The Hanna Legacy: Six Generations On Pass Ranch

By David R. Gross

This is a historical novel based on recollections of members of the Hanna family and their collection of family photographs. I put my words into the mouths of the characters to tell their story. The novel is, ostensibly, about the lives and experiences of the male members of the family who owned and operated Pass Ranch, for five generations and

• Language: English
• Publisher: Westwood Books Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Jan 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781648037337

David R. Gross

David R. Gross practiced veterinary medicine for ten years before returning to school to earn MS and PhD degrees. He taught and performed research for thirty-six years, completing his academic career as professor and head of the basic science department at the Veterinary School of the University of Illinois. Gross has co-edited three multi-authored textbooks, authored more than one hundred scientific articles, and given many scientific talks at national and international meetings. Since retirement, he has written and published 3 memoirs, a historical novel and a self-help book. He currently lives in Everett, Washington.

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Copyright © 2020 by David R. Gross.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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CONTENTS

One

Two 

Three 

Four 

Five 

Six 

Seven 

Eight 

Nine 

Ten 

Eleven 

Twelve 

Thirteen 

Fourteen 

Fifteen 

Note from the author 

Bibliography 

ONE

April 10, 1883, Brady Island, Nebraska. It was overcast with a cold mist falling. Two young men stood on the steps of the slow-moving caboose. Both were dressed in homespun shirts, one washed out blue, the other grey, both with ground-in dirt. Only their shirt collars showed above heavy, home spun, wool jackets. Baggy wool pants were stuffed into boot tops. The rain slickers both wore were open in front and reached to their insteps. They wore identical, flat-crowned hats, the brims pulled down in front. Each carried two blankets rolled up in canvas on their left shoulder, their right hands grasping the rail attached to the side of the caboose next to the steps. The elder of the two was my great-grandfather, John Milton Hanna, the other was his brother Jim.

First one then the other stepped off the lower step as the Union Pacific train of twenty, thirty-four foot-long, cattle cars coasted, then jerked to a stop. The doors of the first car lined up exactly at the loading/unloading chute leading to a series of split-rail corrals.

With only an occasional vocalization, the fifty cows in each car waited impatiently for whatever was next in the agenda of their journey. These were native cows, purchased in small lots by part-time cattle dealers in northern Missouri and Iowa. They were consigned as Freight on Board to the Rankin Livestock company in Omaha where this particular trainload of a thousand head of female cattle was assembled. Two hundred and fifty of these mixed-breed animals had been purchased from Hulbert, Hanna and Company headquartered in Fontanelle, Iowa. The Hanna partner in this enterprise was my great-great-grandfather, John Parker Hanna. He was born in the spring of 1823 in Guernsey County, Ohio and was married to Judith Braden, seven years his junior. John P. and Judith were the parents of John Milton (Milt) Hanna, born March 15, 1858, and James (Jim) Elvey Hanna, born less than two years later. Their father arranged with the principal partner of Rankin Livestock, David Rankin of Tarkio, Missouri, for his two oldest sons to accompany the two-hundred and fifty head of cows to Omaha and then to safeguard the entire shipment to Brady Island.

The cows in the shipment were open, not pregnant. The Rankin Livestock Company operated the open range Bar 7 ranch, located in the Nebraska Sand Hills, about eighty miles north and slightly west of Brady Island. Brady was on the Platte River about twenty miles downstream from the-fast growing town of North Platte, Nebraska. The Bar 7 ran some good bulls in their herd and intended this shipment of cows to calve the following spring.

The evening before they departed Milt and Jim sat on stools in front of their father’s chair:

You boys take good care of those cows. Make certain that when you get to Omaha they are all off-loaded, fed good clean hay and watered. All the rest of the cows assigned to Rankin must also be taken care of properly. I want you both to supervise the loading of all the cattle and do it gentle. Don’t let those hands in the stockyards bully ’em or manhandle ’em, just slow and easy.

He waited until each of his sons nodded that they understood.

Good. You boys know how to handle cattle the way I like, no roughness, no injuries. You’ve been doing it my way since you were old enough to not get yourselves hurt. You are both ready to strike out on your own, make your own way. Caleb Stemm is a junior partner in Rankin and is the ramrod of the Bar 7. He’s a good man, a frugal but fair man. If you make a good impression on him he will have work for you.

The three men sat silently then turned their heads to watch Judith reach up to shelve the last of the supper dishes. She crossed the room to ruffle the hair of each of her sons, Milt’s first.

I’m going to bed now. You boys take care and write your Mama when you get the chance. I’ve rolled up a clean shirt and long johns for each of you in your bedrolls. Try to clean yourselves as often as possible, she smiled, and mind your manners. I love you both.

I love you Mama, the two responded in unison.

Without being told, the two positioned themselves, each with his bedroll still on his left shoulder, on either side of the cattle-car door. Milt opened the sliding door to the cattle car just wide enough to let one cow out at a time. The first cow stepped onto the wood ramp, hesitated then ran down into a chute that opened into the first of the pens. Before starting the unloading the two had checked the pens to make certain each had a good supply of hay and access to clean water. After the first cow was out the others crowded to push their way through the door. Milt and Jim knocked lightly on the head of any cows trying to push through, holding them until the cow in the doorway got onto the ramp.

A slim man, nearly six feet tall, his sideburns dark brown, his face weathered and browned, stood next to a chuck wagon loaded with supplies. Three other men stood to his left absorbed in the sticks they were whittling. The older man said nothing but watched intently as the brothers unloaded the first car then waved to the conductor, whom they had befriended on the journey, to direct the train to move forward to unload the next car. Jim opened the door of the second car, now full of bellowing cattle anxious to exit. The first cow out was wide-eyed, snorting snot, sporting a wicked set of horns. As she shoved her way through the door her right hip slammed against the jamb and she took a deliberate swipe at Milt with her left horn. Milt grabbed the horn and pushed it away while hissing at the cow, who bounded down the ramp.

The older man turned to the men still whittling.

Those two know how to handle cattle. Ed you and Jay go give ’em a hand, and mind you go about it as gentle as they do.

Once the cattle were distributed into four of the pens the frequency and volume of bellowing subsided. They found the hay and water and settled in to await the next event in their lives while munching hay or taking long draughts of water. Milt and Jim joined the men who were by then all leaning against the wagon.

Mr. Stemm? Milt addressed the older man.

Yes, I’m Caleb Stemm, he held out his right hand. Milt took it.

I’m J. M. Hanna, folks call me Milt. This is my brother Jim.

Stemm grasped Jim’s hand.

Well, you boys seem to know your way around cattle.

Yes Sir, they both replied.

Good. Do you have a count? How many were lost during the trip?

We both counted an even thousand head, replied Milt. A couple are a little banged up but not limping bad enough to worry about. None died and none seem sick.

Good. Most of the shipments we receive lose four or six animals out of every hundred. I see you boys made certain these cows were packed in tight enough to keep ’em from having enough room to fall and get trampled but not so tight they could suffocate.

Yes Sir.

Good. I want you boys to shake hands with my crew. This here is Ed Cooper, that’s Jay Taylor and Alex Harris here is our cook and meat hunter.

Meat hunter? asked Jim. You don’t slaughter a beef to have meat?

No need, replied Stemm. There’s plenty of game in these parts, antelope, elk, deer, prairie chickens, ducks here on the Platte. We don’t want for meat to eat."

The brothers shook hands with each of the men as they were introduced.

Good. Now I’ve got a thousand head of cows to drive from here to the Bar 7 and, as you can see I’m short-handed. I can offer you boys a job for one year, thirty-five dollars a month and keep. He pointed to a herd of horses grazing nearby. As you can see I’ve got a good bunch of horses, all well-broke and good travelers. After your year is up you can also have your pick of a horse, except ones already spoke for. What do you say?

Sounds good to me, said Milt.

Me too, responded Jim.

Stemm extended his calloused right hand again.

A shake makes it legal.

Each brother took his hard, rough hand in theirs.

Good. You boys each pick a mount for today. I’ve got saddles, bridles, throw ropes and other gear, for you in the wagon. We’re burning daylight here. These cows will find some good grazing as we push ’em north. Maybe the sun will even come out. Let’s get them strung out. Jay, you know the way, take point. Ed you and I will ride flank, Milt, you and Jim ride drag and chase down any that break away from the herd. I expect that spotted cow that did her best to hook Milt will be one who will do her best to get away. Keep tabs on her. Let’s mount up and head ’em out.

Yes Sir, all five men replied.

The clouds did not go away. That afternoon they slowly herded the cows north and slightly west. The drizzle turned to rain. The men pulled their hats down, their coat collars further up, and their rain slickers buttoned tight at the neck. The rain still managed to find its way to seep down inside their back and soak their shirts. The spring grass was coming up bright green and succulent. They allowed the cows to spread out and grab mouthfuls as they trudged along in the increasingly cold rain. Shortly after noon they stopped and allowed the cattle to spread out more to graze. Jay and Ed rode slowly around the herd in opposite directions keeping them from scattering. Once the herd settled they joined the rest of the crew eating cold slices of antelope meat, roasted the previous evening, cold beans and boiled coffee made over a small cooking fire. The dropped down rear gate of the chuck wagon, held level with a stick, served a table from which each man filled a metal dish. After all, had wolfed their food Milt and Jim watched as the men scraped their dishes clean with their forks, scrubbed the plates with some dirt, licked their forks clean, wiped their sheath knife on their pant leg, and replaced it in its sheath. Then Alex wiped each plate and fork with a wet cloth and stacked them a wood box with other plates and utensils. Next, he replaced the lid on the cast iron Dutch oven holding the left-over beans.

Mr. Stemm can you give me and Jim an idea of what the country we’ll be driving through is like? A rough map would help.

Good idea. Alex fetch me a chunk of unlit charcoal from that fire and clear off that end-gate.

Stemm took the piece of charcoal, lifted the Dutch oven back onto the bed of the chuck wagon, then drew this map:

This is north, he indicated with an arrow pointing in the direction. Here’s Brady, where we are now, on the Platte River. The Platte runs mostly east, some southeast. We will go north, slightly northwest, towards the Forks of the Dismal River, here. Then we continue to the Middle Loup River here. There are several road ranches and erstwhile towns along the Middle Loup. I’ll mark ’em for you. You’ll no doubt learn where all of ’em are in the coming year. From west to east are; Hyannis, Whitman, Mullen, Seneca, Thedford and Halsey. The southwest corner of the Bar 7 is here, near the Forks of the Dismal. We run northwest to Duck Lake, a little north of Whitman, then the boundary goes northeast to the falls of the North Loup River, over the North Loup to the valley of the Wamaduze Creek, then east to Brownlee, southeast to near Halsey, then back to the Forks of the Dismal.

I thought everything was open range, observed Milt. Does the Bar 7 have some sort of legal claim to all that land? How much is there?

We cover about eighty square miles, Stemm replied. The land is all government owned, no fences are allowed, but each of the outfits running cattle have established a sort of home range and we all, for the most part, respect the boundaries. But cattle will roam and we do our best to return other brands to their owners. Unbranded calves go with their dams, providing the cows are branded. Sometimes they are not and who ever puts a rope on the unbranded cow is free to put their brand on it and the calf. The whole of the Sand Hills was surveyed back in the seventies but, so far, there are no sod-busters, no homesteaders. When that happens and fences start going up, we’ll no doubt see trouble.

Milt stared at his boss for a long moment.

So, there are no confrontations about ownership of an animal or about boundaries that overlap?

Stemm’s lips curled into something that resembled a smile.

Have you ever known of a boundary dispute that didn’t cause tempers to flare?

Milt shook his head.

The Bar 7 headquarters are on the Middle Loup, about two miles east of Seneca. We’re going to push these cattle north of there, towards Brownlee on the North Loup.

What’s the deal with all those towns and road ranches along the Middle Loup? What exactly are road ranches?

"Ah, road ranches. You may or may not be aware that there never was a single Oregon trail. Immigrants would spread out along the Platte and Middle Loup