CHAPTER SEVEN
ENTER MRS. JAB

The old west that my people knew is gone, and with it are the old brands and earmarks. Once in a while I can find a son or a grandson of a west Texas pioneer who can identify or even draw these strange markings of ownership.

The most hated brand among cowmen is gone. That long arrow extending from shoulder to hip on a horse proved that the owner was an Indian. The slit ears, which infuriated any horseman, are also gone. A "four-eared" was positive proof that a redskin rode him.

Some beloved old brands are also gone, including John R. Bailor, the PEP of the great Pepper Ranch; the JS of the famous Sillman ranch, but the JAB brand and earmark still lives, though it is far removed from the Texas range where it was first coined from the initials of Joseph Alansing Browning.

Joe was just like a little boy showing me his toys when he took me out to show me his herd of cattle bearing his brand. He explained that there were only seven hundred head, which I gathered was a modest herd in his language, but it seemed to me that I had unknowingly married a man of means.

Always the tease, Joe explained that the reason he was so anxious to have me marry him so he wouldn't have to carry two brands, for we had the same initials. "Jeanetta Angelina Browning, you are Mrs. JAB now, and I hope I can plant that brand on a thousand head of cattle for you some of these days."

I felt that my new husband had just placed a mantle of purest gold around my shoulders and decked my coal-black hair with a crown of jewels, for nowhere in the whole world was there a more beautiful brand. This was placed on the left side of the cattle, not so large that it seemed showy, yet big enough to be identified with ease. The earmark was a little more difficult for me to master, but it wasn't long until a head bobbing out of a head with under crop the left ear and half crop the right told me that was Mrs. JAB's calf. I was so proud!

Now it was time for us to get settled in our own home. Joe had already looked over the newly evacuated fort, Camp Cooper. The surrounding range was in good condition, and there was plenty of water. That seemed Ideal for the seven hundred head of cattle and twelve horses. Joe asked me to inspect several of the small rock houses which were built around the large ammunition house. I thought the second one on the right was just the house for the Brownings.

While Joe was busy gathering his cattle and "throwing" them south to this new range, I had myself a good time putting my new home in order. Joe had bought a Seth Thomas clock, a bedstead with home made cords for slats, a four raw-bottomed chars of elm and pecan wood, but the prize was a little trunk. It was all of a yard long and maybe half a yard high, but such a pretty little thing to place near a window so everybody could admire it.

Pa and Ruth gave us six tin plates, six wooden-handled knives and forks, a skillet, four quilts, two blankets and a feather mattress.

I walked all over that fort gathering discarded canteens. They were just perfect to melt and shape into extra dishes. I was lucky enough to find at least a dozen quart beer bottles that hadn't been nicked or cracked. I got a whole set of glasses from these by breaking the neck off the bottles very carefully. You take a good stout string and dip it in turpentine; then you rub the string across the bottle where you want the top to be.

Now, mind, you have to rub hard, and every now and then you pour water on that hot string. Before you know it, the top of the bottle will fall off, and the glass will be left with a smooth even edge.

I was busy at this one day when Joe came in laughingly remarked, "You made me all tuckered out just watching you, Angie. Don't you ever stop working?"

He was teasing, as usual, but I was in dead earnest when I answered, "I have to keep busy, Joe; I'm the restless kind."

What my new husband didn't know was that I was heeding Ruth's advice given to me just a few days before I was a bride. You must remember in those days women, even women as close and congenial as Ruth and I talked little of marriage and less of marriage relations. After all, pure young maidens couldn't be told things they hadn't yet experienced. It wasn't decent for married women to talk to future brides; it just was not decent. But ever since I could remember, Ruth had always given me an answer when I asked her a question.

I guess I was bragging a little when I remarked to Ruth, "You know Ruthie, my marriage is going to be different. I am only going to have one, and I want to keep it as exciting and interesting as it seems to me right now!"

Ruth just smiled at me, and her face took on that patient look which was louder than any words. You could see she was saying. "Oh, I'll just let this scatter-brain rattle on. She'll run down sometime." That was all the encouragement I needed.

"Now that I'm grown and in love, I know a lot about you and Pa that I never realized before. I know now that you are the only woman Pa ever really loved, and I know why. It's because you understand him better than anybody else, just like Joe understands me."

"I want you to know, Ruth, that I don't have to be told that Pa has been hard to live with at times, but I know why... he's so restless, and I take after him; I'm restless too.... and if you want to know the truth, that's what worried me a little."

"Angie, girl, I been meanin' to have a talk with you for several days. This is as good a time as any. One thing you got to get straight in your head --- a woman can't live in this world like a man. Women can't act like men or think like ‘em, or the world would just blow up into little bits, and it wouldn't take long for it to happen."

"You and your Pa are a lot alike, Angie, more alike than you can ever imagine, but you can't do things the way he does. A man might get away with it but a woman would only destroy herself. I want you to remember that, Angie."

"You know yourself, and you think there is nothin' too big for you to tackle. I know you could do it and do it well, but Angie, women can't afford to be too smart. That's what you are, and it's going to cause you a heap of trouble if you don't watch out. You got to lean on your husband, to depend on him and let him know you’re leaning and depending."

"You are right, Angie, you're both restless, and maybe there is no cure for it, but you can keep busy and pretty soon you do find more contentment. When you feel these spells comin' on, get up and do something. No use just settin'; get up and move!"

I was just setting drinking in every word my Ruthie was saying. Actually, she wasn't a very talkative woman, and I guess I was a little surprised to hear her actually preaching to me, pointing out things I had never even thought of. Then she really did turn preacher on me.

"Now, Angie, you joined the church, and I was right proud of you for doing it, but joining is a long ways from getting the religion a woman needs. You got to have it as a sort of guide or leaning post when the going gets tough, and you have to travel over some mighty rough roads. Maybe it's religion that makes a woman have such faith in her man. Anyway, it seems all kinda mixed up together, somehow or another. The thing I'm trying to say to you, Angie, is that I want you to keep your Bible handy and learn to read it as much as your Pa does. It's helped him a lot, and I know it can do the same for you."

Ruth had had her say and she was ready to get back to her weaving but I had some other things on my mind; so I plunged in.

"Ruthie, I guess I ought to be ashamed to mention it, but honest, I'm scared stiff of my first married night!"

I knew then, and I know now, if only a hole had opened in that nice clean cabin floor, Ruth would have thanked her God and disappeared willingly, but she was trapped. She turned a little white, but after a long minute she spoke very softly, "I'm sorry to hear you say that, Angie. There's nothin' to be afraid of. Just look at all the men and women who have been married, and they got through that first night all right. Don't let that fret you. Joe's a good boy, and thats what counts."

I saw Ruth had recovered from one shock; so I thought I might as well try her out again. "Here's another thing, Ruthie. I don't want to start right off and have babies every year. I like babies, but I don't see any need to have a dozen to prove it. You know what I have a mind to do....I think I'll get some cotton or soft wool and stuff it ‘way inside of me' then maybe I could have my babies just when I want them."

Goodness gracious. I had really upset ruth. I couldn't tell whether she was just plain mad or scared pea green. Did she ever light into me!

"Angie McCarty, you listen to me and listen good. Don't you ever try a thing like that! You crazy young'un, you'd get cotton rammed clean to your stomach and it could kill you! If you don't want to have babies, you're not old enough to be married, and you better be tellin' Joe right now! Babies is part of this bargain..... whether you like it or not' so you better make up your mind!"

"Heavenly days, Ruthie! Don't get so het up! I want babies all right, all right, but I don't want twelve or thirteen.... and I'm gonna do something about it.... you just wait and see!"

"Well, I can't help you there. Seems the Lord is the only one that has any say, and I can't figure him out in this matter. Now come on, Angie let's get busy. When you start talking, you never seem to know when to stop."

I was determined to heed Ruth's warning about this restlessness. At first I could find dozens of things that had to be done to make our new home comfortable, but after a bit I found I was through with my housework by mid morning. That's when I begged Joe to let me ride with him as he rode among his herd. Joe was so pleased to have me around, and the days flew by. After supper I always took Joe's fiddle off its peg on the wall and asked him to play for me. Joe actually relieved to find I had a good ear for music and could stay on key. I heard him bragging while he chuckled, "When Angie really gets into a song, you can hear her a mile away, if the wind's blown' in the right direction."

We had been married just four short months when Joe and I looked out the door in the late afternoon to see a caravan approaching. It did not take us long to find we were going to have five families moving into Camp Cooper. There were the two Hitson families, Dalla Wilder, and joy of joys, my own Ruth and Pa and my five brothers, Pres, Melvin, Warwick, Bill and Dick. But the big surprise came when we found Marion and Geriah and their two little children brought up the rear wagon of the caravan.

Such back-slapping, hand shaking and hugging you never saw! You'd thought we hadn't seen each other for ten years. I just said it right out loud. "We're so glad to see all of you!"

Ruth hugged me hard and turned laughingly to Pa with "See! She's tired of Joe already!"

Joe felt just like I did. Our honeymoon had been perfect, and all you couples should have ‘em so they can get used to each other, but women need women folks and men need men folks; then you couples can appreciate each other that much more.

Now that the Civil War was over, we took for granted that the forts would be manned in a short time, but here was Camp Cooper without a single soldier. However, Camp David wasn't so far away, and it was getting to look like a strong hold-- not that we were expecting to need help from these soldiers. After all, it had been many months since we had seen or heard of an Indian. Why can't people smell trouble coming?

We had just settled down to a peaceful little community, and one month went by; then our men in camp arose early as usual to wrangle horses to find they had visitors during the night. Many of the horses were gone. My Joe rounded up his herd to find he had just four horses left. He was the leader of the men who went out to hunt the Indians.

As the men traveled north, they came to a deserted freight wagon and discovered the freighter, Phil Randall, had been killed by the Indians. Joe and Bill Hitson buried the freighter by the side of the road; then Joe took a kitchen knife from the wagon and scratched "Randall" on a sand stone and placed it at the head of the grave. We have been told that the stone remains there today, and though worn and faded by weather, it is still plain to read.

Our men rode on until late afternoon; then Joe realized the Indians had too good a start to ever catch up so he persuaded the others to come on in home. There wasn't any laughing or teasing around our house that day.

The very next day John and Bill Hitson and John's little son Jess, who was just ten years old, Jim Wilson, a fourteen year old negro boy who had attached himself to Hitsons, and my brother Preston decided to round up part of their herds and brand calves. When noontime came they found a shady spot under some huckleberry bushes and decided they would eat a bite and then stretch out for a little rest. The Hitsons had dozed off for a minute, but Pres and the negro boy looked up to find a band of Indians closing in on them. The negro boy's yell brought everybody to their feet, and John Hitson took one look and gave a quick order to Preston, "Quick, Pres! Get to your horse and hit for camp. You can outrun any Indian you ever saw. We'll shoot ‘em off until you get goin', and you hurry back with all the men you can gather. We are goin' to need ‘em bad!"

My Pres never hesitated a minute, but ran his horse through the only opening in the slowly closing circle of redskins. The men said later, as Pres dashed through, five Indians turned to follow him, while arrows darted all around him. Pres never looked back once.

He raced towards the clear forks on the Brazos to find the heavy rains above had again filled the river from Bank to bank. There was no time to wait; Pres guided his horse carefully, letting him swim with the current. Two Indians plunged after Pres, but they saw their horses were being washed too far downstream; so they got back in a hurry to the companions waiting on the bank.

Pres knew he was safe now, but he had a mile and a half to race to the fort. Nobody had to tell him that he had to win this race.

I happened to be standing in the door of Ruth's house when I saw Pres dash though the fort gate. He was yelling his head off, "Where's the men, Angie? Indian! John and Bill can't hold ‘em off long."

I told him as fast as I could that Pa was the only man left in the fort; the others were out hunting.

"Go find Pa!" Bad news does spread fast, and in just a few minutes Pa and all the women were gathered around Pres to hear this dreadful news. Pres said that the last glance he had told him the negro boy had been killed while he tried to mount his horse. We found out later that the poor boy tried to pick up his straw hat that had blown off his head. That all hurt us because we all knew how proud he was of that hat.

Pres said he was afraid young Jess's horse had been killed and that John Hitson was trying to get the boy up behind him. His voice trembled when he said, "I guess the Injuns got them all by this time. There wuz just too many Injuns."

"How many Indians are there, Son?" asked Pa.

"About seventy-five, I guess."

Pa turned to the group and calmly, "Come, folks. We must prepare for an attack. These Indians are going to be awful brave with that many of them. Gather all the pitchforks and guns you have and bring them to the ammunition house. Fill all you buckets and pans with water and bring ‘em in a hurry."

We were all working feverishly, and in an hour we were gathered in the large center house and had bolted the door. We were ready. We had plenty of pitchforks to throw off burning shingles if the Indians set fire to the roof. Every gun was loaded. All we had to do is wait for the attack.

About five o'clock Pa saw Joe, Marion and the boys riding leisurely into the fort gate, absolutely unconscious of the excitement all around them. I ran past Pa and stood waiting for Joe to get off his horse. I must have been white-faced, for he rushed over to me with, "What's happened, Angie?"

"I thought you had run into Indians, too."

"Indian! Whata you mean, Indians?" But for once in my life I couldn't get my tongue untangled, and it took Pa to tell my men what had happened.

Joe didn't hesitate a minute. "Come on Marion, we've got to get to fort Davis and get some soldiers. The Indians won't cross that high water yet." We just stood there watching them go until Pa said sternly, "Let's get back inside."

Now we were to wait the hours out wondering how soon the Brazos would run down so the Indians would cross it.

In meantime Bill Hitson, with a muzzle-loading rifle, and John Hitson, with a cap and ball six-shooter, were attempting to defend themselves. They dared not shoot their guns in open range since dozen of arrows would find them before they could re-load. They had to get to a nearby bluff for protection; so John yelled, "Get to that bluff while I hold them off for a minute."

He raised his gun and took aim, and the Indians, knowing these shooting-fire weapons, rode slowly and cautiously while the gun was raised. The next minute John turned to follow his companions, and arrows rained down on all sides. It was at this time that young Jess's horse was arrowed from under him and the poor negro boy, trying to recover his hat, killed.

John Hitson saw Jess was in serious trouble and rushed to drag him back off his saddle. An arrow grazed John's leg just above the ankle, but he had no time to think about that. Bill Hitson paused for a moment to see if his brother and nephew were going to make it to the bluff when an arrow landed in his thigh and pinned him to his saddle. He did manage to get to the bluff, and in a moment John and Jess ran to him. John stood guard while Bill cut the feathered end of the arrow as near to his leg as possible then raised himself up and eased the leg off the arrow, leaving the poisoned dart standing upright in his saddle.

The Indians would not draw closer than fifty yards from the face of the bluff, but clambered quickly above and rolled rocks and threw spears at the horses until one pony fell dead and the other was pitifully wounded. One rock bounced on John's gun, causing it to fire. Those were anxious moments until he could get that clumsy weapon re-loaded.

An hour passed, and both wounded men complained of being thirsty. Little Jess lay on the ground and listened carefully. He believed he could hear water trickling in the gully to the right. This little ten-year-old took a cap box (about the size of a modern vanity case) and crawled on his stomach toward that pleasant sound. Sure enough, a small spring flowed from the bank. Jess filled his cap box and crept to his father with the precious water. He repeated this trip at least a down times so his father and uncle could quench agonizing thirst.

Finally the sun did go down, and kindly darkness hovered over them. The Indians pulled away headed south. They must have figured out that Pres would bring men as soon as he could, and their mood for battle was over. Indians never fought after dark if they could help it.

The moon came out just as the last wounded horse lay down quietly and breathed his last. The hours drugged on, and at four o'clock the moon went down. That's when Bill Hitson decided they'd better try to get to the fort. Jess could help them, and the fort was only three miles away. Within the fort I sat by Pa and strained my ears to hear any strange sound. Once I heard a faint call, and I grabbed Pa's arm and whispered, "Listen, Pa! I hear Indians!"

Pa strained to listen. After a long pause we heard that call again, and Pa jumped to his feet shouting, "That's not Indians! That's the Hitson s!"

The women screamed and ran to the door. There stood their men--wounded to be sure, but very much alive. Mary Hitson fell into her husband's arms, and I grabbed him around the knees. Everybody was covered with blood, but the blood would wash off.

"You're yelling like a bunch of crazy people," laughed Pa. "Wait a minute. I think I hear soldiers comin'." Sure enough, Joe and Marion and sixty soldiers raced into the gate. Now, you never saw a better celebration.

When daylight came, the mounted soldiers spent the morning going over the ground that the three Hitson s had traveled so painfully on foot the few hours before. None of them nor any of us had to be told how brave these Hitson s were. It was no surprise, after Bill had moved to Colorado sometime later, to hear that he was a famous pioneer of those parts. A number of us, well up in years, visited the museum in Denver where Bill Hitson's picture greeted us. It was good to look at a likeness of a dear old friend.

When the soldiers had finished their inspection, the Captain called all our men together and suggested that the whole camp move back to Fort Davis, where soldiers would be stationed for an indefinite time.

There was no argument from anyone after this trying experience.