OUR STUDY WINDOW.
The Opening of the Strip.
"Won't you have some? Do; help yourself," said a large burly Irishman sitting opposite me on board a Santa Fe train going southward through the new territory of Oklahoma, recently opened. I had selected my seat because of the variety of character to be studied from it. Before我 sat the Irishman, evidently a professional "dead beat:" a thick, heavy set man, with a red face and low forehead, and a bushy head of ungovernable hair. He had taken a thick piece of bread covered with yellow butter from a greasy paper sack, and then offered another to me. A gambler sat by the Irishman: he was slight of stature, salow complexion, with black eyes and hair. By my side sat a farmer's boy, a great big overgrown baby, with a countenance lacking intelligence. Around us were men of almost every character.
The ride through the strip is about sixty miles, over a barren, waste country. The grass had been burned and the prairie was black as far as eye could see. The stopping places were simply Indian stations; here and there a town-site was laid out, of which only the surveyor's stakes could now be seen. As we rolled on, our Irish friend entertained us with some of his many experiences while trying to 'beat' his way on the train. His favorite plan was to plead poverty, and the dependence of a wife and seven children. My companions left me at the little station of Orlando at the south edge of the strip. I continued my journey to Guthrie, twenty miles distant.
At Guthrie I was met by my uncle who placed me in training preparatory to making the race. My uncle's family consisted of himself, his wife and a son, twenty years of age. My uncle is a man of almost perfect physical proportions, six feet two inches tall and weighing almost two hundred pounds. My aunt is quite a small woman, weighing less than a hundred pounds. My cousin Al has the will and independence of my uncle, but unlike him, is small of stature. Did I say this was all the family? No, it was not; there were two young ladies; one a visitor from a western Kansas town, a very jolly girl of eighteen, the other was a Kentucky belle then residing in Guthrie, a very dear friend of my cousin's. She had jet black eyes and hair, was just a little below medium height, and very pretty. She had an appealing way of rolling her eyes when she wanted anything, and one could not deny her request.
It was just a week before the opening, and I had to go into training at once. Of course we intended to make the race on horseback, and I being a Kansas house plant, must be hardened so that I could stand a jog of sixteen miles. We, my cousin and myself, rode morning and evening,—rode, not on a gallop, but on a jolting trot. My horse was a bay Texas broncho, not especially noted for his speed as a racer, but with an enviable reputation as a stayer, and as tough as some of the beefsteak served at College boarding clubs.
Our plan was this: we would increase our number to six, ride to Orlando on Thursday, register Friday, then be ready for the race on Saturday. In accordance with this plan, we invited Bud, a young man with a very broad hat and a black pony, to join us; also Sam, a tall gaunt fellow with a far away gaze and a large bony bay mare, a race horse with a short tail, and Leslie, a regular Missourian who had become thoroughly acquainted with Oklahoma manners and customs, and who rode the ugliest yellow pony I ever saw. This constituted our company as we left Guthrie early Thursday morning for Orlando. My uncle lead the way with a covered democrat wagon in which were stored our provisions. On the seat by his side sat a huge tan colored bull dog named Dan. Back of the wagon we followed, riding our horses.
We reached Orlando about three o'clock in the afternoon, after an uneventful journey, drove immediately to an acquaintances, and stabled our horses. As I have already said, Orlando is a small country town, very much like other country towns, except that on this occasion the place was flooded with people of all kinds and all classes. If you can imagine the crowd that frequents the thoroughfare of a large city on a busy day then you may have some idea of this crowd. To add to the discomfort, there had been no rain for four or five weeks and the wind blew great clouds of dust: water was scarce, food of all kinds was nearly exhausted, and there was the great crowd dirty, hungry, thirsty. The booths were situated a mile north of the town
on the state line. The road leading to the booths was lined with people coming and going. There was a village of tents around the booths, and this village was crowded with people. From each of the five booths extended a line a mile in length—a list of men and women waiting to register. They were numbered and wore their numbers on their hats as train passengers carry tickets.
We slept in a tent on Thursday evening and went to the booths Friday morning. How to register in the quickest way was the question now confronting us. We lined up and received our numbers, but this promised to be a slow process as we would doubtless have to wait until Saturday morning before registration, remaining in line all night. This was not a pleasant prospect. However, my uncle knew the superintendent of the booths quite well, and about ten o'clock he took me to the superintendent's headquarters and introduced me to him. The superintendent asked我 to accompany him, which I did most zealously. After we had walked around a few moments conversing, the superintendent entered one of the booths, stationing me outside the rope which surrounded the booth and served to keep the people away. In a moment, within the hearing of the clerks, the superintendent turned and inquired in a loud voice, "Where is that boy who brought those papers?" I called out, "Here he is," and was told to come in and register. How the other boys registered I do not know, but when I returned to the wagon for dinner I found they had all registered.
About four o'clock my aunt and the two girls arrived on the train and we showed them the town. In the evening we hitched up, drove out to the edge of the town and camped for the night. After a good hot supper we went to bed, my aunt and the two girls sleeping in the wagon, and my uncle and cousin and I on the ground underneath the wagon. Old Dan kept guard. The night was cold and we almost froze. About four o'clock I was awakened by the cry of "Whon! Joe, here's your mule." The cry was uttered first at a considerable distance in the quiet of the cool morning air, then taken up by other voices nearer until it seemed to me that hundreds were uttering it. After breakfast we drove back to town and held a council as to the best way of entering the strip. After careful consultation we decided to give up the former plan and instead to board the first train and make for the town of Perry, ten miles away. This was our fatal mistake. The special agent of the Interior department and the officials of the Santa Fe were quarreling about the point from which the train should start, the agent desiring the train to start from the state line, and the officials from the town of Criando. This was important to us, because we must know when to board the train. We followe the advice of the interior department and went to the state line.
As the time neared twelve o'clock the people began to form in line for the race. All along the railroad track was a great mass of people expecting to take the train. On either side as far as the eye could see was a motley herd of men, women and children; some with wagons, some on horseback some with mule or ox teams, some in fine buggies awaiting the signal to start. At 11:40 a gun was fired by someone and the whole line suddenly darted forward. The signal was a false one, but there was no stopping the line; forward it rushed. We could see the race but a mile, as a row of hills hid it from view beyond this distance. It was in some respects a pleasant sight. As the great mass of horses bent low in the race running with their great strength and began to take the positions according to their speed, the race was very exciting. But in a few moments the unharmed racers were beyond the hills. Now, as we looked back on the prairie over which the race had been made we saw the remains of hundreds of broken vehicles—some with a wheel missing, some with two wheels missing, some smashed to pieces. Around some of these conveyances stood women with babes in their arms, children and old men. The women were crying, the children screaming, the old men with their last hope of getting an earthly home shattered.
This was too much for me. I turned away.
of one boy, who, seeing a brake underneath a car not occupied crawled under the car when the train was moving, rode on the brake ten miles, and crawled out again while the train was still moving.
away.
But where was our train? It was now past the starting time and no train had appeared. At 12:20 the first train steamed out of the city and passed us without stopping. It had been loaded in town. Every available place was occupied; above the cars, below the cars, in the cars, on the engine, everywhere that a human being could stick, there one clung. I know
The second and third trains steamed by as packed and jammed with humanity as ever. The fourth train stopped, and we mounted a flat car, As we flew along with the train we could see people standing on the hills, their flags flying on the quarter sections they claimed. Leaving Perry we overtook some of the riders whose horses had almost tagged out. Crossing a deep ravine I saw at its bottom a horse saddled and bridled with its neck broken. As we steamed into Perry, what had been a week before a barren waste, showing only the surveyor's stakes, was now covered with human beings. While the train was still moving, a woman threw her baggage out of the window of the car and then jumped out herself. What became of her I never learned. When the train stopped my mcleus, cousin and myself jumped off, ran to one side of the town, and took possession of three lots, which we held for a couple of hours, but finally gave up because they were valueless.
After giving up the lots, we spent the time until the first train went south in walking around the town and viewing the sights. Sick horses, some of them fine spirited and beautiful animals, having been over-ridden, were now in the agonies of death. Upon nearly every business lot there was a fight in progress concerning its ownership. In some places women even fought with men. I remember one laughable sight, where a woman and a man were occupying the same lot. The woman had concluded that the best way to get rid of the man was to throw his belongings into the street, and she was hard at work when I came up. The man was imploring her to cease her efforts to displace his property, and permit the marshal, whom he had sent for, to decide the case. She was crying, but still de termined, and would not accede to his wishes. Finally, his patience was overtaxed; he jumped up, shook his fist in her face, and screamed out: "Madam, I would give fifty dollars if you were a man!" Then the crowd in ternosed and separated them.
There were two blocks reserved, one for a court house square, the other for a public park. The business lots faced these reserve blocks. The "sooners" had removed the stakes so that the location of lots was very uncertain. As I was passing the court house square reserve, a man hailed me, wanting to sell his lot. I thought it in the reserve and told him so but he was vehement in his protestations to the contrary. Finally we struck a bargain for $5; I having only 50 cents in change, paid him that to bind the bargain, took possession of the lot, and in turn hailed every man who passed to sell out to him. Two gentlemen came up and proposed renting the lot. I rented it to them for one month for $5, and went on $4 ahead. Somehow I never could find the man from whom I purchased the lot to pay him the balance.
During the afternoon my aunt and the two girls came up to see the town of Perry. We accidentally met them, and after showing them the sights all took the five o'clock train, the women for Guthrie, Al and myself for Orlando. Late in the evening we built a camp-fire, made some coffee, and enjoyed one of the best meals I ever ate. It consisted of strong coffee, dry bread and onions. About nine o'clock Al and I saddled our horses and started for home, preferring a ride through the night rather than through the heat of the morrow's sun. About one o'clock we arrived in Guthrie, dirty and hungry.
What became of the rest of the party? My uncle had taken the afternoon train for home. Sam, Bud and Leslie, when they saw how late the morning train was in starting returned to the stable, saddled their horses and made the race on horseback. After a time they came to a quarter section claimed by a man without a hat, but with a long story about his horse's having run off and left him, who seemed anxious to sell his right. Thinking him a sooner, they with the assistance of a Winchester and a couple of revolvers, prevailed upon him to waive all claims to the quarter and depart. In the course of a week they returned to Guthrie and related their experience.
What do I think of the opening? I think it is one of the most dangerous and unfair methods ever devised by man for settling new territory. L. W. R.
L. W. B.
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