The elder
Edwards had moved to his present home some fifteen years previous,
carrying with him a stock of horses and cattle, which had increased
until in 1866 he was regarded as one of the substantial ranchmen in
the Brazos valley. The ranch house was a stanch one, built at a
time when defense was to be considered as well as comfort, and was
surrounded by fine cornfields. The only drawback I could see there was
that there was no market for anything, nor was there any money in the
country. The consumption of such a ranch made no impression on the
increase of its herds, which grew to maturity with no demand for the
surplus.
I soon became impatient to do something. George Edwards had likewise
lost four years in the army, and was as restless as myself. He knew
the country, but the only employment in sight for us was as teamsters
with outfits, freighting government supplies to Fort Griffin. I should
have jumped at the chance of driving oxen, for I was anxious to stay
in the country, and suggested to George that we ride up to Griffin.
But the family interposed, assuring us that there was no occasion for
engaging in such menial work, and we folded our arms obediently, or
rode the range under the pretense of looking after the cattle. I might
as well admit right here that my anxiety to get away from the Edwards
ranch was fostered by the presence of several sisters of my former
comrade.
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