Member of Demmon Family Tells of His Early Experiences

The Lusk Herald, May 4, 1944

By Ed. P. Demmon

My father and mother (O.J. Demmon---Mary C. Pennock) both came from Illinois, father came from Waukegan and mother came from Rockford. They came in the the year 1866.This trip from Illinois to Colorado was made in a covered wagon. The first place my parents landed, arrived in Colorado was where the city of Longmont now is located.

They were married in Wellington, Colorado in 1867 and moved to Cheyenne in 1868. In Cheyenne they engaged in the milk business until1875. Early in the summer of 1876 Dad left Cheyenne and started north looking for a satisfactory open country suitable for stock raising. After traveling for a few days we passed through old Ft. Laramie. In a day or town we headed north again. we encountered buffalo, elk, deer and antelope on the way, and the Indians were becoming more numerous . We were expecting trouble from the Indians and kept a sharp look out for any emergency, but fortunately our fears were unfounded. A couple of days after leaving Ft. Laramie we camped on a little stream called Indian Springs. The camp site was about thirty-seven miles north of Ft. Laramie. We arrived on July 3, 1876. this was to be our new home and Dad renamed it Silver Springs. My folks were still living there when I left Wyoming many years later.

For many years we were the only settlers north of Fort Laramie. Twice a year Dad would make a trip to Cheyenne for provisions.

There were only four children in the family at the time. Irvin,LeRoy, William, Lillie May  and myself. This must have been fertile country for in a short time the family grew to thirteen youngsters, ten boys and three girls.

In the meantime, Dad went into the business of raising stock, horses and cattle. Eventually the country began to be settled by other people. it seemed rather strange for us to have neighbors. In fact, we hardly knew how to act, we were so much like young Indians.

The first neighbor that I remember was Old Lady Mack, better known by some as Old Lady Feather Legs. This poor unfortunate soul was shot and killed by a man who worked for Dad. He used Dad's own gun. The fellow's name was George Larcart. He left the country after the shooting and was never heard of again.

About this time there sprung up a little town seven miles north of our ranch which was named Silver Cliff. This name, however, was soon changed to Running Water, and this name, too, was changed shortly to Lusk, after Frank Lusk.

A person who stands out in my memory was Mrs. Stiffler, who lived at the foot of the Demmon Hill. (This was more commonly called Old Lady Mack Hill.) I believe her ranch was located about seven miles south east of the Hill on a little stream.

Others I remember were the Moore brothers, who operated a horse ranch about seven miles south of the old "Rawhide" post office, and the two Thorps, Russell Sr., and Russell Jr. was just a little kid then. Ed Mays was located a little farther up the Rawhide. He had a ranch, and also ran a blacksmith shop. One day while he was shoeing a horse, the critter kicked Ed in the stomach. Ed lived only a couple days after that. A Mr. Adams took over Ed My's place and he was still there when I left the country. Continuing further up the road we come to Old Lady Mack's place. She lies buried there on her old ranch. Also buried on this ranch are George McFadden, Frank Ketchum, and Ike Diapert. McFadden was shot and killed by Frank Ketchum, and Ike Diapert killed himself over Mrs. Stiffler. He carried two bottles, one containing flour, and the other strychnine. Evidently he was running a bluff on Mrs. Stiffler and sampled the wrong bottle. At any rate he lies along with his "friends."

Then there was Tom Black's ranch over on Willow Creek near the famous Flat Top Mountain. East of the Gill Hobbs ranch. Gill Hobs used to work for Mr. Baron in Lusk. And there was Ed. L. Patrick's ranch down on South Rawhide. I worked for Ed for awhile. there was Mr, Kingman and his son Harvy. They had a saw-mill at the foot of Rawhide Buttes on the north side.

Miss Emma Stover was our first school teacher. Dad brought her up from Cheyenne. We had our own school house right in our yard. Miss Stover later married Frank Watt. Our next teacher was Alonza Ellison, a one-legged man who later married Abbie Pate.

Other old timers I will mention briefly are Jim Mays, who published the Lusk Herald. Lee Miller, Harry Snyder, Goddard, Saffell, Wesley Wolfe, Willson Brothers from Near Manville, and Ad Spaugh. Johnny Kendrick was a very close friend of ours, and was foreman of the O.W., and later became Governor and United States Senator. 

This little account would not be complete without mentioning Ed Arnold, also better known as "Spud" Arnold. Ed was, on one occasion, mid-wife, and helped a certain Miss Weabaugh. Well, the babe grew to be a man, at least.

In recalling the memory of these old friends, and thinking over the many things that happened, I am reminded of an unusual event that occurred on the Silver Springs horse ranch. One time, when I was a small boy, the Indians were some times pretty bad, but we never had any real trouble with them. A band of so-called "Wild Indians" got away and the Governor was fearful that they might make some e trouble for the ranchers so he had a detachment of soldiers sent out from Ft. Laramie to take care of t hem. They were up in the neighborhood of Hat Creek, and these soldiers camped over night at our place. There was one soldier, a fine man and well educated, but who had a weakness of hitting the bottle, who got drunk, and stayed that way all one day. He was quite troublesome, and it took several soldiers to keep him in check. After they had gotten into camp and things apparently were under control, this drunken soldier grabbed a gun and fired it accidentally  killing an officer. The drunk was put in a tent under guard, but somehow the others managed to get a rope around his neck, and was dragging him on his stomach in search of that lone tree on the side of the hill just west of out old house. The other officers made them bring him back. He was placed under guard again while plans were made to take  him back to Fort Laramie the following day.

However, during the night the guard was again overpowered and the drunken soldier was found the next morning hanging from the ridge pole of the tent. That morning he was buried right there, and his grave was still there when I left that country fifty-three years ago. The grave is located about one-hundred fifty yards west of our house. One day LeRoy and Will and myself, to be sure this fellow was still there, dug into his grave. His bones were there all right, and while we had them uncovered we thought we might just as well take the gold out of his teeth, which we did. He was buried only about eighteen inches down, so it wasn't much of a job to uncover the remains. This was one little stunt our Dad never knew about.

I wonder if there are any old timers who remember Charley Gunn, who used to be constable, and was shot and killed by Bill McCoy? Bill did something one night at a dance that Charley didn't like and he was told not to do it again. The next day when Charley entered one of the saloons, Bill McCoy happened to be in there, and he asked Charley Gunn if he was "heeled". Charley replied, "I'm always heeled," and went for his six-shooter. Bill beat Charley to the draw and shot him in the stomach, and before Charley could gather himself together, Bill shot him again in the  head. Bill skipped out, but was finally caught and put into jail. The next night his girl friend sawed him out but was caught again shortly after that and taken to Cheyenne. He broke jail again, and never was heard of again.

(To be continued)

The Lusk Herald, June 1, 1944

Member of Demmon Family Relates Some Experiences in Pioneering Days

Second Article by Ed. P. Demmon

Well! The third day of July, 1876, found the Demmon family located on a little stream called Indian Springs, 137 miles from Cheyenne, and 37 miles from Fort Laramie, with no neighbors to visit with nor to borrow anything from when one runs out of something like butter, salt, flour, coffee or what have you. The only friends we had were the Indians, and it seemed to be our good fortune to be on the right side of them, but Dad was always leery of then and carried his gun with him most of the time. It was a .45 Army carbine. The most logical thing to do first was to build a house to live in---that is, it might have been but Dad didn't do that, although the summer was rapidly fading away and it wouldn't be long before winter would be upon us. Sometimes winter comes in a hurry in that country. At any rate, Dad had brought a plow with him and some potatoes, and some other seed that would be useful for winter food when grown, so Dad plowed up a small patch and planted potatoes, corn, turnips  and a few other things. When that was done it was then about the middle of July and high time to think about something to live in, so we went to work building our first house. As the picture of the old ranch house showed, the first part of the house was built out of stone. It had one room with a large fire place and the dirt floor, and I remember now that there was also a dirt roof. We had no sooner got that part of the house built and moved into than Dad began to plan an addition. He and mother and George Larcart got out some logs and by the first of the year we had an addition to our house--this time made out of logs, with a board floor, but still a roof of dirt. That winter Dad dug a cellar under the house and ran a small passageway from the cellar to a little fort he had made about 150 feet from the house. The fort was about 10 feet square, and about five feet square and built up about two feet. It was made out of stone. To my knowledge, the little fort was never used for the purpose it was built for.

Late that fall our little farm yielded us some nice potatoes, turnips and squash, and with plenty of wind game we lived like kings that winter.

The old Demmon ranch was built on the old Black Hills stage road that rand from Denver to Deadwood, South Dakota. In the early days Dad did quite a bit of freighting over that road from Denver to Deadwood.

Early in the '80's, Dad decided he wanted more room and a better house. It also was built out of logs, but this time we had board floors and a shingle roof. The shingles were had made. We cut blocks about 16 inches long and and shingles were split off of this block with a large cleaver. These were very satisfactory shingles, but quite expensive. After the house was finished, which was a seven-room house, we moved in, and we really thought we were somebody.

The latchstring of the Demmon ranch was always hung on the outside and anyone that happened along and was tired and hungry we always had room for one more.

Many an ox train traveled that road and would put up at our place over-night. I remember very well one outfit that came that way. There were three sections--three wagons to an outfit. One lead wagon and two trailer wagons, and one of these outfits had four or five yoke of oxen on it, and they were loaded with bottled beer going to old Fort Laramie. Running south from our place, just around the bend, was a very steep soft dirt hill, and when it rained it would wash great holes in the road and become very dangerous to drive over . Early in the morning this outfit started on their way and got stuck, so they doubled up and put about ten yoke of oxen on that one outfit. The bull whackers began to punch up their oxen and to swing those old bull whips, and finally they got started, but they had not gone far before one of the trailers upset and beer ran everywhere. Some caught the beer on the wagon sheets. Many had all the beer they wanted. The bull whackers found it necessary to stay another night at the Demmon ranch. The next morning they unloaded the wagon, raised it and reloaded it, and were soon on their way to the Fort again. Since the beer bottles were packed in large barrels the bottles were easily broken, especially when the wagon upsets in a big water hole.

(To be continued)

The Lusk Herald, June 29, 1944

Member of Demmon Family Relates Some Experiences

Third and final article by Ed. P. Demmon

When one looks back upon their childhood days and sees the hardships and the pleasure, too, and looks about on this last generation with all modern devices for producing pleasure and comfort, one can't help wondering whether it really is "pleasure" and "comfort" that we have with us today.

In the early days we had the great wide open country ahead of us. And we had all the meat (with no points unless it was the five points on the buck deer.) Let me tell you, those were real days.

When we left Cheyenne with a half dozen head of horses and cattle, where would we stop? On Indian Springs, of course (later called Silver Springs). Here we started to work in earnest and in less that 15 years were had in the neighborhood of 300 of the finest horses in that section of the country. In addition to this, we had about 100 head of cattle.

I used to help take care of those horses and in the summer time we used to range them about a mile and a half west in the little valley we called the Venture.

Ed Arnold and John Pfister lived in the extreme north end of the valley. Each had a ranch there, and in the winter time we just turned the horses loos and gathered them up again in the spring. Their range ran from Willow Creek down around the old JM, Van Tassell and up in around the LZ. And those roundup days were cold and rainy days, sitting on a horse all day, so that when one got to the ranch he could hardly walk. Lucky, though, we had good friends and neighbors like Van Tassell and others, so we used to get a good hot meal once in a while.

I remember an old Spaniard on the Van Tassell ranch. They called him "Old Al." He carried Van Tassell off of an Indian battleground one day and saved his life and Al had a home the rest of his life.

He was quite old when I left that country, but he was still there. I remember I used to like to hear him sing. It was a hard job sometimes to keep out cattle and the buffalo separated. Sometimes one would get in the corral with the cattle, but just as soon as he got his eye on you, if you were afoot, he would clear that fence with no trouble at all. Dad used to be a great hand to have mail contracts that ran from Hat Creek to Rawhide and Patrick, and later from Hat Creek the buffalo would be so thick one would have to stop and let them cross the road, and antelope by the thousands. Finally the country got so thickly settled it was hard to find wild meat of any kind. Then we used to buy sow belly at 5 cents a pound, and for coffee we used to use Arbuckle's, and thought it pretty good, and then once in a while we used to get some XXXX. I remember one time when Dad made one of his regular trips to Cheyenne for provisions. He bought up 100 pounds of green coffee he got a the Fort, and then mother had to roast it. that made fine coffee. That was late in the fall when Dad made that trip when it was cold and stormy. Dad got off the wagon to walk a way to warm up. He got tired of walking and started to get back on the wagon and in some way slipped and fell under the front wheels of the wagon. The wheels ran over his leg and broke  it in tow places just above the knee. He called to the team to stop, and they did. He then pulled himself up on a four-horse wagon seat and drove seven miles into Chugwater in a blinding snowstorm. It cost him $700 for a doctor to come out from Cheyenne to set the bone, and then it was four inches short.

He broke the same leg about a year later and set it himself and gained a couple of inches. Mother came down and brought him home from Chugwater and I can remember quite well seeing him sitting in the bottom of the wagon. Mother could handle those four lines as well as any of them then, and ride a horse just as well. She only weighed 107 pounds then.

During the World's Fair at Chicago in 1893, they had a 10,000-mile horse race that started at Chadron, Nebraska. We had two horses in that race. Jim Fisk and Kernel. Doc Middleton rode the two horses and came nearly winning the race.

Going back to the early '80's, we had a little mining boom. They located what they thought was a shaft house and sunk a shaft. and they also built a small smelter, and the machinery was hauled up from Cheyenne. But I don't think the mine ever paid. I remember very well when the shaft house burned down.

I want to mention just a few more old-timers, and see if there are any of them left up there. There is Bill Crepps who used to ride the range up there in the early days; and Billy Dennick, George Lessick. Billy Dennick was mail clerk on the Fremont, Elkhorn and Missouri Valley road when I left there. And there were the Quinn boys, George and Ernest, and Jakie Mill. Jakie's nephew, Frederick Mill, lives in Boulder. I know him well. And there is Frank DeCastro, Francis Montague, John Story at Hat Creek, and many others.

Here is one little story that I would like to tell on LeRoy Demmon--"Believe it or not." He used to love hunting and trapping very much. One day he set his traps and later that night he made the rounds to see what he had caught, and, bless your life, he had two beaver. He took then home and put then in the dining room for the night, and put a tub of water in the room for them to play in. The next morning when LeRoy peeked into the dining room to see how his beaver were. they had upset the tub of water and then gnawed the legs off the tables trying to dam up the water!

The end.

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