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Down the River of Time
It doesn't take a lot of effort to stir up the dust west of the 100th meridian. And here, in northwest Texas near Flomot, it has been dry for some time. As the gravel audibly crunches beneath the rubber tires of my slowly moving pickup, the powdery progeny of caliche and native rock is visible even in the twilight as it wafts through the open window of my truck. After a few miles of winding roads leading me away from pavement, I arrive at my destination. At first, I am disoriented. The map that I am studying beneath the Chevy's dome light says that the Gray Mule Cemetery should be where I am. However, I don't see it. Then, with the aid of a fast approaching sun, I see an entrance gate 150 yards to the west. This is the place… For some time I had wanted to come here. A friend of mine had told me about it a few years earlier and it wasn't until the summer of '96 that I finally made the trip. I wish I hadn't of waited. The Gray Mule Cemetery is a place where pioneer and a few contemporary families have lovingly laid their kin to rest. As I walk through buffalo grass and a few unwelcome sand burrs, I see the headstones of a couple of cowboys who were interred in the late 1800's. One concrete marker of which the date of placement I'm unsure of reads simply:
Unknown Cowboy First Grave Approximately 1890 |
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After quietly contemplating the thought of the infinite anonymity that comes with being buried without a name, I turned my attention to a historical marker. It seems that I'm standing at the site of the former headquarters of the original Quitaque Ranch. A cattle company that, in 1880, was purchased by Charles Goodnight in order to increase the legendary rancher's land holdings. As I stood there looking to the south I was convinced that the early pioneers of this land picked spots in which to settle based not only on practicality, but also aesthetics. From this site, the Caprock Escarpment looms to the west dividing the rolling plains from the flat and expansive Llano Estacado. Far in the distance south of the cemetery are the Quitaque Peaks. For centuries, these two quasi-mountains have stood as a landmark that guided Indians, traders, cowboys, and nesters to this area. Just a few yards from my feet, the slow waters of Quitaque Creek flow eastward from Quitaque Canyon to join with other tributaries to help form the North Pease River. The Pease River is one of those places that, unless you live close by, you've never heard of. Throughout the history of our state, however, rivers have played an integral part in the development of our modern civilization. Although major waterways such as the Red, Rio Grande, and the Brazos get much of the attention, the Pease River (named after Texas governor Elisha Pease) is virtually unknown as a water course that has shaped a part of the state that is, in many ways, unchanged after 150 years of Anglo settlement. John Graves wrote, in Goodbye to a River, that the Brazos "slices across Texas history as it does across the map of the state..." The Pease shares these same characteristics. Welling up from springs seeping out of the immense Ogallala Aquifer, the three branches of the Pease (north, middle, and south) snake their way from the edge of the Caprock through the rolling plains of North Central Texas until it drains its water into the Red River north of Vernon. |