Wild West Podcast
Welcome to the Wild West podcast, where fact and legend merge. We present the true accounts of individuals who settled in towns built out of hunger for money, regulated by fast guns, who walked on both sides of the law, patrolling, investing in, and regulating the brothels, saloons, and gambling houses. These are stories of the men who made the history of the Old West come alive - bringing with them the birth of legends, brought to order by a six-gun and laid to rest with their boots on. Join us as we take you back in history to the legends of the Wild West.
Wild West Podcast
Buffalo Hunt and Whiskey Busts: The Wild Exploits of George W Brown, Prairie Dog Morrow, and a Tumultuous Night at Buffalo City
Settle in, saddle up and join us as we ride alongside George W Brown and Prairie Dog Morrow, two audacious characters who guide us through the exhilarating era of buffalo hunting in the Great Plains of the 1870s. Hear how they mastered the art of buffalo hunting and their thrilling adventures from the Dakotas to Montana. Prairie Dog even reveals his unique prairie dog catching technique, an unexpected skill that surprisingly comes in handy on the frontier.
Our journey doesn't stop at hunting. Just when you think it’s all buffalo hides and prairie dog tales, we introduce the whiskey saga at Fort Dodge. Hear the inside story of why a liquor ban was implemented, how it stirred chaos, and birthed a new underground business just outside the fort’s walls. Thriving despite the ban, these rogue whiskey sellers turned the frontier into the wild west we all know. But remember, every party has a hangover. We'll share the chilling story of a young man named Langford, whose life took a fateful turn after a perilous night of drinking.
Finally, listen to the heart-tugging story of Langford's grueling recovery from five gunshot wounds, an aftermath of a drunken brawl. Through this, we explore the dire repercussions of alcohol use, the role of friendship, and the extraordinary resilience of the human body. This isn't just history; it's an adventure, a cautionary tale, and a celebration of the human spirit all rolled into one riveting episode. So grab your headphones, your favorite drink (responsibly, of course) and get ready for a wild ride through the plains of the 1870s!
When the spring migration started, with the greening of the grass, the first buffalo would appear singly and in groups of two or three An advanced notice to hunters that the herd was moving. The size of the groups increased and their numbers until finally, as far as the eye could see, the whole country was covered with them moving slowly towards the south, grazing as they went. A hunter could stand on the ridge or other high spot and the herd that first appeared to be a solid mass, but looking more closely he saw the herd was divided into small groups. Twenty-five to thirty buffaloes spread loosely over an acre. They drifted along, thousands of them as far as the eye could see, and hunter never ceased to be thrilled at the sight of them. Each spring, as grass growing, weather moved northward with the sun, the buffalo herds followed to spend the summer in the Dakotas, montana and Canada. With the approach of snow to the northern plains they turned south again to winter in the valleys of the Republican, the Smoky Hill, the Solomon, the Arkhansis, semeron, canadian and the Brazos rivers. They were more valuable to the hide hunters from September to March than in any other season, for they had come into their heavy winter coats. The buffalo grazed on succulent buffalo grass, not much to look at, either green or cured, but very nutritious.
Speaker 1:We begin our story in early June of 1872. Two hunters are tracking a large herd of buffalo along the Smoky Hill River and its tributaries between Fort Hayes and Fort Wallace. The region was well known by experienced hunters as the special hunting grounds for the Cheyenne Indians. My name is George W Brown and I'm here to tell you more of my story. What I'm about to tell you is when I quit buffalo hunting to become a merchant for a whiskey selling enterprise. This is when I had a speculative turn of mind, a time when most of the buffalo herds north of the Arkhansis River were but very few.
Speaker 1:In early June of 1872, Dave Prairie Dog Morrow and I were hunting buffalo in the vicinity of Fort Wallace. We hired two men to go with us. The first man, our freighter, was Charlie Stewart, and the other, our skinner, was a young man by the name of Billy Tyler. This happened the year of the big hunt. Now. Prairie Dog Morrow was quite the character, an excellent shot, and when he leveled his piece on a dearer buffalo it was sure to come down. I can say from the first time I met up with him. He's a man who worked hard at charming others. He's the kind of man who makes business a delight and individuals who know him enjoy his wits. But on the other hand, he's a lot like me. He rarely lasted long at any one job.
Speaker 1:As we traveled together following a herd of buffalo south to the Arkhansis River, I asked Prairie Dog how he got his name. Well, my friend, he replied with a great deal of laughter. Some say it's because I became so fond of a pair of Prairie Dogs. Well, it's true, he said. He pulled his horse alongside of mine, scratching his back on one hand while holding his reins with the other. One day I caught me two Prairie Dogs around Hayes City and tamed those little fellers, he said with a smile. I used to keep them in my pockets and go down to the rail station and greet passengers from the east. I would show them my little dogs and tell them how lovable they were to have his pets. To my surprise, one of the passengers offered me $5 for the pair. So that's how I got into the Prairie Dog business.
Speaker 1:As he snickered the last words under his breath, we continued traveling south and during this time of silence I began to think about Prairie Dog's story and a question came to my mind. Well, I asked what do you mean by going into the Prairie Dog business? It was at the time we came to the Arkansis River. There were so many buffalo they seemed to knock all the water out of the river when they'd plunge in headlong to swim across. It's like that. He said. Like what I asked, like those buffalo down there on the river that are having a hard time crossing over to the other side, he said, as he pointed in the direction of the buffalo crossing the stream. I would haul barrels of water from Hayes City to a nearby Prairie Dog town. He said with a smile. I'd find a crater and pour water down the hole. This would flush these critters out the other end. I'd just get at the end of the exit hole and grab them when they came out the other side. Like those buffalo, he said. Prairie Dog kicked his horse with both spurs to the hindquarters, riding down on the herd like a wild Indian, screaming out but we're going to kill these critters. As he opened up the first shot on the herd of buffalo crossing the river. We killed around 300 buffalo that day, staked them out to dry the hides.
Speaker 1:That evening, with a campfire glowing crackling into the night air, I watched the smoke rise into the star-spangled sky above us. I began to think more about the Prairie Dog business and looked over to our wagon where Charlie Stewart and Billy Tyler slept. Prairie Dog sat next to me, slumped over the fire, warming his hands, looking out over the shadows of glowing coals in the direction of Prairie Dog. I asked I'm curious about how you got out of the Prairie Dog business. Prairie Dog did not look back at me with this question but started over the fire into the dark of night, silent in his thoughts. Too many competitors, he said. You know that water business of flooding their holes and picking up these little Prairie Dog critters as they floated by was slow. Plus, it was hard work, he said. It took much water and a great deal of time. Dave picked up a nearby branch and started stirring the fire, causing a glow to form around his face.
Speaker 1:I decided to invent a better Prairie Dog trap. It included a barrel of sand open at one end. I would place the barrel over the Prairie Dog's hole open and down. I could see the smile on his face as he continued to poke at the fire as the sand flowed into the hole, the Prairie Dogs would surface through the sand into the barrel to find themselves trapped. Well, I can say, within a few weeks my Prairie Dog business was booming.
Speaker 1:Now, dave, this does not answer my question. How did you get out of the Prairie Dog business, I asked. Well, as with any good thing, competition was just around the corner. I had hardly established a monopoly in the field when other men entered the business. Soon the Prairie Dog enterprise at Hayes City was glutted.
Speaker 1:Dave threw his stick into the fire as if he was disappointed with his story. I wanted to prompt Dave's disgusted mood, so I asked him so you quit the business because the competition was outdoing your catches? No, not at all, he replied. The going price for a pair of Prairie Dogs dropped from $5 a pair to $1, then $0.50, and I gave up when the market hit a quarter. I then laughed at the story. Prairie Dog, dave. I said what's so funny about my name and my story? He snapped you know, a man can't live on a quarter for a pair At that price. Trapping Prairie Dogs is hardly worth it. Besides, I'm here with you now, aren't I Going Buffalo for a living? I laughed once more at Prairie Dog's story.
Speaker 1:I stared out into the darkness, seeing multiple campfires across the prairie like lanterns leading the way into Heaven's horizon. With Dave's story still in my mind, I crawled into my bed sack, snickered once more and hearing one last howl of a distant cry of a coyote, I slumbered away into the night. The next morning, the birds over my head swam against a flood of air like tiny ships. My eyes glazed into the sunlight, awakening me to the first sign of day. The sun in my eyes appeared like a mosaic of a hundred thousand jewels. I rubbed my eyes clear of the moisture, stood up with a hard stiffness running throughout my body and stretched out into the sight of a desolate rocky hills rolling out like a solid wave along the horizon. I looked over in the direction of the campsite where Prairie Dog had been sleeping. His bedroll was gone and so was his horse. From a distance I heard shots ring out from the valley just across the south side of the river. Mounting my horse, I told Billy Tyler and Charlie Stewart to keep the hide stretched before riding out onto the old Santa Fe freight road that ran up from the bottom of the river.
Speaker 1:I got up to where the stakes were laid out for a new railroad tracks just north of the Arkansas River and about five miles west of Fort Dodge. There I found a sturdy, dark-haired man stacking hay. He stated his name was Thomas Nixon. He told me it had been in Nevada and was a former miner turned freighter. I was curious about this man, nixon. How'd you come to be in these parts, I asked. I'd been freighting along to Santa Fe Trail for some time when I heard the railroad was headed this way", nixon said as he threw a large bale of hay into his wagon. I'd been out on this location for a few months. Do odds and ends for the army? Nixon stopped his work and pointed in the direction of a sawed house. I built that sawed house with my own hands, he said. Nixon used his sleeve to clean the sweat from his brow. When I'm not hauling hay and shucking corn for the government, I operate a blacksmith's shop on the side, he said.
Speaker 1:Nixon said he was a Buffalo Hunter himself and bragged that he'd killed over 2,173 Buffalo in 35 days. He told me he happened to be hunting Buffalo on the south side of the river, at the head of Rattlesnake Creek. A man with him, a skinner by the name of Masterson claimed Nixon killed 204 of the hairy beast in one stand. Nixon prepared his Buffalo hides for sale by placing them in the location of a new town site. He said he happened to be waiting for the arrival of the railroad with hopes of selling his hides to a buyer and having them freighted by a railroad car.
Speaker 1:I went back to camp that evening and found no sign of prairie dog. I asked Billy Tyler if he had given any notice of his whereabouts. Billy Tyler said he had just disappeared that morning. He never said a word of where he was headed and he never returned. We camped out one more night on the edge of a high point on the prairie. The next morning Billy, charlie and I loaded up our wagon with Buffalo hides for the market. Billy rode off to find prairie dog and Charlie and I decided to unload our hides under the care of Nixon and move my team east to Fort Dodge. I'd been looking for new hunting grounds and the commander at Fort Dodge would provide me permission to hunt south of the Arkansis River.
Speaker 1:I remembered hearing from other Buffalo hunters about the settler store located on the post. The place was owned and run by a man named Wright. Rumor had it. He sold whiskey from a private bar, along with supplies, to Buffalo hunters. My ambitions at the time were to purchase merchandise and find a little diversion before heading out on my next hunt. We camped out that evening on a riverbed near the fort and waited for Billy's return. As luck would have it, billy found us the next morning. Billy told us, the prairie dog moved on out west to the Texas Panhandle.
Speaker 1:Charlie and I left Billy in charge of our campsite and on the morning of June 7th 1872, we traveled to the fort to purchase supplies and whiskey at the settler's store. Charlie and I found the place in disarray. Coming to find out, the post commander banned the sale of all whiskey on the premises. While I was in the store, I ran into a fella by the name of Herman Fringer. Charlie was feeling as dejected as I was about not having a sip of our favorite frontier beverage. As I leaned against the empty bar, my new acquaintance, herman Fringer, gave me the lowdown on the situation.
Speaker 1:It seems as if the new Colonel by the name of Richard Irving Dodge stated. Herman, who assumed command of the fort, found one of his officers, a Lieutenant Turner, drinking. Not only had he been drinking, but was reprimanded in front of the enlisted men of his company. From the stories being told around the post, colonel Dodge explained to the tipsy Lieutenant he was in breach of military etiquette. I guess the reprimand displeased the Lieutenant and he took a swing at Colonel Dodge, knocking him to the floor. So was it the Lieutenant who was the cause of banning whiskey on the post, I asked? Herman looked at me with amusement. Well, lieutenant Turner may have been the main cause, explained Herman, but not the entire reason for stopping the sale of whiskey.
Speaker 1:To add to the problems, the assistant post surgeon recently filed a complaint with the new post commander. Dr Tremaine filed a formal complaint expressing his concern over the amount of whiskey being smuggled through the hospital. Tremaine harshly informed Colonel Dodge. Tremaine must have the support of his commanding officer. From what I understand, the good doctor was in a quandary about the health of the soldiers. Tremaine could not be expected to nurse the soldiers back to health at the present rate of consumption. To make things worse, continued Herman, the complaint from Dr Tremaine named their proprietor of the settler's store, mr Wright, my boss, as the primary whiskey-smuggling culprit.
Speaker 1:Thinking this may be the end of Herman's story, I let out a sigh of relief and steadied myself against the mahogany bar. But that's not all, herman said. To make the situation worse, the next day a small detachment assigned to deliver mail at Fort Supply had become so intoxicated overnight they could not mount their horses. The incident caused the officer of the day in charge of the detail to close Sutter's bar to all enlisted men. It did not take the new post commander long until he ordered to stop to all sale of whiskey on the post. Well, my friend said, herman, if you're looking for a drink then you're in luck, as whiskey will never run dry in these parts. Rumor has it that if you head out about five miles west of here, a fellow by the name of Hoover will be setting up a tent operation. My friend Herman Fringer glowed with delight at the news he imparted. His plans are to start selling whiskey this morning off a wooden plank. He purchased a lot from the formation of a new town company.
Speaker 1:I took my friend Herman's advice, purchased supplies and loaded up my half-empty freighter. I then traveled five miles west of the fort with my team, master and skinners. It did not take long to locate Hoover's new establishment. The sight of this place amazed me. The place had an uneasy appeal to me. Like an unknown world wild with chaos. The establishment was like a boar, circled by hunters and hounds, all eager for a taste of the liquid to take them to the verge of drunkenness. Sitting in the middle of a vast prairie, a large crowd had gathered around a shady tent of a bar, a line of freight wagons, horses, soldiers and a multitude of buffalo hunters all camped out around a makeshift tent. The only other structure within sight was a sod house owned by the first settler of these parts, mr Sillard.
Speaker 1:After dismounting, I lined myself up in the next available spot to the plank bar. I noticed Mr Hoover with his French-Canadian accent, serving whiskey. I watched him move back and forth between customers serving shots of whiskey at the front plank and filling up a tray of shot glasses at the back of the tent. I decided to strike up a conversation with him. I asked about his enterprise and how he came to this place. His conversation with me went in and out as men shouted over each other demanding quicker service. It was in this state of total confusion he began telling me his story.
Speaker 1:I had learned of the Fort Commander's desire to stop selling whiskey on the post from Robert Wright, so I knew there was going to be a great demand to satisfy the thirst of men in these parts. Hoover explained. Mr Hoover continued. The owner of the post supplies for and post commander set out plans for a township in the very area of which we're standing. This was the agreement between Mr Wright and the post commander. The post commander, colonel Dodge, wanted to get the whiskey business off the ground. I felt it was my obligation not to fill the needs of a thirsty crowd, stated Hoover.
Speaker 1:This idea of the sale of alcohol meant I needed two things A place to sell it and the barrels to supply it. I knew a freighter who had a wagon and went to Kansas City. I purchased a wagon load of whiskey and brought it back to Fort Dodge, but you knew you couldn't sell the whiskey on US government property, I said Wright. Hoover explained the western border of the reservation was five miles from the fort itself. So I decided to mark off five miles from the fort To take a true measurement of the distance traveled. I tied a rag to a wheel on my wagon. Hoover then pointed to his wagon where I saw a red rag tied to the spoke of a wheel.
Speaker 1:So here I am today, explained Hoover, my first day of operation running short on whiskey. I never dreamed I would have so much business on opening day. I will soon need to expand. In fact, hoover posted I'm going to have to start building me a structure like that one tomorrow. Hoover pointed in the direction of Settler's sod house. Hoover paused for a moment and, with a look of sincerity, said to me you know there's plenty of room around here for other men to establish themselves in this business. If a man had a freight wagon and a few extra dollars, anyone with a speculative turn of mind could join in on this enterprise. Hoover's last statement set my mind in motion. I began to think about the possibilities.
Speaker 1:That evening, before leaving to get our building supplies, two whiskey wagons arrived just below our campsite. My partner and I witnessed from a distance the making of a wagon bar. The driver jumped off the wagon and pulled a pin from a hinged door. The driver eased with care a small ramp to the ground. We could see the wagon stacks of whiskey barrels ready for sale. The next day my companion Charlie Stewart and I drove our wagon to Russell, kansas. Our idea was to purchase two wagon loads of lumber to build a saloon. We purchased our lumber at Russell, finding our first location 100 miles away in Hayes was sold out With two wagon loads of lumber we came back to the town site and within a week erected a 14 foot structure. To all that know this story, I became the second owner of a saloon in these parts, selling whiskey for 25 cents a shot, right next to Mr Hoover's sod plank tent.
Speaker 1:Buffalo City, within a month's time, was a quaint little village. This was a speculator's site to see For. Buffalo City was now made up of crude framed buildings, half wood and half dugout. The streets were populated with freighters, hunters and soldiers. It did not take long for entertainment to reach the small makeshift town. The gamblers and women started to arrive in big bowed mule driven wagons. These wagons would do for business until they could find an establishment. I remember one such enterprise from Hayes City with two 10 mule wagons abundantly equipped with refreshments.
Speaker 1:Feeling excitement began to grow with the anticipation of the arrival of two wagon loads of entertainment. The exciting rumors carried within the dreams of dancehall girls be rallied in the streets. Men traveled west on mounted horses to meet an escort to travel in caravan into town. As the white sheeted wagons pulled forward into town, guns from onlookers blazed into the air. I cannot help but notice how the sheets of each wagon had been rolled up, displaying the wearers. Within One of the wagons, carried in it two gamblers dressed in frock coats, six well-dressed girls and some roustabouts to do their work, a large gathering of fans moved in on the second wagon, holding whiskey barrels and cases of bottles.
Speaker 1:I stood on the doorstep of my saloon watching the wagons come up the dusty street, falling to a halt in front of me. What I witnessed next was a fine display of calves as the girls clamored down over the greased wheels, holding up their billowy skirts. The sight of it caused an entire company of dirty bearded gunpacking men to push their way forward into a heat-driven crowd. It was at this time when the second round of gunfire with more serious intentions erupted, as the hired protectors yelled out firing warning shots over the crowd. The gunfire and the verbal warnings broke the tension, causing a sudden silence. To my surprise, the crowd began singing and dancing in and around the wagons. I went back into my wood-rafford 14-foot square building in the saloon and prepared for what was coming next.
Speaker 1:It was not long before the next round of disruption hit the streets of the small makeshift town. Two rough-ins had pulled one gambler, who had arrived that day, out of his bed. A gambler by the name of Charlie Morehouse was forced into my saloon for a late-night drink. One of the rough-ins I knew it to be a man named Langford who was complaining to Charlie about being with his best girl. Charlie stated she was a dancehall girl who meant very little to him. Langford insisted Charlie have a drink on him. He wanted to make a mend for his rudeness. He told Charlie he was sorry for the disturbance and should never have pulled him out of bed. Langford continued to press his will on Charlie, stating Charlie, you should thank me for saving you from that meaningless dancehall girl. Langston began to laugh as the other two men joined in overseeing Charlie with vigilance to the bar. Morehouse, quieted by the looseness of the three rough-ins, agreed to drink with him. After serving the four of them over a period of time, I noticed that Morehouse had consumed less of my barrel of whiskey than his captive companions, with two of the rough-ins held their glasses high, the third being outside.
Speaker 1:Morehouse slipped out to door. This was in the middle of a salute to him. A great deal of laughter followed Morehouse's escape, langford and his three companions decided to take the same path. Out the door, I heard their laughter for a few minutes, less than in a distance. Then, with great surprise, charlie barreled through the back door of my saloon. He was now in the company of four of his friends. Charlie was visibly upset and wanted to know where Langford and his gang had gone. I answered, saying they left about two minutes ago, headed west between the freighter wagons. I nodded my head in a forward direction and stated with certainty they were headed toward the place where you were once bedded down. I pointed in the direction where I had seen the Langford gang last.
Speaker 1:Morhouse stepped out the door and looked in the direction, pointed out to him. He then pulled his pistol and screamed at Langford you better leave my girl alone. His voice was like a clap of thunder, startling the town into a state of uneasiness. Morhouse and his men then opened fire in the Langford gang. The Langford gang returned fire. I, on the other hand, left my feet and dove behind the bar. I could hear from behind the bar bullets flying thick into the walls and through the windows. Each iron ball slung around me peeled through the wood like a muffled bell. I felt the splinters of wood and heard lead balls dance through the saloon around me. Rolling over to my side I saw one of the bullets from the street hit a customer. He was running out the back door through the thickest smoke when his heel exploded in a gush of blood. After all, the six guns had blazed their last bullets.
Speaker 1:I peeked out from underneath my bar. I saw Morhouse. He was groaning and holding his arm. I could see he had been shot through the fleshy part of his arm. I then ran cautiously to the door, landing on my knees. I stayed low with my head close to the door frame. I peeked around out the door frame through the lingering and smoke into the dim lit street. Langford's men were running away into the darkness. I then saw Langford. He was down on all fours, crawling in the direction of the river.
Speaker 1:I got up and went to the back of the saloon to assist my customer with his wounded heel. He was nowhere to be found. I looked for him out my back door and to my surprise I found a young man asleep on a cot. He got up from his state of slumber. He reached inside the door with some confusion, for his coat hanging on a rack. The only words he said after finding the five bullet holes in his new jacket was oh my. He then walked off into the darkness of a starry smoke filled night. Come to find out the next morning, langford had crawled off into some bushes and spent the night by the river. Langford had received a bad end of the fight. He was put to bed with five slugs in him. The amount of liquor he consumed in my store must have saved him from great pain. Langford's friends found him in a bad state, but still alive. He was taken to Fort Dodge. There at the Fort Hospital he stayed for a long time until he entirely recovered.