While it is a good story, there is one a problem with it: Theodore’s 1884 diary never details an encounter with Cheyenne Indians. The only notation in his diary during this trip regarding Indians reads, “[P]assed a camp of Cheyennes.”27 If such an event had taken place, it would have made a tremendous impression on Theodore, worthy of some mention in his diary or, certainly, in one of his many books. (In his book Ranch Life and the Hunting-Trail [1888], Theodore does detail a separate encounter with some Indians he had on the prairie.) Even though his diary notes everything they did on the trip, including the number of game that was shot, there is no mention of visiting a Cheyenne camp, let alone a shooting competition. According to Hermann Hagedorn’s notes, Bill Merrifield is the only source for the story, and was told after Theodore’s death. Hagedorn, as well as another author, quoted Merrifield’s story, which gives it a form of credibility. However, no other biography ever mentions the event.
Could the story be true? Certainly. However, such a rendezvous would have greatly appealed to Theodore’s ideal of living a frontier fantasy. The nagging question to the story’s veracity is why doesn’t he include it in any of his books? Given that such an encounter is missing from his diary, or one of his books, only strengthens the argument that it never happened. Unless new evidence surfaces to prove otherwise, this author firmly believes Merrifield’s story is complete fiction.
By September 11, they had moved their camp closer to a branch of the Tensleep Creek. From there, Merrifield and Theodore went fishing and caught fifty trout.28 It was a long ride and hike for them to find the specific lake they wanted. “Glad to get back to camp and a first class trout supper,” Theodore noted in his diary. The following day, they moved their camp again, six miles downriver, closer toward the foothills, “in a narrow valley with steep, wooded sides.”29 That afternoon, Theodore killed a bull elk at seventy-five yards. They left the elk’s body to lure another prey—a grizzly bear.
The following morning, they found that a grizzly had indeed fed on the elk carcass. They waited in the bushes until darkness, yet no bear returned. On September 13, they went back to examine the carcass and found fresh bear tracks. The two men began tracking “Old Ephraim,” the term used by mountain men to describe a grizzly. Crawling over fallen logs, Merrifield quickly went down on one knee. Theodore knew that this meant the grizzly was close. Walking slowly past his partner, Theodore was no more than ten steps away when the male bear rose up on his haunches before dropping down to all four paws. It was then that Theodore pulled the trigger. His shot hit the bear between “his small, glittering evil eyes.”30 The next morning, they skinned the bear for its hide and took the head as a trophy. Before the expedition was over, Theodore and Merrifield had shot another male grizzly, as well as a female grizzly and her nearly adult cub.
According to his diary, it seems that Theodore was hunting any game in sight each day. Many expressed surprise at his “bloodlust” during this hunt, given that he is often referred to as “The Conservation President.” How could Theodore preserve millions of acres of land and the animals that live in it, yet be such a prodigious hunter? He called the buffalo and the elk “lordly,” yet he hunted both. How does one have such a reverence for these animals, yet have their heads mounted on a wall of his home or office? These questions may remain forever unanswered. Theodore’s closest answer was that he had an antipathy for those who simply hunted for the hides and not for the sport or the food. He regarded “game-butchers” (as he called them) the lowest form of hunter. “No one who is not himself a sportsman and lover of nature can realize the intense indignation with which a true hunter sees these butchers at their brutal work of slaughtering the game, in season and out, for the sake of a few dollars they are too lazy to earn in any other and more honest way.”31 In spite of his heavy trigger finger, Theodore’s hunting in the Dakotas eventually galvanized him to form the Boone and Crockett Club, an association that pushed for laws protecting game and natural resources. It would mark his first step in conservation.
The trio broke camp on September 17, making their way down the mountain with heavily laden pack ponies. Returning to the sawmill, they retrieved their wagon and loaded the hides, horns, and remaining supplies. Stopping overnight at Fort McKinney, Theodore dashed off a letter to Bamie, which, aside from his comments about the hunting trip, is one of the first letters in which he mentions any feelings for Baby Lee. “I shall be very glad to see you all again. I hope Mousiekins will be very cunning; I shall dearly love her.”32
The ride home began to wear down some of the horses, which forced the party to rest for two days. “Our bear skins are rapidly spoiling and need to be fleshed and dried. Horses are not in good condition,” Theodore noted in his diary on September 22.33 Three days later they moved their camp to a bend on the Powder River. Then the rain returned, haunting their trail day and night. A combination of rain and heavy winds on October 1 forced them to stay in camp. (“Furious hurricane blowing, with driving rain squall.”) The next morning, the horses had strayed, and it took until noon to locate them, plus another two hours to get one of them out of a mud hole. Determining that the wagon would take another three days to reach Maltese Cross Ranch, Theodore and Merrifield rode on ahead, leaving camp at nine in the evening. The two rode the fifty miles to the ranch nonstop, arriving at six in the morning.
While Theodore was in the Bighorn Mountains, Sewall and Dow were busy felling trees for Elkhorn Ranch. Dow lent a hand during the fall roundup and heard from two cowboys that the Marquis was still simmering over Theodore’s letter claiming that the Frenchman had no claim to the Elkhorn site. From that point on, both men kept their pistols and rifles close at hand. One day, Sewall heard gunfire, and a half-dozen riders came into view, including Eldridge “Jerry” Paddock, the Marquis’s close friend. Sewall greeted them, offering them some freshly cooked beans and coffee. Caught off guard, the men filed in and ate as Sewall refilled their plates and coffee cups. Once they had consumed their share, they went outside. Surveying the area, Paddock commented they had done a nice job, then saddled up and rode away. Shortly after this visit, Sewall and Dow were told that Paddock was making threats that the ranch belonged to him. He boasted that if “Four Eyes” wanted it so badly, he could pay for it any way he wished, including in blood.
The day after he arrived at the Maltese Cross from his hunting trip, Theodore rode out to visit Sewall and Dow. They quickly related the threats Paddock had been making, including shooting him.
Theodore turned his horse around and rode to Paddock’s house near the railroad crossing. Answering the knock on his door, Paddock was surprised to find the man he had threatened facing him.
“I understand you have threatened to kill me on sight,” Theodore said. “I have come over to see when you want to begin the killing, and to let you know that, if you have anything to say against me, now is the time for you to say it.”
A completely flummoxed Paddock could only stammer that he had been misquoted.34 Ironically, after this incident, Theodore and Paddock became friends.
A Strenuous Life
I do not believe there ever was any life more attractive to a vigorous young fellow than life on a cattle ranch in those days. It was a fine, healthy life, too; it taught a man selfreliance, hardihood, and the value of instant decision . . . I enjoyed the life to the full.
ALTHOUGH THEODORE CLAIMED TO HAVE PUT HIS POLITICAL LIFE ASIDE, saying he had no interest in campaigning on behalf of James G. Blaine, that was just what he was going to do when he left for New York City on October 7. Politics, as much as he may have tried to convince himself otherwise, was a major force in his life. It was answering a call to duty. To do battle and fight for the right thing was one of his innate traits. He fought not only for what he believed was right, but also for those who had no voice or leader, be it the cattlemen, the coal workers, or the average American. The fight, like the chase of the hunt, fed his desire. Sometimes he was blind to the cause he believed in, as in his 1912 presidenti
al campaign. In such instances—and they were few—he took counsel from no one. He relied on his instincts, rightly or wrongly, and proceeded. It was a characteristic that left people either adoring or loathing him.
One thing was certain: Theodore left little doubt where he stood on any subject.
Arriving at Bamie’s home, Theodore spent, albeit minimal, time with Baby Lee. He hardly had unpacked his suitcase before jumping into the election campaign with both feet, giving three speeches on behalf of the party’s ticket. His support for James G. Blaine gave the reform-minded Republicans enough material to label him a traitor to the cause. While Blaine was not an ideal choice—it’s likely Theodore must have had to swallow hard when speaking for the nominee—he also knew that Blaine had to be elected to keep the presidency from falling into the hands of the Democrats.
The campaign became terribly partisan, with each party throwing mud at the other party’s candidate. Grover Cleveland, the Democratic nominee, was revealed to have fathered a child out of wedlock eight years earlier. Cleveland, a bachelor, never denied fathering the child, and had provided support through the years. The Republicans, and the newspapers that favored the party, leapt to paint Cleveland an adulterer. At campaign stops, hecklers would cry out to Cleveland, “Ma! Ma! Where’s my Pa? Gone to the White House, Ha Ha Ha!”1
As Election Day neared, James G. Blaine held a very strong lead, but then two serious blunders sunk his chances—again. During a meeting before a thousand ministers at the Fifth Avenue Hotel on October 29, a Reverend Dr. Burchard stated that the Democrats were “the party whose antecedents have been rum, Romanism and rebellion.” On the surface, the comment could be dismissed as typical of a firebrand preacher. However, it blew up in Blaine’s face when he said nothing to distance himself from the slander. By ignoring it, Blaine seemed to endorse a statement that insulted anti-prohibitionists, Catholics, and Southerners—important groups Blaine needed to get elected. The candidate told friends he had heard the words but was so focused on his speech that the impact escaped him.2 It did not escape the Cleveland campaign or the Democratic press.
The catastrophe wasn’t finished, however. That evening, Blaine accepted an invitation to a dinner party at Delmonico’s Restaurant on Fifth Avenue with a guest list of very important business leaders, including the notorious “robber baron” Jay Gould. (The Democratic press dubbed it “The Millionaires’ Dinner.”) Known for its fine dining and creative dishes such as Lobster Newburg, Eggs Benedict, and Baked Alaska, Delmonico’s customers included actress Jenny Lind, Mark Twain, “Diamond Jim” Brady, and Lillian Russell—hardly a place the average American could afford. While Blaine consumed an extravagant meal, his critics charged, thousands of children in the city went hungry.
The damage was done. Blaine lost to Cleveland, and for the first time since 1860, a Democrat sat in the presidential chair.
Henry Cabot Lodge lost his chance for a seat in the House of Representatives, likely due to his supporting Blaine. Theodore wrote to Lodge: “I cannot say how glad I have been to hear from all sides of the gallant front you showed in defeat . . . Of course it may be we have had our day; it is far more likely that this is true in my case than in yours . . . Blaine’s nomination meant to me pretty sure political death if I supported him; this I realized entirely, and went in with my eyes open. I have won again and again; finally chance placed me where I was sure to lose whatever I did; and I will balance the last against the first . . . we fought a good winning fight when our friends the Independents were backing us; and we have both of us, when circumstances turned them against us, fought the losing fight grimly out to the end. What we have been cannot be taken from us; what we are is due to the folly of others and to no fault of our own.”3
Winter was settling in on the Badlands when Theodore returned on November 16. Once again, he sought solace in the West after a loss. The Western outdoors became a salve for him, a way to escape and renew himself.
Despite the cold weather, the following morning, Theodore, Sylvane, Merrifield, and Dutch Wannegan drove a herd of cattle to Medora to be shipped to Eastern markets. (There is no evidence that Theodore availed himself of the Marquis’s slaughterhouse and refrigerated cars when it came time to ship his cattle.) With his business completed, Theodore bade the others a farewell and rode on to the Elkhorn site.
It was early afternoon when he started the thirty-three-mile ride. He was barely at the halfway point when the sun began to set, and the temperature dropped considerably. He made several crossings along the Little Missouri River, which he called “difficult and disagreeable.” The river had frozen over a few days earlier, but the ice wasn’t solid, with snow hiding any thin patches. In one crossing, the ice broke under rider and horse, dropping them into the cold water. The horse furiously grappled its way to the opposite bank, with Theodore following. They continued on as the sky grew darker and the stars began to glisten. Theodore was hoping to make it to the small shack he had found near Elkhorn Ranch. As darkness fell, though, he worried that he might not be able to find it with the clouds moving in to cover the shining stars. The horse’s steps were muffled by the snow, and the only noise was the far-off wailing of a wolf. Theodore came across a large section of cottonwood trees but could not readily locate the shack. Backtracking, he found the shanty and stabled his horse. Inside it was vacant, with no food stores. After getting a fire going, Theodore made good use of the only thing he had with him—a packet of tea. “The hot tea did not prove such a bad substitute for a cold and tired man,” he commented.4
As morning arrived, Theodore saddled his horse and rode onto Elk-horn Ranch. The following day, November 19, Theodore chose the exact site for his ranch house, as Sewall and Dow laid the large stones that would serve as the foundation.5 The three men rode back to Maltese Cross Ranch in anticipation of the arrival of a herd of ponies that Sylvane and Wannegan were bringing in from Spearfish.6 The snow continued to fall, as did the temperatures. It was 20 below zero on November 22, followed by several days of rain. Theodore rode into Medora on November 29 and had lunch with the Marquis. While he mentions this luncheon in his diary, there is no further information as to what the two men may have discussed.
One of the subjects they may have addressed was the formation of a local cattlemen’s association, much like the one Granville Stuart had formed in Montana. Such an association had been on Theodore’s mind for a while because of two matters to be confronted: thefts, and cattle overpopulation in the area. Even though the Stranglers were still going about their business, thefts continued, albeit scaled back. Overgrazing was becoming a growing concern to many established ranches in the area due to an influx of new cattle herds, and many called for rules to protect them. The Bad Lands Cow Boy announced that a meeting for the new cattlemen’s association would be held on December 19 in the hall above Bob Robert’s saloon.
“Iron cold” was a term that described the bitterly harsh days of winter in such places as the Dakotas, where the daytime temperature could sink below zero. Theodore readily embraced the winter cold, hunting with the same vigor he displayed in the summer. He made the thirty-three-mile trek on horseback from the Elkhorn site to Maltese Cross Ranch in conditions that hovered around zero degrees. Interestingly, in his diary, he makes few comments about the conditions other than to note the temperature. There are never any complaints, or wishing for a warmer climate.
Because of the harsh weather, the arrival of the horses from Spearfish was delayed. Using this to his advantage, Theodore spent a few days hunting with Merrifield for Bighorn sheep. On December 6, Sylvane “arrived with 52 ponies, spent day breaking,” he noted in his diary.7
Breaking means taming a wild horse to be a saddle horse. The old style for breaking a horse was to run a horse into a corral, throw a rope over the animal’s head, and pull it tightly around its neck. The other end of the rope was wrapped around a wooden post (called a snubbing post ) that was sunk into the ground in the middle of the corral. The protesting horse was then pulled
up to the post and blindfolded with either a bandana or a coat. A hackamore (a looped halter) was placed over the horse’s head. Sometimes a bridle with a metal bit was used, usually at the discretion of the cowboy who was breaking the horse. One or two men would hold the horse by the rope as the rider attached a saddle and quickly mounted the animal. “Let ’er rip!” was the cue for the men to remove the blindfold and let go of the rope on the post.
The horse and the rider would then battle it out.
A horse, especially an untamed one, will buck to get the thing off its back. Horses can jump several feet into the air, arching their backs, pulling their heads down, and kicking furiously with their back legs. The rider breaking the horse is generally called a bronc buster, but can also go by the name flesh rider, hazer, bronc scratcher, and bronc snapper. He holds the reins (usually made from rope), valiantly trying to stay in the saddle. The bronc buster’s intention is to let the horse tire itself out, and once the animal “settles down,” the rider will attempt to lift the animal’s lowered head, helping it to get used to the commands of the reins. As this happens, he will get the horse to walk around the corral, making turns by use of the reins, and generally get the horse accustomed to the rider on its back and to taking commands. Some horses adapt to being tamed more quickly than others do, but there is always an “owl head”—an unridable horse—that will just not get along, no matter what.
THE COWBOY PRESIDENT Page 12