Going through Daddy’s books can be a bit overwhelming, but it also offers its rewards.
I pulled some books off the shelves (that no one seemed to want) to donate to a ministry. The rule when going through Daddy’s things is to look for notes. He kept scraps of paper and a pen in his pocket just in case something struck his fancy. Whether at church, riding in the car, sitting on the bench at the store, or relaxing in his chair at home, he pulled the paper and pen from his pocket and scribbled notes often accompanied with a giggle.
Before I placed the books in boxes, I first thumbed through the pages. I found bookmarks, a piece of fabric, a few photos, bulletins, notes, a piece of cardboard, a wedding invitation, an obituary, a letter or two, a note from the couple that housed Mama when she was teaching school, and a bunch of scribbled on scraps of paper that are pretty much illegible. The oldest dated paper was from 1964.
In the process, I found a word of wisdom: “We never get too old to learn some new way of being stupid.”
I also found this little jewel:
Mama, Mama, can you see A stripped chipmunk by that tree?
Sonny, Sonny, are you drunk That’s not a chipmunk, that’s a skunk.
A skunk mama? How can you tell? Some folks know him by his smell.
Opening a book can transport you to anywhere. You have the world at your fingertips and can experience places you’ve never been, visit unknown worlds, learn great truths, or step back in time. Who knows, you might just uncover a hidden jewel not written on the pages of the book, but on a random scrap of paper stuck between the leaves for whatever reason.
It was always a treat to visit our grandparents’ house. We liked to eat my grandmother’s cooking – most of the time – but the real treasure was spending time with my granddad. We kids would sidle up as close to him as we could get. One advantage to being little was finding a seat in his lap. That guaranteed dunks in his coffee.
He was “gassed” in World War I with mustard gas. Because of that, he used the excuse that he needed to stay outdoors as much as possible. He had no problem finding things to do outdoors. When the weather didn’t cooperate, he still needed a place of escape.
His barn was the perfect place of refuge. He had it rigged. With one flip of a switch, the light came on as well as the fan and the radio. A cot was the perfect place for a nap! They had a little house that was rented out at times. When the little house was void of renters, that became his one switch refuge – with a tv thrown in. Baseball season was a good time to go to his special place. He watched one baseball game on tv with the sound turned down and listened to another on the radio.
No matter what we did with my Granddad, whether being pulled in a wagon by his tractor, watching a ballgame, dunking in his coffee, listening to one of his tales, or just sitting quietly, it was a good day!
If the early settlers in New Mexico Territory thought they would conquer that beautiful, harsh, wild land, they were mistaken. Many were killed or run out of the country by Indians who defended their homes from the invasion of the white men. As Indians were driven from their lands, another wave of settlers made their way into the territory.
The new settlers were a different class of people. They brought in small herds of cattle and started farming or ranching on a small scale until they could increase their herds. With more and more Indians removed to reservations, the settlers no longer had a common foe. The small-time ranchers quickly tired of one another. They displayed their own savagery as they increased their herds at the expense of others, stealing cattle and killing neighbors who got in the way of their enterprise. That time of lawlessness was one of the driving forces for the Brannin family’s move to the tamer wilds of Montana.
Brothers by the name of Grudgings moved into the area and built a cabin in 1885 near the Gila cliff dwellings. The Grudgings brothers were known cattle rustlers and flashed their weapons with little conscience. Tom Woods, a former peace officer turned prospector, ranched on the Middle Fork of the Gila River northwest of the Grudgings ranch. He was aware of their rustling. The Grudgings boys were afraid he would inform the local ranchers so decided to do away with him.
Tom Woods, a pioneer who came west from Iowa, generally made a trip by way of the Gila Hot Springs to Pinos Altos or Silver City to get supplies. On the morning of October 5, 1892, instead of Tom going for supplies, he sent his fifteen-year-old son Charley accompanied by Francisco Diaz, who had been living at the ranch and helping hew logs for a barn. The trail that followed the ridges and curvature of the Black Range was not an easy one. It was not a quick jaunt to town, but rather a journey that took several days. On their return trip from Silver City on October 10, they passed close to the Grudgings cabin in the evening. The Grudgings brothers watched the two pass by with their five burros loaded with supplies and knew the travelers would camp in Grave Canyon just west of the Zig-Zag trail. The brothers followed.
Grudgings cabin built 1885, located near Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument (burned in 1991)
That night, after Charley Woods and Diaz laid down to sleep, they were shot to death. The Grudgings brothers mistakenly thought they killed Tom Woods. Charley suffered gun shots to the head and hands, possibly as the hands tried to shield the barrage of gunfire. There was also indication of blows to the head. The bodies were discovered the morning of October 11.
At first, the crime was said to have been the work of Indians or Mexicans. That was quickly dismissed because nothing in the camp was disturbed. All the supplies, the wagon, burros, guns and ammunition were still there, and the camp was completely intact. That meant one thing, it was a deliberate cold-blooded act. Rain in the night “destroyed all signs and trails.” When Tom Woods walked into the camp, he took in the scene, then recovered the single action model Colt .45 he had given to Charley. Tom Woods believed he would find enough evidence to take matters into his own hands. And he did – one year later.
The same night Charley was murdered, he made a “visit” to the Brannin ranch on Sapillo Creek forty miles from Grave Canyon. Charley was a friend and occasional guest at the Brannin ranch. Whenever Charley was there for an overnight visit, he slept in the barn with the Brannin boys. He always slid down the pole that leaned from the loft to the ground. On that particular night, the night of October 10, Dick, age 11, and Gus, age 6, slept in the hayloft in the barn. Normally Joe was with them, but that night he had an earache and stayed in the cabin. In the middle of the night, the boys woke up to see someone in the loft with them who struck a sulphur match on the pole and slid down. It was Charley. The next morning, they wondered about Charley’s visit. Both of the boys swore they saw the “person” and there was the mark from a sulphur match on the pole. It didn’t take long before word spread to Sapillo Creek that their friend Charley had been murdered that same night. As the story of Charley’s ghost has been retold through the years, captivated listeners experience cold chills running down their spines.
Gravestone of William Grudgings
That is not the end of the story. A year later, on October 8, 1893, Tom Woods lay in wait for the Grudgings boys in a willow thicket below the Grudgings cabin. The brothers came riding up the trail beside the old rail fence. Woods shot and killed William Grudgings instantly. Tom Grudgings ducked down on the side of his horse and hid behind the rails. Woods shot but missed his moving target.
Tom Woods gave himself up to officers at Cooney and confessed he killed William Grudgings in retaliation of his son’s murder. Though many thought he administered justice, he was found guilty of murder and committed to Socorro County jail without bail. While being escorted to jail, he escaped. The story is that a man by the name of Barrett who accompanied Deputy Fred Golden, went with Woods up the creek for a nature call and was told to “light a shuck,” which Woods did. He wasn’t seen again for some time.
With his Colt on his hip, he trailed Tom Grudgings all the way to Louisiana and determined that a man by that description would cross the river at daylight in a canoe. Woods hid in a canebrake near the canoe early and sure enough, a man appeared. Tom Grudgings had a front tooth out and it was his habit of spitting through the gap. The man spit as he neared the canoe. Woods immediately recognized him and said, “Hello, Tom.” Grudgings swirled around to see the Colt leveled on him. Woods shot him in his belt buckle. Apparently, he was not killed, for records indicate he died in What Cheer, Iowa in 1946 at the age of 75.
After two years of the murder of William Grudgings, Tom Woods was acquitted. The Las Vegas Daily Optic, Las Vegas, New Mexico, dated June 2, 1896, states, “Tom Woods was acquitted of the charge of murder, for the killing of William Grudgings, near Gila Hot Springs, Grant County, four years ago.”
Stanton Brannin’s letter to the editor October 31, 1893, Southwest Sentinel
If you happen to find yourself at the old Brannin Ranch site on Sapillo Creek and hear a rustling from a breeze in the old apple tree and smell the faint odor of sulphur, you might just see a faint wisp of a fifteen-year-old boy by the name of Charley Woods.
The Grudgings cabin was near present day Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument. The cabin was a tourist attraction for many years until it burned in 1991. Visitors still visit the grave site of William Grudgings whose tomb stone is inscribed, “Waylayed and murdered by Tom Woods Oct. 8 1893”
Before Tom Woods died in 1925 he showed 14 notches on his gun. He said he wanted to get 15 notches on his gun but never got to do that.
Some people have strange looking noses. I know a boy named Ivan whose nose comes down right out of his forehead. One of my cousins has a new baby. Its’ got a tiny button nose just above some baby lips.
The author’s Mom. Doesn’t her nose look smart?
But I want to tell you about my mama’s nose. She has a very smart nose. Yesterday she said, “My nose itches. Someone’s coming with a hole in their britches.”
Sometimes her nose itches when she is washing dishes or peeling potatoes and nobody is coming. But, just then, the dog barked.
Someone on a black horse was riding into the yard. The man was leading another horse loaded with flour and rutabagas for a person who is herding sheep way back in the mountains. The man is called a “Camp Tender.” That means he is a traveling grocery man. He takes salt, bacon, and rutabagas to the sheepherder every week.
This keeps the sheepherder happy. Then the herder takes good care of the sheep and tells the camp tender where to catch a big fish.
The man on the black horse stopped in front of the house. I told him, “You’ve got a hole in your britches.”
He stared at me with both eyes and asked, “How did you know?”
“My Mama told me,” I said.
He just shook his head and rode his horse on up the road.
I walked back in the house to tell Mama that her nose was right. But she was still rubbing it.
I looked down the road again, and I saw Uncle Sparky coming. He walks very slowly. His right foot points straight out sideways. When he turns around to see how far he’s come, he is already half turned.
Uncle Sparky wears very holey britches.
Mama’s nose knows.
Uncle Sparky and the author’s Mom whose nose knows
Please allow me the liberty to imagine how Guadalupe may have felt as she took one last look at her home on Sapillo Creek. I have only met her through the treasure chest of stories passed on to us by our ancestors as well as the values and examples lived by her children.
Apache Hill, as they called it, rose from the valley floor where the Brannin Ranch stood. The wagons were loaded and as they made their way up the hill, Guadalupe looked back at the ranch below. She shuddered a bit. With a clear vision and the taste of fear, she could almost see the Apache scouts riding down the hill into their yard. Though that had happened years before, it was a day that lived in her memory and evoked a longing for the place of refuge she sought. She could still see little son Dick run out of the house, blonde head bobbling on the wiggling little boy. The other children had dark skin, thick black hair, and black eyes to match, but Dick had the coloring of Guadalupe’s father, called “Goldie.” That day, the braves she had provided with food stopped eating at the sight of the little gringo. “He Texicano!” They would lift his scalp!
Guadalupe’s Spanish blood and a mother’s fierce protection immediately went into action. In spite of her fear, she reacted instinctively, “He is mine. He is like my father!” That was not a lie. By the looks of Guadalupe, she could pass for an Indian. When they questioned her parentage, she claimed to be the daughter of Old Chief Victorio, a revered Apache chief. That was enough for the braves! There were stories that Victorio wasn’t an Apache but had been a little Mexican boy taken by the Indians and raised as an Apache. The Indians, known to detect a lie, believed her story. The scouts said no one would bother their place or their family again. At that, they mounted their horses, rode off and true to their word, the Apaches never bothered them again though they passed often and sometimes camped nearby.
As the horses disappeared in the distance, Guadalupe’s knees went limp. It may have been out of fear, but there is a chance it was because she told a lie.
That incident was not the first encounter they had with Indians, nor the last. On one occasion, Guadalupe ran to escape being seen by an Indian brave. She and little Ed, age two, went in search of her saddle pony. She walked up the bank and not more than thirty feet away, an Indian chewing a cornstalk sat on a rock, finger extended in front of him, counting freight wagons across the mesa. Turning quietly, she grabbed the little boy, put her hand over his usually talkative mouth, whispered, “Indians,” and fled back to the settlement where they were staying while the menfolk were gone. When she reported to one of the men left to guard the families, he said she had to be mistaken. Surely an Indian would not be so close to the settlement. He went to investigate only to find the remains of a cornstalk, horse tracks, Guadalupe’s footprints, moccasin prints near the rock where the Indian sat, and the imprint of the butt of his gun.
The Brannin family won the respect of the Apaches. The Indians camped on their property from time to time and occasionally even stayed a few days. Once when they were camped, they decided to cut their hair. Some of the braves went to the Brannin cabin and asked to borrow scissors. They brought the scissors back and before long another came along and asked to borrow them. It seemed as if all of them had made it to their door, but they always returned the shears. Surely just the thought of that brought lighthearted amusement as Guadalupe thought back to that time.
Not only did Guadalupe earn their favor, they also had great regard for the patriarch of the family. He was known to be fair and generous with them. One morning, he heard the Apaches were coming through. It is said that Victorio, the chief, and his son Nana were among the number as they were being escorted through the country by an Indian agent. Stanton rode out to check the herd of cattle when he heard a shot. He spurred his horse and galloped in the direction of the sound. One of his three-year-old steers lay on the ground kicking. He put the steer out of its misery as ten Apaches popped out of the brush. A young brave admitted to the deed saying he didn’t know there were any ranches nearby and thought he would get some fresh meat. The agent was furious, but Stanton told them they could have it. He had meat hanging at his house and couldn’t use anymore. That one act of kindness went a long way and earned him the title of being a big-hearted man. In a country where many families suffered loss of possessions or life, the Brannin family was spared. They didn’t treat the Indians as savages, but as people without a home.
As the wagon wheels left tracks behind in New Mexico Territory, Guadalupe’s hope of a place of refuge drew closer. Maybe as she took a final look, her mind was flooded with thoughts of the place they called home for many years. She didn’t leave everything behind for she carried those memories with her, moments that had quickly turned into heroic memories. Though she faced other hardships and loss, she did not face them alone.
The story of Guadalupe’s only lie as recorded in family history along with a plethora of other memories continues to echo through the years as it travels from generation to generation. Now, we are responsible to share the family legacy.
