Volume 17 , Issue 1

Elm Springs & Shady Grove

Written by T. J. Dyer, April, 1931 - Elm Springs, for more than half a century this name has clung to this memorable and historic place. It was in the spring of 1879 that Stith and Watkins established a cow camp at these springs, which was later moved over to Buffalo Springs, about one-half mile east, now known as the Ellis (?) homestead.

Many and varied were the experiences of the cowboys who kept this camp. Like all good cowboys they returned to camp after their day's work was done, perhaps attending some roundup or riding the range. The evening repast being over, singing their favorite cowboy songs was in order, and I wish to impress upon the minds of my readers that there were some mighty good singers among those boys and that their music was far superior to some of the hi-falutin' jazz music of the present day. Here at Elm Springs was a camping place for buffalo hunters and for freighters in the early days before the advent of the cattlemen and when the country was filled with countless herds of buffalo, before the coming of the longhorn herds from Texas.

Legend has it, that prior to this and for ages gone by this was the camping ground of many tribes of wild Indians that roamed the country from the frozen wastes of the north to the Gulf of Mexico on the south.

Perhaps the Pawnees, the Osages, the Sioux, Comanches and Kiowa, Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes have each in turn availed themselves of the advantageous facilities and have pitched their teepees here to drink of the cool and exhilarating waters of the bubbling springs that come forth from the hillside on either side of the small canyon and where their tired ponies could slake their thirst clear crystal rivulet that coursed its way from the springs down toward the Nescatunga.

This stream was also called the Salt Fork but was charted on the very earliest maps of the country as the Nescatunga or the Red Fork of the Arkansas, so-called by reason of the redness of the water which coursed down this stream while on one of its periodic rampages of overflow.

In April, 1885, during the high waters in this and other streams, I rode from my home on Little Mule Creek in Barber County, Kansas to view this raging torrent racing its way down to the sea, its waters reached from hill to hill on either side of this stream and as I stood on this historic camping ground of which I write the waves of water would reach within two hundred feet of where I was.

And this was the highest mark reached by this river since I have any knowledge of it. On this historic spot councils of war were held. The great medicine man of the tribes, he whose powers it was to dig the different herbs found here in abundance, and in pots and pans stew his decoctions (sic) that were supposed to heal all manner of ailments that the Indians were heir to, and also, when the tribe as preparing to go on the warpath, like the great oracle of the Greek God of Delphi his advice was sought in matters pertaining to war, and if he said the time was not opportune for such an undertaking it was abandoned for the time being. Yet always in event they did go to war with some neighboring tribe, the medicine man was their constant companion, and if any of the warriors were seriously wounded he was the one to treat the patient with some lotion supposed to contain healing properties for all occasions.

Here also was held (if they were successful in bringing back a few scalps of the enemy from the forays of war), the weird and hideous scalp dance. A pole was erected and from this pole dangled the scalps, trophies of war, while a circle of warriors clad only in breech clout and girdle, and varied colored war paint, danced, keeping step to the discordant beat of the tom tom, and all the while chanting their incantations, giving vent occasionally to the hideous and bloodcurdling war whoop, rending the midnight air until the coyote, the lobo wolf, bear, catamount, and mountain lion slink away taking refuge in their lairs in the fastness of the surrounding hills and canyons, while this place was being used as a camping ground by the many Indian tribes it was here in some shady nook of this sylvan grove that the dusky warrior and his sweetheart sitting there while the twilight shades of evening were deepening, and all nature seemed at rest he poured forth into here ears the story of his exploits of the hunt or chase or mayhap his daring deeds of prowess and valor while in battle with some neighboring tribe.

In 1884 after the railroad had reached Kiowa, Kansas, these springs were used as a camping place by the famous Indian scout Amos Chapman, hero of the Buffalo Wallow Fight. While hauling government freight to old Camp Supply over the old Camp Supply trail Chapman, who was engaged in this work, made two changes in the old trail between Kiowa, Kansas, and Supply. After reaching the divide at the head of Greenleaf Creek instead of following the divide from this point west, he turned southwest, crossing Redhorse at the Redhorse spring. From there over the divide between this point and Anderson Creek, here he crossed this stream about where R. I DeGeer located his homestead, and intersected the old trail again just east of where Old Freedom was located. The other change was made from a point where the trail first entered Sleeping Bear Creek, instead of following up the creek her crossed it here, going southwest along Granger Creek, went out on the divide at the head of Bent Canyon. These were the two changes made by Amos Chapman.

About the same time a stage or hack line was established between Kiowa and Camp Supply, which also passed by this historic lace and my old time cowboy friend, Cleve King, now living in Alva, was one of the drivers.

But, alas, Destiny, what a meaning is wrap up in this one small word. It was destined that at this historic place in coming years the Red Man would surrender his rights of imminent domain, and the paleface was to come into possession of this land. And the Great White Father at Washington, D. C., calling in all the great medicine men from all the states of the United States, and also inviting some of the noted Red Men of the Cherokee Nations, a great conclave was held, and at its conclusion an agreement was reached whereby the Indians were to receive six million, five hundred thousand dollars in lawful money of the United States in lieu of the six million acres or more contained in what was then known as the Cherokee Outlet. And thus it was that the Indian title was extinguished and the government became the sole owner.

He authorities at Washington set about immediately to open this land to settlement, and September 16, 1893 was the date for this occasion and on that date almost all this entire body of land was taken by homesteaders on that day.

It was on this date that one Jonathan C. Fuller staked the claim on which was situated the historic Elm Springs. Here he had a store and post office called Winchester, after the place where General Sheridan made his famous ride of twenty miles. Here he dispensed sugar, coffee, flour and other household necessities, and here the old settlers would gather at close of day to await the arrival of the mail and incidentally to listen to Mr. Fuller recount some of his thrilling experiences of the Civil War. He was General Grant's handy man, or perhaps his aide-de-camp. He took great delight in telling how by his keen foresight and timely advice he had kept the general and his army out of many a tight place.

In an old history which contained an account of the Civil War, I remember a picture of General Grant sitting on a log on the banks of the Rapidan River in Virginia, penciling an order or telegram to some of the other officers, and nearby was an orderly standing, holding his horse, waiting the writing of this order, and after meeting and becoming acquainted with this stalwart soldier of Winchester, I've wondered if this might not have been a picture of our own Jonathan C. Fuller. But in the course of time this old veteran answered the last roll call, and the family continued to live here for some years, but the title of the old homestead passed into the hands of others, Ed McGarry, of Alva, Okla. Ed is converting this place into a summer resort, is constructing some dams to impound some of the water which will make an ideal place to fish. The lake, or lakes, are to be stocked with all varieties of game fish. Many other improvements are under way, and when completed will afford an interesting and pleasant place to enjoy an outing, to recline, and rest in the inviting recesses of Shady Rest, as this is the name by which Ed now calls this beautiful and historic place. Here in the same shady nook where the Indian warrior and his sweetheart had used as a trysting place, will be gathered the modern pale-faced young man, and his sweetheart while he is crooning into her ears sweet nothings, as he has none of the exploits of his predecessors either in the chase or in war to recount.

Thus hath time changed all things.
T. J. DYER, Alva, Oklahoma, March 30, 1931.

PEOPLE'S FORUM (October 2, 1934)

To the old timers who have gathered from day to day during the hot days of the past summer, when a blazing sun cast its burning rays upon this parched earth, while hot winds scorched and withered all vegetation: We met under the spreading branches of the trees in the court house park, there to enjoy their immense shade in the coolest place in the city. There was neither class nor distinction, all met upon a common level.

Here we discussed the issues of the times, some were cussed depending entirely on the person occupying the floor. The topics ranged all the way from defending the policies of the Roosevelt administration to the defense of the bootlegger, everyone having a chance to say his say.

Many of those hot afternoons were made more tolerable by reason of Uncle Dean Murrow, and his irrigation system. The water running in small ditches, or standing in pools around each tree served as a cooling system. But cooler weather is coming and soon these meetings must close for a time. Even now the crowds have diminished to a mere dozen or so.

I have enjoyed these meetings, and will be loathe to give them up, even for only a few months, and I'm quite sure most every one has derived some benefit from these gatherings, but . . .

Hush, old timer, cease your repining,
Each somber cloud has a silver lining,
Soon will cease old winter's cold and snow,
Up from the south-land warm breezes blow,
Until all nature will be seen,
Decked out in robes of verdant green.
Then again beneath this leafy bower,
We'll meet to spend a pleasant hour,
May not there be one vacant chair,
But each familiar face be there.
To each familiar voice we'll bark
When we meet next year, in the court house park.
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