Lew fared better, although he also had his troubles with the bottle. He moved to Orlando, where he eventually married a local girl. After clerking in a store for some years, he started buying up land west of town and putting in citrus trees. It didn’t pay much until the railroad came through in the early 1880s, but after that, Lew became a wealthy man, easily the most prosperous of all us McCallister boys.
Like I’ve mentioned more than once over the past few days, I left the Flatiron in ’66, but my feet must have been itchier than my brothers’, because I didn’t stop until I reached Texas soil.
It was Bud who stayed on to run the Flatiron and would have his share of trouble with the Klees off and on for the next forty years, but that’s his story to tell, not mine. I’m glad one of us stayed, though. The Flatiron ain’t a tenth of what it was before the Northern Invasion, but it still covers eight sections of prime cattle country and is a force to be reckoned with along the Pease River of southwest Florida. [Ed. Note: A section of land equals 640 acres, so the Flatiron’s eight sections would represent 5,120 acres between the headwaters of the Pease (Peace) and Caloosahatchee Rivers, west of the Florida Highlands.]
Me? I kept on cowboying, as they call it out here. I did that for a good many years, before finally settling down in Fort Worth in ’89. Too old for the range but too stubborn to quit the trade, I became a buyer for the Armour brothers out of Chicago and Omaha, one of the biggest meat-packaging companies in the nation today. I was personal friends with old Phil Armour and a guest in his house in Chicago several times throughout the 1890s. I only quit the company when I got too slow to get out of the way of charging steers. After getting knocked on my ass that last time and busting a hip in the process, I decided to hang up my stockman’s cane and retire. Mostly I have, too, except every once in a while I like to go down to the Fort Worth stockyards and do a little dickering on the side. Just small-scale stuff, for old times’ sake.
I’m going to go down there this afternoon, as soon as you say you’ve got enough of my story on your disks. I’m going to look up a guy named Harry Walton, who was telling folks just last week about how me and Casey Davis threw a man named Klee into a ’gator hole just to watch him get et. When I find Harry, I’m going to tell him about these recordings and how the truth of those days has finally been told. Then I’m going to punch that son of a bitch square in the nose. You can come along if you’d like and see if I don’t.
Letter on file in the McCallister Papers
Arcadian Historical Association
Arcadia, Florida
From the Offices of Massey, Hibbard, and Gelms
Re: McCallister, Boone Daniel—Last Will and Testament
To: William Mills
Attorney At Law
Arcadia, Florida
My Dear Mr. Mills:
It is with deep regret that I inform you of the passing of my client, Boone D. McCallister, of this city, on Six January, Nineteen Hundred and Thirty-Eight. As you know, Mr. McCallister was quite advanced in years and had been in ill health for some time prior to his demise.
There was a will, about which you inquired, but it was trifling and consisted largely of the disposition of mementos. The most valuable asset in probate was a “Texas” saddle, which I understood he had owned since youth. The recipient of his estate was a Miss Helen Geiger, also of this city, a longtime acquaintance of Boone’s.
There was no mention in the McCallister Will of the Flatiron Ranch of Arcadia, Florida, nor had he made any reference to the property in the years I knew him as a client. It would appear that your concern regarding the legal disposition of the property to the sole heirs of Kenton S. (Bud) McCallister will remain unchallenged by Texas courts.
I Remain, Sir, Your Most Humble Servant,
[SIGNED]
Troy Hibbard
Fort Worth, TX
Post Script: If I may, without jeopardizing client/attorney confidentiality, I wish to state that my association with Mr. McCallister, while at all times professional, was one of utmost enjoyment for myself and associates. Mr. “M.” was a colorful character of a time rapidly vanishing and earned my respect and admiration for his contributions to our unique American Heritage. His periodic visits to our offices will be missed.
R.I.P. Old Friend
THE END
About the Author
Michael Zimmer grew up on a small Colorado horse ranch and began to break and train horses for spending money while still in high school. An American history enthusiast from a very early age, he has done extensive research on the Old West. His personal library contains over two thousand volumes covering that area west of the Mississippi from the late 1700s to the early decades of the twentieth century. In addition to perusing first-hand accounts from the period, Zimmer is also a firm believer in field interpretation. He’s made it a point to master many of the skills used by our forefathers and can start a campfire with flint and steel; gather, prepare, and survive on natural foods found in the wilderness; and has built and slept in shelters as diverse as bark lodges and snow caves. He has done horseback treks using nineteenth century tack, gear, and guidelines. Michael Zimmer is the author of twelve previous novels. His work has been praised by Library Journal, Historical Novel Society, and Publishers Weekly, among others. Zimmer’s City of Rocks was chosen by Booklist as one of the top-ten Western novels of 2012, the reviewer saying of the first-person narrator that “at times we can hear the wistfulness in his voice, the bittersweet memory of a time when he and the country were raw, young, and full of hope and promise. A stirring tale, well told.” Zimmer now resides in Utah with his wife Vanessa and two dogs. His website is michael-zimmer.com.
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