Who was Mangus?
Cowboys of the AT Cross
Epilogue
By Stephen L. Wilmeth
Hell, I
coulda’ whupped old Utah if he hadn’t hit so hard!
Quote suspected to be from Fred Ramsey, author of These
Are My People
Who
was Mangus?
Ten miles
up the Mangus from its mouth at the Gila River and the scene of the fisticuff mentioned above, another bunk house drama was being played out.
Elmo
McMillen had entered the headquarters bunkhouse before dawn and served notice he
wanted to know who in that crew of waddies was the character going by the name
of Mangus Colorado (the famous Apache Chieftain who once roamed these parts).
The crew was all pretty tight-lipped, but the suspense was too much, and
somebody said something that made them all laugh. One thing then led to
another, and the trail led to the cowboy in the corner diligently appearing to
be searching for something in his war bag.
The famous
Dick Hays was trapped.
I guess
that’d have to be me, Elmo.
After a
pause, Dick, what is this all about?
Well,
you know I buy my boots from Mr. Lama (Tony Lama) in El Paso, and I keep
my account pretty tidy.
Yea,
yea, I know that, but what is this Mangus Colorado nonsense?
Well,
sir, when I’m flush, I always use my own name, but, when I’m a bit short of
funds, well …
Yea, you
buy ‘em under the name of Mangus Colorado … Dick, clean this up before we get
another one of these bills!
Stories of
the event suggest Mr. McMillen, the owner of the AT Cross, kept the scowl on
his face until he stepped off the porch of the bunk house and headed off
into the darkness to the house. The cowboys couldn’t wait that long.
Cowboys
of the AT Cross
Southwestern
New Mexico was wild when the Canadian, Dan McMillen, came riding south into warmer
country.
The area of
what is now Grant County was intriguing enough to stake his future and it
became his home. It was there he raised his two boys, Elmo and John, and it
became their home as well.
The
original McMillen country took in a good portion of the big drainage, the
Mangus, that was named after the famous Apache noted hereinabove. Among the
area’s many attributes was its predominant soil. Derived from decomposed
granite, much of the soils are not dominated by hard rock as so much of that area
of New Mexico is. Geologists from all over the world have trekked to the area
to observe and study that formation which, in part, would never require a horse
to be shod if the rest of the original ranch was not part of the layout.
It’s
wonderful cow country.
With savanna type grasslands
intermixed with south facing hillsides with bear grass, oak, and Apache plume,
it provides year-round forage. At mile high elevations and 12” rainfall averages,
it made those settlers of the last decades of the 19th Century pull
up and find a place to tie their horses.
The grand age of southwestern cowboys
emerged.
The ranch neighbors and certainly
the McMillen AT Cross collected their share of good cowboys and characters. When
those early cowboys were asked where they hung their hats, one of the responses
was the white horse outfit.
When Elmo has us up at 2:00 in
the morning wrangling horses to go to work, we’ve gotta’ have white horses to
see where they are!
The stories are as legion as much
as they are worthy of archiving. The Wilmeth brothers (Albert, Benton, Alex,
Ben, and Roy), Scott Hately, Clarke Pitts, Dick Hays, Utah Bill, the One
Shoe cowboy, Joe Cannon, young Bill McMillen and others all became part of
the history.
Much of Ramsey’s book, These Are
My People, was interwoven with these names. The fight referenced in the
opening quote took place at the bunk house at the mouth of the Mangus. The
cowboys fought out onto the porch where Utah fell through the wooden floor,
hung one spurred boot in the hole, and was trapped. Repeatedly his opponent
climbed back onto the porch only to hit by Utah and knocked back off the porch.
Utah won the fight.
Nearly the whole crew was
threatened with the hoosegow in another fight one night at a dance at Cliff.
Their story started with crossing the flooding Mangus in the Bobtail. Parke was
driving, Albert (the Boss) was riding shotgun, and everybody else was
riding the Knapheide racks on the bed. The boys became impatient waiting for
the flood to subside and started protesting the delay. Finally, the Boss gave
Parke the word who wound the old girl up and ran at the flood. Nearing the far
side and knowing there was a cut to scale to complete the crossing, the Boss
bailed out yelling instructions for everybody to get over the rear axle and
start jumping up and down to keep traction and forward motion. He was followed
out the door by the third rider in the front, Dale McCauley, who was immediately
and unceremoniously swept under the truck only to emerge on the downstream side
holding on for his life. Momentum was bleeding off seriously at the cut as the
Boss lifted on the front bumper. Parke kept the throttle to the floor.
Clearly the bank and without missing a lick, the Boss swung up into the cab as
Parke double clutched and kept the old Chevy headed north. Drenched to bare
skin, Dale climbed up and joined the other cowboys trying to gain some
composure from his near drowning.
Hell, a man could get kilt if he
had to depend on this outfit to save him.
The dust up started at dance hall
where, according to Cliff’s reputation, drinking and fighting were surpassed
only by fighting and drinking as a main event sport. One by one, the deputy at
the time, Al Barnett, led the various pugilists out into the dirt parking lot
and handcuffed them around the single light standard. By the time there were
nine offenders standing around talking and smoking awaiting their fate, Al
decided he’d better get on to Silver City and the country jail.
He tried to crank the old ’28 Chevy
and ran the battery down before she fired. Tossing the crank to a passing
cowboy (he of near drowning, Dale McCauley), Al ordered him to crank the car
while he prepared to give her gas as she started. Dale peered long and hard
into the patrol car trying to see who was incarcerated. Recognizing some AT
Cross cowboys he’d arrived with, he turned and threw the crank as far as he
could into the dark and across the road into the Colonel Bright’s field.
Crank it your own dang self.
The cowboys crowded in the car roared
with laughter. Seeing what was going on the Boss, now united and leaving
with his wife and family was groaning and moaning.
What’s wrong, Albert?
I’m not even going to have a
crew tomorrow!
Epilogue
In the years before his death, Bill
McMillen would remember and tell his grandchildren of the day he and the
Boss were riding stirrup to stirrup on the H Bar L when
they were struck by lightning. Recovering enough to get his own senses, Grandpa
Albert was credited with saving Bill’s life in the aftermath. Bill would also
say that he was saved by the same man when he fell off the windmill tower only
to caught as he stood on the ladder just beneath him.
The One Shoe cowboy appeared
during the Depression in desperate need of any kind of job. With only a single
brogan on one foot, he was asked what kind of job he thought he could do. His
response was he could cowboy. The cowboys could be heard snickering in the
background. They shouldn’t have been. Days later, in a wild cow chase off Wild Horse Canyon, only he and the Boss emerged at the
bottom still with the cows.
In a gesture that can be imagined,
Grandpa Albert, nodded to him in quiet respect. He for sure was a cowboy.
And the stories continue and each
one verifies all those men were, indeed, cowboys. Everyone is now deceased with
Joe Cannon being the last to leave our ranges. Joe came looking for me when he
saw the Life Magazine photo of John McMillen and Albert Wilmeth that
reappeared in a Range Magazine article in recent years. His opening
remark was from his heart.
Without even looking at the
caption, I knew who those cowboys were, and I can even tell you the names of
those horses!
Some of us were lucky enough to
experience and witness the work ethic and the skill set of those old-time
cowboys. Their being taught us lessons many of which are disappearing as
fast as their colorful memories.
Today, the AT Cross remains in the
hands of the descendants of Dan McMillen, the Billings family. Grandson, Bill
McMillen’s offspring have not only held it together they have grown it. That
is a rarity that deserves acclaim. Let’s all hope this old historic brand
remains attached to these sons and daughter of the American West who have
endeavored to bridge time and history together.
There can’t be a more worthy, earthy
endeavor.
Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher
from southern New Mexico. “Andele pues!”
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