The
Double Mountain ranch was my pride, and before leaving, the foreman
and I outlined some landed additions to fill and square up my
holdings, in case it should ever be necessary to fence the range.
On my return to the Clear Fork, the ranch outfit had just finished
gathering from my own and adjoining ranges fifteen hundred bulls for
distillery feeding. The sale had been effected by correspondence with
my former customer, and when the herd started the two of us drove on
ahead into Fort Worth. The Illinois man was an extensive dealer in
cattle and had followed the business for years in his own State, and
in the week we spent together awaiting the arrival of his purchase, I
learned much of value. There was a distinct difference between a range
cowman and a stockman from the older Western States; but while the
occupations were different, there was much in common between the two.
Through my customer I learned that Western range cattle, when well
fatted, were competing with grass beeves from his own State; that they
dressed more to their gross weight than natives, and that the quality
of their flesh was unsurpassed. As to the future, the Illinois buyer
could see little to hope for in his own country, but was enthusiastic
over the outlook for us ranchmen in the Southwest. All these things
were but straws which foretold the course of the wind, yet neither of
us looked for the cyclone which was hovering near.
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