We traveled by train as far as Miles City, Montana where a native cowboy belonging to the ranch on which we were to work, met us with a team and open wagon to take us one hundred and sixty-six miles to the ranch. We had to travel overland through the hills, no road, with nothing but our trusty cowboy to depend on to guide us. We had to ford all streams and rivers as there were no bridges. I remember how scared I was when we came to the big, muddy, raging Powder River and saw that we were going to plunge right into it with the wagon. It looked so deep and dangerous! I held tight to my baby boy who was snuggled close to me and buttoned inside of a huge buffalo skin overcoat that the thoughtful cowboy had brought along for that purpose, knowing we were "tender foots", unacquainted with western Chinook winds and snow storms.
There were no settlements, and sometimes twenty or thirty miles between ranches. We would stay over night at a ranch where there were only men, then pack a lunch in the morning (which would be frozen by noon), then on and on until we came to another ranch to stay all night.
The ranches were all named by the brands on their cattle. One was XXXX called 4X; one was -OP, Bar OP; one was UX, called U Cross; ours was LX-, LX Bar; another was 4H, and so forth. Inside the ranch houses were rugs of deer, antelope and coyote hides, and for holding back curtins, lovely polished buffalo horns. These were used for other purposes also. That land had formerly been the buffalo country where indians and other hunters had slaughtered them by the thousands just for the hides which were used for rodes and coates.
The carcasses were left to the mercy of crows and buzzards, and we saw many places in the valleys where one could actually walk on the bones without touching the ground. To give an idea of the number of buffalo, we were told when we were at our destination that the former owner said there had been a herd of buffalo that passed up valley years before that had taked two days to pass.
We were five days getting to the ranch where we were to work. The last day our driver lost his way in a blinding snow storm, and we were indeed frightened, especially me with my little boy. You can imagine our joy when, afar off we could see a dim light and our cowboy yelled, "That's our light!", and made for it, lashing the tired, worn-out horses.
What a relief to escape from that old wagon and the cold and the awful dread and fear.
There were nine men at the ranch for me to cook for, cowboys. I was already homesick and heartsick as I was only a kid myself. But the men were so kind to me and helped me to get started. How they loved the children! Some of them said that they had not seen a child for four or five years. Evenings they would ask if they could borrow the baby, Ernie, and they would take him to the bunk house and have a bug time with him. I could hear them shout and laugh, and when they brought him back to me they had him dressed like themselves, a belt, and six shooter stuck in it, a red bandana around his neck and a big cowboy hat on his head; and he liked it all!
My husband worked on the ranch and in the hills with the cattle, while I struggled along as best I could, cooking, housework - and Ernie only a little fellow nine months old.
We were there eighteen months before I saw a white woman, but plenty of Indian squaws and men. There were two reservations within traveling distance, Crows and Sioux, and they traveled on ponies around to the ranches, selling their work and begging. I was terribly frigtened at first for they had been noted for stealing white children, so I was almost frantic when they were around.
One day a dirty old squaw came to the door, they never rapped, just walked right in, with a black eyed papoose strapped on her back. His snapping eyes just peeped above her shoulder. I was holding Ernie on my lap. When the squaw saw him she came up and stared at him, put her hand on his head, then pointing to her own baby said to me, "Swap", meaning trade. I was afraid, and I suppose that I showed my fear for she just laughed and then asked if she might take him in her arms. I lost all fear and let her take him, and we did "Swap". I fell in love with the little black rascal. We mothers could not visit for she knew only a few words, but we both undstood "the mother language" and we had a good time. From that time on I was not nearly so afraid of Indians, and saw hundreds of them later, and all were kind and very grateful for little gifts of food or clothing. A few days later she returned bringing a pair of lovely beaded moccasins for my baby, who still has them.
For more on this and other stories get A Tabor Saga - By Clifford Clark Tabor and Brian Howard Tabor.
