The Woodward Jeffersonian – September 23, 1893. C.M. Hall, Editor & Publisher.
Woodward the principal points for Texans,
Kansans Coloradians and Missourians.
One Thousand People on The Ground When The Train Arrives.
Countless Numbers Fall From The Train in all Kinds of Shape
Ye Editor Twelfth Man on the Ground
The Texas Cow Pony Wins The Day.
The long looked for 16th day of September, 1893, dawned just as hundreds and thousands of days had dawned before but to one hundred-thousand people it was the most eventful day of the nineteenth century.
At the line twenty miles south of Woodward, with the rising of the sun appeared one of the most interesting scenes that the eyes of man ever gazed upon, and we doubt not that it was the most interesting crowd of human beings that ever gathered for a like purpose and with only one object in view.
As daylight began to approach one could smell the fragrance of the frying sowbelly and sniff the essence of the boiling coffee can which was gently wafted ‘neath one’s nasal appendage by a cool Texas breeze and gave evidence that a hasty breakfast was being prepared and embodied the too true words of a calm before a storm.
As old “Sol” gradually mounted his celestial road in the skyes, [sic] more active became the movements of the boomers along the line and the faithful cow-pony, which was tethered near the master’s bunk, was brought forth and tenderly fed, for fear that an overdose might endanger his speed while crossing the sand plains to the promised goal. After his limited meal had been partaken of he was led up and down the road for exercise after which he submitted to being saddled and briddled [sic] preparatory for the race.
As high noon approached, mounted soldiers patrolled the lines lest in the excitement parties might be crowded over and result in a general break-away. At half-past eleven, up and down the line for a distance of seven miles, mounted men stood with their horses abreast, anxiously awaiting the pistol shot which would send them speeding onward in quest of homes in an unknown land.
At 11:59 a uniformed trooper appeared in the center of the throng and riding our fifty yards in advance carefully gazed at his watch until it ticked the sixtieth second when bang whent [sic] his revolver and away went the crowd.
For a moment it seems as though the heavens were rent asunder, but after a moment’s hesitation on the part of the horses, they plunged forward under whip and spur to go whither their masters directed.
After the mighty caravan of hosemen had passed from view the wagons, buggies and other vehicles pressed forward as rapidly as their horses could travel.
The first man to arrive in Woodward proper, was David Jones, one of the good men from the Panhandle of Texas, whose horse had more wind that the average newspaperman.
The next exciting event was the race between Robert Mosley, a cowboy and Conductor Morgan, of the Santa Fe, who both claim to have “got there” first on the quarter adjoining the townsite on the east.
About five minutes after the three above named horsemen arrived, nine more hard riders appeared on the brow of the hill south of town and came down the home-stretch like Nancy Hanks on the “quarter-turn.” Three minutes more passed before the main body came in sight, but when they did come, the stampede of the bison or a cyclone from the south-west was imaginary in comparison with it. About 700 horsemen came over the hill together and they lost no time in tumbling from their horses to the coveted little lots 25×150.
After the excitement had somewhat subsided the festive bronco was allowed to meander around the domain which had but a few moments before elevated his master and endowed him with the title of “land owner”, while the master comfortably stretched himself upon the green sward to await the coming of the train, and for it he had not long to wait, for around the curve, downgrade, came the iron horse like a thousand howling demons were after it. It ran to the center of the townsite before it began to slow up, and here is where the horsemen got face value for their long ride, for the tumbling that the passengers indulged in to reach the ground was far superior to anything ever witnessed in Barnum & Bailey’s circus.
Some fellow would make a run for a lot, when a cow boy would let out a yell, that that lot was taken when he would trot on down the line to be baffled again and again until he would reach the limit and have to begin over again. Cooler parties, however, would walk leisurely from the car, carry their baggage on their shoulder, step off the required distance for a lot and comfortably settle down to business.
A general survey around the city had disclosed the fact that the population is composed chiefly of Texans, Kansans, Missourians, and Coloradians, and a more genial, clever class of people can not be found between the foaming billows of the Atlantic and the tranquil sleepy waters of the broad Pacific.
Ye editor had the pleasure of being the twelfth man to reach the future metropolis of the great county of “N”, and although we feel proud of our achievement, our not over-strong physical being was somewhat shattered in the race.
To the Tex. pony must be awarded the credit of winning the best of the race both for claims and town lots, and the thoroughbred must acknowledge their supremacy in a twenty mile race.
Miss Celia McCarty, of Canadian, Tex., made the run in one hour and fifteen minutes and succeeded in getting a lot on Main Street, near the public square.
Vas Stickley, and old Virginian-Texan, of Canadian, Tex., captured a quarter-section adjoining the city on the west side.
