Ark City

By Richard Haddock

Jack Chaney was just eighteen when he first rode into Arkansas City, Kansas, at the dawn of the twentieth century as a cow hand on a cattle drive from Texas. Disenchanted with the life of a cowboy, he decided to stay in Ark City and seek his fortune there. What unwinds for Jack is a saga involving three marriages, two World Wars, a career as Chief of Police, and a life that spanned over a hundred years. A story of joy, heartbreak, lust, unparalleled heroics, and more ups and downs than a roller coaster.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781663242556

Richard Haddock

Dr. Haddock is retired and lives with his wife, Marilyn, in Northern Virginia.

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Copyright © 2022 Richard Haddock.

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ISBN: 978-1-6632-4254-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-4255-6 (e)

iUniverse rev. date:  07/18/2022

CONTENTS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

Epilogue

Obituary

Dedicated To:

Bill Dickerman, Jr.

Rosemary Mavis

Jim Curtis

Gary Stephen

All The Fencils

Scootie & Jake

Raymond & Pinky

Aaron Bruce Smith

Mary June Lindley

The Ark City High School Class of 1962

1

T HE FIVE COWBOYS SAT AROUND the camp fire, their stomachs warm and full from dinner on the trail. Tomorrow was the last day of the drive, bringing payday and a couple of nights in civilization before the long trip back to San Antonio. Out in the stillness of what had only recently been Indian Territory, several hundred head of Longhorns were grazing, their last meal before their rendezvous with the slaughter house tomorrow.

Jack Chaney took a final sip of his coffee and tossed the remains onto the ground in front of him. He hung his tin cup in its designated place on the chuck wagon and stretched expansively. Reckon it’s time to relieve Buck, he said, referring to the cowboy who was currently riding watch over the herd.

Hope that old coot is still awake, the cook, Lefty Monroe said.

Another cowboy chuckled. Hard to tell one way or the other with that old man, he said.

Ain’t that the damned truth, Lefty replied, shaking his head. Hope you don’t spend the rest of the night rounding up strays, Jack.

I don’t know why you signed that old fart on in the first place, Sarge, the other cowboy said, spitting a stream of tobacco juice towards the fire.

Sarge Reynolds, the trail boss, said, Cause even when Buck is asleep he’s twice as good at his job as you damned fools.

Everyone laughed at the comment but Jack thought it was spot on from his observations. Seemed that Buck was always picking up the slack for the other hands. Jack wondered what the other cowboys said about him behind his back?

The other four men were all veteran cowboys while Jack was on his first drive. Being here just a few miles south of the Kansas border was as far north as he’d ever been in his life. This flat land of red clay, sagebrush and jack rabbits was the final home for various Indian tribes from the east, uprooted from their homelands and driven west years ago, many Cherokee and Choctaw dying along the infamous trail of tears. Originally designated Indian Territory, the area officially gave way to Oklahoma, a Choctaw combination of Okla and Humma, (Red People), when the area became the 46th state in 1907. Jack had learned all this from Buck, who seemed to be chock full of facts and stories.

Jack mounted his horse and headed out into the darkness to relieve Buck. Despite the other hands’ view of Buck, Jack liked the old man. Over the past weeks they had enjoyed quite a few conversations and Jack had learned a great deal about driving cattle from a man who had done it his whole life. Buck was short in stature, with a barrel chest and a weathered complexion that reflected his years on the trail. Despite his stature Jack knew that the old man was strong as an ox. His snow white beard and the constant twinkle in his eye made him look like a cowboy version of Santa Claus to Jack. Add a dry sense of humor and a seemingly endless well of amusing stories and he had become Jack’s newest friend these past weeks.

The night was particularly dark, no moon, and Jack found Buck only by locating the orange glow of his cigar.

How you be, Chaney? the older man asked as Jack arrived at his side.

Fair to middling.

What’s for supper? Buck asked.

Rabbit stew and biscuits.

Buck grunted. Again?

Jack laughed. Yeah, seems that once Lefty cooks something we gotta eat every scrap of it before he moves on to something new.

Don’t I know it. Buck sighed and puffed on his cigar. Well, you don’t get fat on a cow drive, son. You just hope you don’t die from the chow.

Jack laughed again. He loved the old man’s sense of humor. So, how many drives is this for you, Buck?

The older man mumbled as he counted to himself. Finally, he gave up on an accurate number. Too many to count, he announced dryly.

That’s a lot of cattle, Jack observed.

Reckon it is, Buck offered. So, why did you sign on? he asked. It can’t be for the money.

Jack considered the question, decided he knew this man well enough to be honest with him. Guess you could say I’m running away from home.

Things that bad?

Jack sighed. The old man’s a mean drunk and he’s drunk most of the time.

Yeah, I had one of them too, Buck confessed. The herd moved slowly in the dark, trying to find some fresh grass for dinner. I hear you was born in a whore house, Buck added in his matter-of-fact manner.

Jack frowned in the dark. He had lived his whole life with this less-than-flattering knowledge, knew that his mother had given him to the Preacher Chaney and his wife when Jack was two years old. When Preacher Chaney’s wife later died of the cholera, the man of god took to drinking and taking his grief out on Jack. That’s what they tell me, Jack said with a sigh.

Buck turned in his saddle to face the younger man. Didn’t mean to rile you up, Chaney, just wanted to clear up the gossip I’ve heard.

Nothing like being direct, Buck. I’ve learned to accept the facts.

It takes a man with gumption to admit such things, Buck said.

Jack nodded, not exactly sure what gumption meant. At six two Jack towered over the other cowboys, his dark, high-cheeked complexion reflecting a possible Indian heritage, but his clear blue eyes hinted at a half breed lineage, not an unusual trait for many in these parts. His handsome clean-shaven face was topped by a thick head of black hair that sat atop a lean, muscular body. What other parts of the gossip you want to clear up? he asked.

Buck appeared to have a list from his prompt response. You nineteen or twenty?

Eighteen.

You still a virgin?

Jesus, Buck. Ain’t that a little personal?

Well?

Jack paused, tried to determine whether the truth would fare better or worse than a lie. Yes, he said with a sigh of exasperation.

Nothing to be ashamed of. At your age the chances are about fifty-fifty one way or the other so I was just taking an educated guess. Anyway, we all been in that state at one time. If you’d like I’ll take care of that for you when we get to Ark City. They got some pretty handsome women there as I recall.

Seems to me that’s something a man needs to take care of by himself, Jack offered.

Just offering to lend a hand.

With respect, I’d appreciate it if you kept your hands to yourself in such matters, Jack replied as they both laughed. So, what else does Ark City have to offer?

Couple of good bars, two clean hotels, a pool hall and plenty of churches if they hold any interest for you.

No churches for me. I just have a hankering for a hot bath and a lot of cold beer, Jack said. How long we going to be staying?

Believe Sarge only wants to stay a few days. He’s got an itch to get back to San Anton’ as soon as he can.

Got a family there does he?

Most likely got another herd to drive.

Jack winced at the thought. Can I tell you something, Buck?

Shoot, kid.

This job ain’t exactly what I thought it would be. Not that I’m afraid of hard work in all kinds of weather, but, well, this may be my first and only cattle drive.

Can’t blame you for that attitude, but what the hell else you gonna do?

I was hoping there’d be some prospects in Ark City.

I’m sure there are, but finding something to your liking might be a little tough. What suits your fancy?

Jack shook his head. It makes me no never mind, but herding cattle sure ain’t it.

Buck nodded in the dark. Well, cattle drives is all I’ve ever known in my nearly fifty-odd years and you are right to follow just about any other path. The railroads are making the job of us cowboys obsolete anyway. So, I understand your feelings, but don’t sound off to those cowpokes back at the camp fire. They’d think you’re disrespecting their profession. Like me, it’s all they’ve ever known.

I don’t mean to disrespect you, Buck. Just saying what’s on my mind.

It’s been my experience that saying what’s on your mind can get you into a heap of trouble depending on what you say and who you says it to.

I’m glad I can be honest with you, Buck.

Yeah, I reckon everybody needs somebody they can talk to about things. Glad you feel comfortable talking to me. Just take all I say with a grain of salt though. I’ve been known to have some strange opinions on certain subjects.

So what’s happening tomorrow?

Buck took a puff on his cigar, the tip flaring orange. We’re just a few miles from the state line so we’ll be there by noon. We’ll drive the herd over the Arkansas and right to the slaughter house there on the south side of town. Then we’ll get paid. We’ll check into a hotel, take a hot bath and find us a cold beer and a decent meal.

Sounds like a great way to end this adventure for me, Jack said.

Yeah, Buck answered, looking up into the dark sky. Hope you remember this as an adventure when you think back on it, kid. To the rest of us it’s just a damned job. Another puff on his cigar. Reckon I’ll head back and have some chow. The herd’s been quiet so you should have an easy night of it.

Thanks for the talk, Buck. I’ll buy you a beer tomorrow.

Probably more than one, kid. See you then.

Jack listened as Buck moved his horse slowly through the darkness back towards the camp. The snorts and farts of the cattle were a familiar and somehow comforting combination of sounds. Funny how things like that worked when you were alone in the darkness, your future uncertain.

Buck had fought in the Spanish-American war alongside Teddy Roosevelt and the Rough Riders down in Cuba and had an endless collection of tales and observations about his experiences. Jack thought that a man who had known the current President of the United States would have followed him back to Washington and into some lucrative position, not wound up punching cows for a living. But Buck insisted this was what he wanted from life, although now that Jack had experienced what it was like to be a cowboy, he too questioned his sanity. This was definitely not the life for Jack Chaney.

Jack moved his horse up a slight grade onto a small hill. From here, as he squinted to the west, he saw the faint light of the prairie lighthouse, the lamp atop one of the buildings of the Chilocco Indian School several miles away that Buck had told him about. The school took in students from local tribes, but also Navajo, Hopi, Comanche and Apache according to Buck. The school taught reading, writing and mathematics, but its focus was on farming and other skills necessary to compete in the white man’s world.

Jack had not graduated from high school himself and found most of the subjects boring, except for history, which he loved. Ain’t a practical thing to study, the Preacher Chaney had said with disgust more than once. The old man’s answer to almost everything centered on the Bible. That’s what the good book says, the Preacher frequently stated emphatically, brooking no argument or discussion on whatever the subject might have been. The lack of frank, one-on-one talk about things that interested Jack was as much an annoyance as the old man’s drunken rages. Hell, he had learned more about life from Buck since being on the trail than he ever had from his adopted father.

Among other things, Buck had told him all about the history of Arkansas City, pronounced with emphasis on the Kansas part of the name to avoid confusion with the state of Arkansas to the southeast. Founded right after the Civil War, Ark City was originally a farming community, boasting several water-powered flour mills and was part of the cattle trail that ran up from Texas to the stockyards in Kansas City. When the Santa Fe railroad established a leg from Kansas City south to Ark City the town built its own slaughterhouse and became a railroad hub for shipments of cattle and flour north to Kansas City and Chicago.

But it was the last Oklahoma land rush in 1903 that had put the city on the map. Ark City was the starting point for thousands of folks looking to stake a free claim down in Indian Territory. Normally a town of several thousand, Ark City swelled to ten times that as the settlers gathered to await the starting gun to head south and find their new home. Those that left early were dubbed sooners, a name that stuck to anyone living in Oklahoma today.

The lonesome howl of a coyote caused the herd to shift nervously. Even Jack’s horse snorted and whinnied. Jack squinted off into the blackness, his ears alert for any sound that would warn of approaching animals or rustlers. He felt for the six shooter on his hip and took a deep breath, trying to relax and stay alert.

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The crew was up before dawn, had breakfast of bacon, eggs, grits and biscuits, Shorty using up all the remaining food he could. He would replenish the chuck wagon tomorrow for the return trip to Texas. The drive to the Arkansas River was accomplished by noon as Buck had predicted. They drove the herd across the bridge over the Arkansas and directly to the slaughterhouse which sat on the river just off the main road which ran north into town. They moved the herd into pens where they were quickly examined for any disease, then weighed and moved on to their fate. The bridge allowed the cowboys to avoid the trouble of driving them across the river, a messy situation that often lost a few steers and took forever for a gang anxious to move on into town with cash in their pockets.

Buck and Jack headed for the Elmo Hotel in the heart of the little town while the rest of the crew wound up at the pool hall or in one of the many bars. After a hot bath, haircut, shave, and a steak, Buck suggested a quiet little tavern on South Summit Street, the main street of town, and they took the horse-drawn trolley down to Rosie’s.

Inside, Rosie’s featured a modest bar complete with a brass foot rail and strategically placed spittoons. Four booths sat along the far wall with a few tables in the middle of the room. A painting of cowboys herding cattle decorated the wall behind the bar itself. Rosie did the bartending and, after giving Buck a healthy hug, offered them a free beer. Rosie was a tall woman with short-cut black hair, gray eyes that captured and held your own when she talked to you, and a gravelly voice from years of smoking. Her smile revealed surprisingly white teeth with a gold-capped version dominating the middle of the top row. This your boy? she asked Buck as she served the two beers to their booth.

Buck laughed. I’m sure Mr. Jack Chaney here would take offense to that, he said, but no, I ain’t got no children that I’m aware of.

Rosie shot the old man a wry smile. Too bad you didn’t settle down with me all those years ago, she said. I’d have given you all the sons you wanted.

There was an awkward silence before Buck said, If I’d have settled down with you, Rosie, you would have likely shot me several times over.

Would have been ’cause you deserved it, but I’d have only shot you in the leg or maybe your backside, Rosie answered with a grin.

Being shot by you in the backside would have been an honor, Buck said, raising his mug towards the barkeep. Here’s to what might have been, old girl, he offered.

Rosie nodded, a sad smile on her weathered face. Now, don’t go teaching that boy any of your sorry habits, old man, she said, looking at Jack. You watch out for yourself, Jack. This one can be pretty ornery.

Yes, ma’am, Jack answered.

With her warning thus delivered, Rosie moved back behind the bar, lit a cigarette and tended to another customer.

Was you two serious all those years ago, Buck?

Buck looked across the room at Rosie and frowned. Biggest mistake I ever made, he said. But, hell, who knows. She might just have shot me in the ass like she said. I was a cantankerous man when I was younger.

When you were younger? Jack added sarcastically.

Buck nodded and smiled. Well, you got me there, boy. He took a pull on his beer, stared at the floor in thought.

So, what happened back then? Jack asked.

Buck lifted his head, stared across the room at Rosie again, then said, I reckon I was like you are now, Jack, probably eighteen years old or so. Was one of my first drives and Rosie, well, she was about the most handsome woman I’d ever seen.

How did you two meet?

Right here in this bar. Rosie worked for her daddy when this place was known as Glenn’s. I was struck the moment I seen her and all the other cowboys was circling her like flies on a rib roast. I stood at the end of the bar and just watched her. By the end of the night I was the last one here and we got to talking. She was smart as a whip, funny, and for some reason seemed to take a liking to me.

Who wouldn’t like you, Buck? You must have been quite a head turner back in those days.

Buck laughed. I suppose, he said softly.

Well? Jack said, signaling Buck to continue.

Well, I got up the nerve to ask her to go to the old opera house with me. I don’t rightly remember what the show was, but it seemed like every eye in the place was on us. Rosie admitted she didn’t fancy any of the men who wanted to court her so seeing her with me must have set the tongues to wagging.

I could imagine you were quite a couple, Jack said, trying to picture what they must have looked like together all those years ago; the stump of a cowhand and the towering woman who must have been a striking beauty, given how attractive she still looked today.

Yeah, but I was in over my head. Didn’t know nothing about courting a lady, but like I said, she seemed to take a cotton to me.

You are a likeable cuss, that’s for sure.

Buck smiled, then stared down into his beer, remembering that special time Jack supposed. She asked me to stay and work with her here in the bar. Her daddy was ailing and she needed the help. I had already made a commitment for another drive and had to say no.

But you came back here didn’t you?

Buck looked up, a surprised look on his face. How did you know that?

Jack glanced at Rosie. Hell, I’d have come back.

A smile crossed the old man’s face. Yeah, I sure did. The very next year. By then I’d made a few trips to some brothels, learned what to do with a woman.

So, did you---

Another smile, but Buck said nothing.

Did she ask you to stay again?

Her daddy had died and she was looking for a husband. I thought she was special, but I had the wanderlust, wanted to see the world, at least more of it than what I had seen herding cows.

Must have been a tough decision, Jack offered.

I came back through town ever so often over the years, Buck said. Every time I stayed with her, right up those stairs in the back. Some great times.

But no settling down, no marriage or kids, huh?

I couldn’t picture living in that room upstairs, working in a saloon the rest of my life, could you today?

Jack shrugged. Maybe if I met somebody like Rosie I would.

That declaration seemed to change the flow of conversation. "So here you are in Ark City, Kansas, with your pockets hot with cash. You’re young and restless and eager