannot recall where one cowboy was drowned.
I went over to that country about the spring of 1890 and went to work for the TL outfit, which belonged to McNamar and Broadwater. They had a ranch in the Bear Paw Mountains.
When I went to the ranch and asked for work, the boss said it was too early in the spring to hire any men as the roundup wouldn’t start for a long time, but would hire a bronc rider if he could get a good one. Now I had rode broncs and rough strings (which is spoiled horses) for several years and had no fear of any horse and had a good opinion of myself. So I told him I was sure a bronc rider. Now I had wintered pretty hard that winter as I had lived in town and had sold everything I had in the way of a good rig and looked pretty seedy. They had four or five steady men on the ranch. I didn’t know any of them, and as I didn’t have any boots, only a cheap pair of shoes, one spur and an old rattle-trap saddle, they didn’t think I looked like a bronc fighter. Anyway the boss took a chance and hired me.
The next day he had the men run in the saddle bunch to pick out some horses to ride to gather those colts I was to break that ranged down in the Badlands. He looked the bunch over quite a while, as he said he wanted to find a good strong horse for me. He finally found him. I remember his name yet—it was “Humpy,” a very pretty horse. He said, “This fellow might hump up a little but that is all. He is a good horse.”
I told him I didn’t mind that; in fact I was in hopes he would do something, as I had an idea they didn’t rate me very high. Anyway I mounted Humpy—and about that time they turned the loose horses out of the corral. Humpy wanted to go with them. I gave him a pull and down went his head. I hit him with my hat and took a rake at him with that one spur. The next thing I knew I was on the ground about ten feet in front of him, but I held to my hackamore rope. He didn’t get away from me.
When I got up and looked around everything was as silent as a graveyard. Those men and the boss were sitting on their horses looking at each other with a grin on their faces, that I couldn’t tell whether it was pity or disgust and, of course, I had no alibi. I got back on Humpy and took another rake at him and he galloped off as nice as you please.
We had about two miles to ride to the house. Nobody said anything, only the boss. He said he was afraid some of them colts would buck harder than Humpy did. I didn’t answer him.
But before we got ready to gather those colts, somebody brought a horse to the ranch that the outfit had sold to a livery stable in Big Sandy for a buggy horse. I found out afterwards that the reason was nobody could ride him. He had a wide reputation and was known as S.Y. (from his brand) all over the country. The weather being bad when they sold him on trial to the livery stable they didn’t hitch him up for about a month and had fed him grain all that time. So when they did try him out he kicked the buggy all to pieces and ran away. So they sent him home, as they didn’t want him. He was a beautiful horse, weighed about 1150 and built like a greyhound, and I was itching to tie into S.Y., as I knew my standing was bad, and I asked the boss to let me try him out. He told me it would be useless, as one of the best riders in the state had given that horse up as a bad job. Then I kidded him and told him I didn’t think the horse could buck at all, was just a plow horse. Anyway I rode S.Y. and as I knew I had to make good, I scratched him everywhere I could reach him and, of course, I was made from then on. I never rode him again and I know I was lucky that day, as that horse had throwed better riders than I ever was.
I broke about thirty head of colts for the outfit before I quit the job.