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Brashears, Mrs. J.B.
Post Office: Sulphur, OK
Field Worker: John F. Daughtery
Date: October 29, 1937
Birth Date: October 3, 1876
Birth Place: Blue Ridge, Texas
Father: Dan Kirk
Mother: Melissa Dotson
Life of a Pioneer Woman
My parents were Dan Kirk, born in Missouri, and Melissa
Dotson Kirk, born in Texas. There were three children in our family. I was born at
Blue Ridge, Texas, on October 3, 1876.
When I was a year old Father began working on the Santa Fe Railroad grade as it came
north, and my early life was spent in railroad camps. Mother washed for the hands. There
was a commissary which moved as the camps moved. It was where we bought our supplies.
About 1884, Father got hurt and could no longer work on the grade so we went to live on
the Washington Ranch, near Ardmore. My most vivid recollection of our life there is seeing
them rope calves from another range, drive them onto their range and drive the cows back.
I always felt sorry for the cows when their calves were taken from them. They bawled so
pitifully.
When I was about ten years old I received a scare about Indians, which I never forgot.
Mother and I were so afraid of them. They used to go to Dougherty, get drunk and come
by our house shooting every time the horses' hoofs hit the ground. We had an idea they
were really wild. Sister and I used to run away from and be gone for hours, roaming
through the fields and woods. This worried Mother and Father decided he'd put a stop to
it if possible. So he asked an Indian by the name of Tom Hayes to frighten us. One day
I started to the spring for a bucket of water and Zep Turner, a neighbor, and Tom, whom
I had never seen, were at the springs. Tom said, "There's the girl I've been looking for,
and I'm going to catch her". Mr. Turner said, "Now, you let that girl alone." The
Indian had a lariat rope and started after me. I was too quick for him and dashed into
the house and under the bed. Father asked what was the matter and I replied that an
Indian was trying to catch me. Father laughed, but it wasn't funny to me. I finally
crawled from my hiding place with my knees still shaking. Not long after this Father
was building a barn and I was on a scaffold handing boards up to him, when Tom appeared
again. He said, "Now, I'll get my girl." I was off the scaffold in a jiffy and into the
house I ran. I later learned to like Tom very much, and he was a frequent visitor in
our . He always teased me about the times I ran from him.
One day an Indian came riding by our house and stopped to talk to Father. He was going
to a neighbor's to kill him. This neighbor had wronged the Indian and he was going to
kill him for revenge. Father tried to persuade him not to do that. Father said, "He
has four small children and you would deprive them of a father." The Indian replied,
"Him white man, no good, kill him." He rode to the of this man and tried to ride
into his house, but they shut the door and didn't appear until after the Indian had
departed. The next morning this man and his family were gone. They left their crop and
nobody knew where they went. In those days if one wished to live, he dared not wrong
his fellow-man, either by act or speech.
We finally moved on a farm near Dougherty, and it was here that Father died. Mother
was not able to work much; so my younger brother and I worked at anything we could find
to do to keep our family supplied with food.
Just after Father died a neighbor woman came to our house to spend the night. Just about
sundown, two young men rode up to our house and asked my brother if they might spend the
night there. Brother came in and asked my mother. She said to tell them we had company
and there was no place for them to sleep. They replied that they were going to stay anyhow.
They dismounted, led their horses to the barn, turned our horses out, put theirs in and
fed them. They each had two six shooters and a Winchester. They wore very large sombrero
hats and when they came into the house they brought all their guns and kept their hats on,
pulled down over their faces.
When supper was ready the men came to the table wearing their hats and carrying their guns.
They were very mean looking and very rude. After supper we sat and talked awhile and
finally one of them walked over to my brother's bed and said, "I'm sleepy, guess I'll go
to bed. This where you aim for us to sleep?" Mother replied that it was, and they went
to bed with their boots on, pulled their hats over their faces and put their guns under
their pillows, standing a Winchester at the head of the bed on each side.
The next morning, after they had eaten their breakfast, they asked Mother how much they
owed her, and she replied, "A dollar each." The said, "That's not enough. We'll pay
you three dollars each." They jumped on their horses and left.
That same day the post offices at Buckhorn, Gilsonite and Mill Creek were robbed by
two men answering the description of the two men who had spent the night at our
house. They were riding stolen horses. The man to whom the horses belonged was at our house
about fifteen minutes after they left, but he didn't find his horses.
Not long after this, our cows didn't come up at milking time and after dark, I
thought I heard them at the lot. We had a stake and rider fence. We started to milk,
Mother opened the gate and I went to the corner, thinking the cows were there. When
I got near the corner, I discovered it was two men crouching there. They jumped up
and ran. Mother ran to the house and I followed and as I was nearing the house,
two more men almost ran over me. These men stayed around the house quite awhile,
throwing gravel at the windows and on the roof. Brother opened the door and looked out.
They were at the smoke house trying to open the door and get our meat. He shot through
a crack in the door and the men ran through he corn field like a bunch of wild cattle.
One day I went to Byrd's Mill to a picnic. I rode on the horse swing and there I met
the man whom I later married. He was driving the mule that pulled the swing. He was
a cowboy. I married him at Hickory in 1892. I am the mother of six children.
Transcribed by Brenda Choate and Dennis Muncrief, October, 2000.
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