Wild & Woolly Cowtowns
By the National Livestock Historical Association in 1904
The American West, a land of vast open ranges and burgeoning opportunity, also harbored a darker side during the late 19th century. For approximately fifteen years, beginning around 1868, a unique and often volatile phenomenon emerged alongside the burgeoning range-cattle industry: the "wild and woolly" cowtowns. These settlements, notorious for their lawlessness and vice, sprang up sequentially along the expanding network of western railroads. As the "iron trails" penetrated deeper into cattle country, these towns served as crucial shipping points for the massive herds driven north from Texas and other southern regions.
These cowtowns were inextricably linked to the railroads. Without the iron horse, their existence would have been impossible. Some of these settlements swiftly devolved into havens of disorder, vice, and crime, rivaling the notorious mining camps that dotted the Rocky Mountains in their sheer depravity. During their zenith of infamy, these towns shared a striking resemblance to one another. Although intrinsically connected to the pioneering railroads, they were fundamentally grafted onto the cattle business of the West. As such, their meteoric rises and falls became an integral part of the industry’s history. They provided refuge for the numerous desperadoes, professional "bad men," and scoundrels who plagued the West in the aftermath of the Civil War.
Furthermore, the reckless and often dissolute element within the ranks of cowboys reached its peak during the early years of these cowtowns. Easily provoked by intoxication, this element posed a constant threat to public order. Even at the height of their notoriety, these towns remained relatively small. Excluding the transient population, which often sought larger settlements for the winter months, the most infamous cowtowns typically boasted a population of only around 500 permanent residents. However, during the "cattle season," which commenced in late spring and extended into autumn, the influx of cattle buyers, speculators, drovers, cowboys, street vendors, desperadoes, and gamblers would swell the population tenfold or more.
The state of Kansas, with its central location and developing rail infrastructure, became the epicenter of many of these notorious settlements. Abilene, one of the earliest of these towns, quickly established itself as the gold standard for wildness and woolliness. It became the benchmark against which all other cowtowns were measured, often found wanting in comparison. By the time Abilene reached the midpoint of its tumultuous existence, it seemed to have exhausted the possibilities for frontier wickedness. Any further escalation of depravity could only be achieved through sheer volume. In later years, cowboys would frequently reminisce about those bygone days and the towns that followed, often remarking, "Yes, that was a hard town, but it wasn’t as bad as Abilene."
The establishment of Abilene as a market and railroad shipping point for cattle was the brainchild of Joseph G. McCoy. McCoy, along with his brothers, were prominent cattle buyers and shippers based in Springfield, Illinois. While his brothers provided financial backing for the enterprise, Joseph served as the general manager. When McCoy launched his venture, the Union Pacific Railroad had already been completed across Nebraska. The Kansas Pacific Railroad, the first to penetrate Kansas, had extended its tracks into the north-central part of the state. However, south of Kansas, all the way to the Gulf Coast, only a few localized railway lines existed in eastern Texas. The primary routes for Texas cattle to reach northern markets were the trails that led into southeastern Kansas and southwestern Missouri. These routes, however, were plagued by "hold-ups" and concerns among honest settlers about the introduction of Texas fever into their region. McCoy, motivated by both altruistic and pragmatic considerations, sought to alleviate the challenges faced by Texas cattlemen and to improve the unfavorable conditions under which they operated. His efforts ultimately transformed Abilene from an obscure hamlet into a renowned center of commerce and infamy.
McCoy, reflecting on his experiences in Sketches of the Cattle Trade of the West and Southwest, described how he meticulously surveyed the western portion of the Kansas Pacific Railroad’s completed section, ultimately selecting Abilene as the ideal location for a bustling cattle market. At the time, Abilene was a small, unremarkable settlement along the railroad, scarcely more than a boxcar station. McCoy invested in constructing shipping yards and other necessary infrastructure, including a substantial three-story hotel, completing much of the work during the summer of 1867. By early September, he was prepared to receive cattle. In that inaugural year, trade was limited to herds from Texas that had arrived late in the season and were intercepted by agents who had been dispatched south to inform drovers of the new cattle market and shipping point. A few merchants and a larger contingent of less reputable individuals joined McCoy in Abilene that autumn, but the town remained relatively peaceful until the following spring.
Following extensive advertising throughout Texas during the winter of 1867-68, Abilene anticipated a significant influx of cattle, cattle drovers, and cattle buyers in the coming summer and autumn. This prospect attracted a swarm of opportunistic individuals eager to prey on the expected visitors. While cowboys were often blamed for Abilene’s lawlessness, the reality was more complex. Although some of the disorder could be attributed to men from the cowboy ranks, a significant portion, if not more, stemmed directly or indirectly from the horde of desperadoes, thieves, swindlers, confidence men, gamblers, prostitutes, and other unsavory characters who transformed the town into a pandemonium for approximately four years. Saloons, dance halls, gambling dens, and various other dens of iniquity proliferated in 1868 and continued to increase in number over the subsequent three years. The town’s reputation became synonymous with murder, debauchery, drunkenness, uproar, robbery, swindling, gambling, and a host of other vices. While the boisterous antics of drunken cowboys, who staggered through the streets or rode wildly while yelling, screaming, and firing their revolvers into the air or at unsuspecting targets, contributed to the chaos, the clandestine activities of outlaws, swindlers, and other outcasts caused far greater actual harm.
By 1868, Abilene was well on its way to earning the dubious distinction of being "the wickedest and most God-forsaken place on this continent," a title that was widely acknowledged by 1869. The cattle trade in 1869 increased nearly fivefold compared to the previous year, and the level of wickedness experienced a similar surge. The town’s cemetery, located on a hill overlooking the riotous center of crime and folly, received frequent additions to its silent population. Numerous unfortunate cowboys met their end in that hilltop graveyard during the final year of the 1860s.
Until the autumn of that year, no serious attempt had been made to control the pervasive disorder and brazen lawlessness. Everything and everyone was permitted to indulge in the unbridled pursuit of uproar, vice, and crime. Although Abilene served as the county seat of Dickinson County, the Sheriff’s office was weak and ineffective. In the eyes of the shady elements of the population, Abilene was experiencing a "boom" that needed to be nurtured and sustained. However, in early September 1869, just two years after its inception as a cowtown, Abilene was incorporated, and a formal system of local government was established. The prevailing conditions had become intolerable for the residents who had a long-term stake in the town’s future. The Board of Trustees, which included founder Joseph McCoy as a member, promptly enacted several ordinances, primarily aimed at maintaining order and punishing lawbreakers. However, by the time these measures were implemented, the cattle season was nearing its end, and active governance was postponed until the following year. In the spring of 1870, the Board of Trustees, led by T. C. Henry, who held powers and responsibilities similar to those of a Mayor, prepared to launch an active campaign against lawlessness. Despite a resident population of only around 500, the Board licensed 32 saloons. Efforts were made to enforce closing hours, push the most brazen establishments and their occupants away from the town center, and punish the most egregious crimes. Gambling and minor vices were largely ignored, as even a semblance of decency was considered a significant achievement. The enforcement of these tentative laws required the creation of the office of Town Marshal. Ordinances were published, and proclamations were issued, announcing that law and order would now govern Abilene. The carrying of firearms within town limits was prohibited, bulletin boards displaying notices of Abilene’s transition to a peaceful environment were erected on the roads leading into town, and news of the proposed revolution in favor of law and order was disseminated far and wide.
While creating the office of Town Marshal was relatively straightforward, finding a qualified individual who could effectively fill the position proved to be a daunting task. One after another, men, some of whom possessed exceptional courage, accepted the job only to resign after a few days, overwhelmed by the lawless elements that dominated the streets. Instead of improving the situation, the attempts at governance exacerbated the problem, leading to increased disdain for the law and its officers. The criminal element openly and boastfully expressed their contempt and threatened the town officials with death if they persisted in their efforts to improve the situation.
The escalating insolence manifested itself in various ways, one of which was particularly ludicrous. The firearms ordinance had been printed on placards and posted throughout the town. Initially, the crowds regarded these notices with awe and curiosity, but as their significance and purpose became clear, some individuals contemptuously destroyed them. However, the cowboys, motivated by different sentiments, turned them into targets. As they rode around whooping and hollering, they took shots at the proclamations that prohibited the carrying of firearms within the town’s limits. Within a short period, nearly every remaining outdoor placard had been riddled with bullet holes to such an extent that even the ordinance’s authors could no longer decipher their original message.
The Town Trustees contracted for the construction of a stone prison in the central part of town. However, when the walls were nearing completion, a group of cowboys raided the town and tore them down. Under the protection of a strong guard, the workmen rebuilt the walls and finished the prison.
The prison’s first occupant was a young black cook from a trail-herd outfit camped eight miles outside of town. He had come into town and become intoxicated, firing his revolver. The Marshal managed, through sheer luck, to arrest him and incarcerate him in the new jail without interference from the town’s "ruling" elements. The cook’s outfit soon learned of his whereabouts and rode into town en masse to rescue the person upon whom their daily meals depended. After driving the marshal into hiding, they broke open the jail door and freed the cook. Then, feigning outrage at the cook’s imprisonment, the group ordered all the businesses to close, in some cases enforcing the mandate by invading the premises on horseback. After thoroughly "shooting up" the town, the group returned to camp unharmed with their precious cook.
This initial experience with the new jail was quickly overshadowed by the prevailing atmosphere of disorder. Successive Town Marshals of local origin were appointed, only to resign in frustration. Anyone who lasted more than two or three days was considered a veteran in the hopeless pursuit of law and order. Finally, the "Mayor" appealed to the Chief of Police of St. Louis, Missouri, requesting two men capable of managing the town. Within days, two individuals arrived, seemingly possessing the necessary credentials to suppress the forces of evil in Abilene. However, on their arrival, which had been anticipated, the town unleashed every imaginable form of lawless deviltry. The St. Louis peacekeepers were so overwhelmed by the magnitude of the task that they took the first train back home, without ever being officially sworn into or out of office. A single day’s observation of the situation was more than enough for them. It became clear that Abilene needed a Town Marshal unlike any it had seen before or face complete domination by lawless forces.
At this critical juncture, Thomas J. Smith arrived on the scene. Smith, who became Marshal of Abilene, was a hero personally known to hundreds of cattlemen and cowboys in 1870. He embodied their ideal of a man who could instill the true meaning of the word "fear" without resorting to comprehension. Smith had applied for the position shortly after the office of Town Marshal was created. However, despite his imposing physical strength, his quiet demeanor, soft voice, and lack of bravado had led the "Mayor" to conclude that he was unsuitable for the role. Smith, who had come to Abilene from the Kansas Pacific Railroad town of Kit Carson, Colorado, left disappointed. However, following the hasty retreat of the St. Louis delegation, the Mayor, desperate for a solution, decided to give the quiet, low-voiced man a second chance and telegraphed Smith to return.
Within six months of his appointment, Smith was killed outside of town while performing his duty. He was buried in Abilene with widespread expressions of grief, and all businesses were suspended on the day of his funeral. In 1904, the people of Abilene erected a monument at his grave—a large granite boulder symbolizing the character of the man whose memory it honored.
During the dedication ceremony, Mr. T.C. Henry, Abilene’s first Mayor, spoke about Smith’s appointment as Marshal, his methods of establishing his authority, his triumph over the forces of evil, and the circumstances of his death.
Henry recounted, "It was on Saturday morning late in May 1870 that Smith reappeared at my office. I related to him briefly the story of our troubles and intimated that he would better first look over the situation, for he might not care to undertake the job. He smiled rather grimly but, without a word, proceeded on my hint. It was nearly sundown when I saw Smith coming back. I stood bareheaded in my office doorway as he approached. He declined to come in but remained standing outside with his hat removed. I inquired what he thought. He said he believed he could handle the town."
"What plans do you propose to accomplish that?" I asked, anxious to get his ideas and to "size him up." He replied that firearms must be given up, that whiskey and pistols were a combination beyond control. "As well contend," he said, "with a frenzied maniac as with an armed and drunken cowboy." His logic was well-grounded, but the images of the obliterated ordinance placards that had been used for targets were equally impressed; besides, my recent study of cowboy nature and training had matured convictions in my mind respecting the inherent difficulty of determining whether a cowboy and his gun were separable elements, even under normal conditions. But I mastered my rising skepticism and inquired if he thought he could enforce that ordinance.
"Yes," he said, "I think can."
"When do you want to begin?" I asked.
"As well at once," he quietly replied.
"Then I recited the oath of office to him as we stood there alone. How well I recall the scene at that moment! I was about a foot above the ground, facing northwesterly. The bright gleams of the setting sun an athwart Smith’s square right shoulder struck me in the face. As he raised his hand for the oath in response to my own, the blinking glimmer of the rays made me lift my other hand to shield my eyes as I peered searchingly into his own. If I could but picture vividly, like kineograph [a flip-book with a series of pictures], the full perspective spread before my vision then what priceless treasure for your archives it would be! Silently he moved off, and I watched him, with misgivings, disappear downtown, a third of a mile away."
"Almost immediately, he encountered Big Hank, cowboy desperado, who had made himself particularly obnoxious to former marshals and had been loudest in his boasts that no one could disarm him. Wearing a belted revolver, he approached Smith and tauntingly asked him if he were the man who proposed to run the town. Smith said that he had been employed as Marshal and should try to maintain order and enforce the law."
"What are you going to do about that gun ordinance?" asked Hank.
"See that it is obeyed," replied Smith, and then he quickly added, "I must trouble you to hand me yours."
"With a coarse oath, this was refused. Characteristically cool, Smith again made the demand and again met with profanity and abuse. Instantly he sprang forward and landed a terrific blow that placed Big Hank out of action. The Marshal took away the pistol and ordered its owner at once to leave for camp, a command heeded with crest-fallen speed. Before midnight, the news of this encounter had been heralded over a radius of many miles throughout the country. The unique punishment administered was wholly new to cowboy warfare, and every phase of the combat was debated. In camp, out on a branch of Chapman Creek, a wager was laid by a big, burly brute that he could go to town and defy to surrender of his gun. Promptly the next morning, a Sunday, Wyoming Frank was on hand to fulfill his boast; Smith was rather late in appearing. Impatient and drinking, the desperado began boasting that the Marshal had probably heard that he was in town, and he "reckoned that he had lighted out." Finally, Smith came quietly down the middle of the street, as was his wont, and presently confronted the advancing bully. As Big Hank had done the evening before, Wyoming Frank began "chaffing" insolently, with the idea of involving Smith in the quarrel as an excuse or resisting the demand he knew would be made. By divining his purpose, Smith guardedly requested the surrender of the purposely displayed gun. Of course, this was refused, but somewhat daunted by the peculiar, steely glint of Smith’s eyes, the bully began backing as Smith advanced quietly, calling for his gun. Frank steadily retired, maneuvering for time and space to draw his pistol and thus have the drop on Smith. But he was backed by the latter’s close reach. Finally, they backed into a large saloon, where the crowd that had been attracted gathered and surrounded them. In the center, Frank came to stand, facing Smith. Frank exploded an insulting oath and vile epithet to his courteous but firm demand. Quick as a flash, Smith vaulted and sent his antagonist prone to the floor and, with the unbelted pistol, vigorously belabored the big brute with a terrific double blow. Then, standing him, Smith said: "I give you five minutes to get out of this town, and don’t you ever let me set eyes on you again." The latent demon in Smith blazed defiance to every spectator."
"For an instant, all stood dazed and speechless, whereupon the saloon proprietor stepped from behind the bar and said to Smith: "That was the nerviest act I ever saw. You did your duty, and that coward got what he deserved. Here is my gun, reckon I’ll not need it as long as you are marshal of this town." That was the signal. Everyone pushed forward proffering Smith pistols and overwhelming him with a profusion of compliments, expressions of admiration, and so forth. He quietly thanked them and said: "Hand your guns to the bartender to keep until you want to get out of camp." From that moment, Torn Smith was master. The cowboys, as a tribute to his marvelous nerve and gentlemanly self-command, became his allied and loyal friends. No guns thereafter were openly worn on the streets of Abilene while Smith was Marshal; nor was he ever again openly affronted. Of course, there were drunkenness and quarreling; dens of iniquity flourished; murders occurred; but his tact, courage, and good judgment were always adequate to minimize consequences and without resistance. Smith became alike popular with merchants, citizens, cowboys, gamblers, and saloon-keepers. In a short time, he ruled Abilene practically without oversight."
"But there was another element in Abilene with which Smith had to deal – the "bad man" desperadoes. At one time a gang of them planned to get him into a house, to put out the lights, and then to shoot him. They did get him into the house, and the lights were put out, but no sooner had the shooting begun than Smith, too, opened fire. The battle ended in about a minute after 30 shots had been fired, but Smith was unhurt. That was the only provocation that ever led him to lose his temper to my knowledge, and he surely did so at that time. He came to my office the next day and swore he would kill at sight the man whom he knew was the leader in the conspiracy. But, as it turned out, that man was not again seen in Abilene. Smith had in him the making of a veritable devil when aroused, but he was such a master of himself that it required extreme provocation to arouse him."
"One bright morning early in November Smith rode up to my office on Silverheels, his beautiful dappled gray, and asked permission to go into the country to aid his deputy in arresting man named McConnell. A short time before, McConnell had shot and killed a neighbor in a quarrel over some crop damage done by the latter’s cattle. He said McConnell was reputed to be a desperate character; besides, the deputy did not know the way out there, 12 miles across the prairie. I suggested that he look around the town, see who was in from the camps, and if the prospects seemed favorable for a quiet day we would run the chances. He acted on my suggestions, and half an hour later reported that he would take the risk. With a tip of his hat and a smile, he rode away – fated to be his last ride. He took over the writ from the deputy, and his attempt to serve it ended in the tragedy that closed the career of that generous soul, that brave and dauntless officer. He was shot dead. The mission which cost him his life was prompted by motives of friendship for the deputy. The impulse to share where danger lurked led to his own sacrifice. Unswerving loyalty to his friends and fearless devotion to duty, twin characteristics throughout his life, unhappily made for his martyrdom."
"Thomas J. Smith was born in New York city about the year 1840. His parents were Irish by birth. His Celtic origin showed in his physiognomy and build. In temperament, character, and bearing, he was thoroughly American. He was nearly five feet eleven inches in height, weighed 170 pounds, was broad-shouldered, erect, athletic, and physically superb. Of fair complexion, auburn hair, a light mustache, and gray eyes with bluish tint – his most expressive features when aroused. His manners were gentle, unobtrusive, and simple; his dress unpretentious, and sensible; his voice low-toned and evenly modulated; his language plain and direct."
"Smith was fairly well educated; reared Catholic; clean of speech – I never heard him utter a profane word nor employ a vulgar phrase. He never gambled, drank, nor was in the least otherwise dissolute. He was singularly and perhaps significantly reticent as to his early life. I cannot learn that he ever mentioned his family, nor was it ever known if he had any living relatives. He had been well-bred, and good blood coursed in his veins. Some sorrow, or tragedy, mayhap early drove him from home and friends out alone into the far West. It is nearly authenticated that he was a victim in the Mountain Meadow Massacre and left for dead. Certainly, little later, he was in western Utah and Nevada."
The bronze tablet affixed to the granite boulder monument that stands at Smith’s grave bears the following inscription:
Thomas J. Smith
Marshal of Abilene, 1870
Died a Martyr to Duty on November 2, 1870.
Fearless Hero of Frontier Days, Who, in Cowboy Chaos, Established the Supremacy of Law
Smith’s successor as Marshal of Abilene was James B. Hickok, better known as "Wild Bill," the renowned western scout and gunfighter. Hickok, with his long hair and flamboyant frontier attire, exuded an air of self-conscious bravado. His demeanor and appearance were often off-putting to those around him and provoked resentment and animosity from the very individuals he was tasked with controlling as Marshal. The temperaments and methods of Smith and Hickok were fundamentally different. Smith’s courage stemmed from a strong moral foundation, and he instinctively trusted in it. He did not rely on expert marksmanship to perform his duties. While serving as Marshal of Abilene, he reportedly only fired a shot at a lawbreaker on one occasion—during the conspiracy to kill him. Furthermore, it was said that in the face of danger, his thoughts never turned to weapons; his mere presence was enough to quell the most hardened criminals in Abilene in 1870. Hickok’s bravery and bearing were of a much lower caliber. Although fearless, he never forgot his superior marksmanship skills.
Hickok’s tenure as Marshal was ultimately a failure. The number of cattle driven to Abilene in 1871 far exceeded any previous year, and a surge of crime, disorder, and shame prevailed, surpassing the worst excesses of the past. While personal confrontations with the deadly Marshal were largely avoided, defiance of law and decency became widespread, brazen, and flagrant. The town’s history in that year became a story of vice, crime, and bloodshed.
These conditions galvanized public sentiment among the town’s more upstanding citizens and the farming population of the surrounding county, leading to a determined effort to curtail the cattle trade in Abilene. Life and property in the town were at the mercy of violence and disorder. During the shipping season, the county, for miles in every direction, was overrun by hordes of cattle from the South and those awaiting market. In early 1872, the "Farmers’ Protective Association of Dickinson County" was formed by the townspeople and area residents. In February of that year, the organization sent a circular to Texas and other parts of the Southern range country, bearing the names of many influential citizens, which read as follows:
"We, the undersigned, members of the Farmers’ Protective Association, and officers and citizens of Dickinson County, Kansas, most respectfully request all who have contemplated driving Texas cattle to Abilene the coming season to seek some other point for shipment, as the inhabitants of Dickinson will no longer submit to the evils of the trade."
This effectively ended the cattle-trail trade at Abilene, as no further herds from the South entered Dickinson County. Consequently, the town was abandoned by everyone and everything that depended on the cattle trade. However, after a few years of relative quiet, the once wildest and woolliest town began to recover and eventually became a prosperous community.
What became of Joseph McCoy, the founder of Abilene as a cowtown? Unfortunately, he overextended himself in cattle speculations during the prosperous year of 1870 and suffered financial ruin. In his "Sketches," he attributed his misfortunes to the Kansas Pacific Railroad’s breach of contract and claimed that once his financial troubles became known, everyone contributed to his downfall. He left Abilene in 1871 and engaged in the cattle business in southern Kansas on a smaller scale.
Abilene would likely have lost its southern cattle trade within a few years regardless. By the time its residents banished the business from their town, the Kansas Pacific Railroad, completed to Denver in the summer of 1870, had established several shipping points west of Abilene for southern cattle destined for Eastern markets. Furthermore, railroads had already extended into southeastern and southern Kansas, intercepting the northbound trail herds. Baxter Springs had become a railroad cowtown with its own share of wildness, but because most Texas herds were now passing north on trails farther west, the place never became a particularly important center. In that region of Kansas, Coffeyville also emerged as a railroad cowtown, similar to Baxter Springs in roughness. Due to their proximity to the Indian Territory border, both towns were plagued by tough elements long after they ceased to be significant shipping points for Southern cattle.
The Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad was completed from Topeka to Emporia, Kansas, in the summer of 1870, and its construction continued westward. By the spring of 1871, the railroad had reached Newton, which became a cattle market and shipping point that year. Newton soon became a lively place. Its general disorder was similar to that of Abilene, but it never reached the same level of notoriety as the pioneer of wild and woolly cowtowns. Nonetheless, a record was set when eleven men were shot and killed in one night. Many outlaws and desperadoes who frequented the Kansas-Indian Territory border tried their luck in Newton for a while. Most of the crimes and outrages were committed by these individuals and others like them. However, Newton’s prominence in this unsavory respect was short-lived. By the spring of 1872, the Santa Fe Railroad had been opened to Great Bend, Kansas, on the Arkansas River, and a branch line had been completed south from Newton to Wichita. Most of Newton’s business in handling range cattle was then transferred to these new shipping points, with Wichita becoming the more important, shipping nearly 80,000 head of cattle during the first season. The flocks of harpies abandoned Newton for these newer scenes of activity.
This riff-raff started in Wichita as soon as the railroad was opened. During the first season, no one complained of a lack of spectacular effects or undue regard for conventionalities. However, by the start of the second season, the town had begun to grow rapidly and substantially. Imitations of Abilene would no longer be tolerated by the class of citizens who were building a solid community. As a result, the town, with a population of around 2,000, soon settled into a more stable pace and never looked back.
The construction of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad westward progressed rapidly, and its tracks reached the eastern border of Colorado in December 1872. This led to the rise of a spectacular cowtown in southwestern Kansas—the famous and infamous Dodge City. For several years, life in Dodge City was "enlivened" by everything implied by the term "wild and woolly." Today, it is a quiet railroad town of around 2,000 inhabitants, but in the 1870s, its reputation as a lawless cowtown was second only to that of Abilene. While not quite as spectacular overall as Abilene, it surpassed it in some respects. Dodge City likely had more homicides, many of which were cold-blooded, than any other cowtown.
Dodge City was laid out on a grand scale, aspiring to become a metropolis. During its time as a cowtown, approximately three out of every four of its "business establishments" consisted of "saloons with annexes for dancing, gambling dens, and even shadier "resorts" and dives. As the cattle trade that sustained it originated primarily in Texas, the "Lone Star" was ubiquitous in Dodge City. There was a widespread appeal to Lone Star sentiment. Lone Stars of all sizes and colors adorned saloons, cheap-clothing shops, "hotels," dance halls, and various other establishments. At its worst, the spirit and atmosphere of coiled and utter vileness that permeated the place revealed the passion, crime, and depravity that made it infernal. During the shipping season, the streets were thronged with people, and the saloons and dance houses were filled with the sounds of profanity, ribald songs, shouts, yells, and half-drunken laughter. At night, all the daytime activities intensified, and the iniquity of the place reached its peak. An inflamed and quivering fierceness infused the lively music in the turbulent dance halls, the clamor and brawling in the saloons grew increasingly uproarious, and groups of whooping, drunken men fired their guns in the streets as they staggered from one "resort" to another. A gathering of men around an object on the ground or unusual activity at the entrance to one of the saloons or other dives signaled to onlookers that someone had "passed in his checks."
After the Santa Fe Railroad entered Colorado, the station of Granada was used as a cattle shipping point and developed some of the usual cowtown characteristics. However, it soon gave way to West Las Animas, near the confluence of the Purgatoire and Arkansas Rivers in Colorado. The cowboys had renamed the lesser of these streams "Picketwire," making it easier for English speakers to pronounce. West Las Animas became a shipping center for the stockmen of southeastern Colorado and New Mexico, and, as its name suggested, it developed into a lively place.
The disorder, violence, and crime that made West Las Animas notorious for a few years were often fueled by racial prejudice. Many stockmen in southern Colorado and New Mexico were Mexican. When American and Mexican cowboys were on a "tear" at the same time, which was not uncommon, the potential for trouble was significant. However, as a genuinely wild and woolly cowtown, West Las Animas never rose above the third grade. On the Kansas Pacific Railroad in eastern Colorado, the town of Kit Carson was even worse than West Las Animas, though now it is a mere shadow of its former self. It was not a cattle trail town in the true sense of the term, but around the time West Las Animas became one, a station on the Kansas Pacific Company built a cheap connecting branch, about 50-60 miles long, between the two towns to get a share of the Las Animas business. This made Kit Carson a junction point, and it independently developed into an ugly and vicious place for a few years. The cattle traffic over the branch road did not last long. Upon its decline, the branch was stripped of its rails and abandoned, and Kit Carson soon faded into obscurity.
Hays City, Kansas, located on the Kansas Pacific Railroad about 150 miles east of the Colorado line, was another well-known "bad" town of the West. Some trail cattle from the South were driven there for shipment eastward before the construction of the more southerly Santa Fe Railroad intercepted the trade. Hays City was a combination cowtown and railroad town with nearly 2,000 inhabitants, most of whom could hardly be called citizens. Around a hundred gambling dens flourished there, saloons were innumerable, and all the other trappings of such places were abundant. Shooting affrays, often with fatal outcomes, occurred daily and nightly. Wild Bill Hickok served as Marshal of Hays City before taking charge of Abilene. In about a year, he added half a dozen or so to the number of men he had sent out of the world with his incredibly quick revolver while performing his duties. No cowtowns comparable to Abilene or Dodge City ever developed in the northern parts of the range-cattle country. However, several "cities" in that region experienced a lively existence. These included Cheyenne and Laramie City in Wyoming. However, their reputations for wildness in those days were primarily due to factors unrelated to the cattle business.
Cheyenne, Wyoming, was a railroad center and a haven for land pirates and other ruffians. While its business was substantial, the cattle trade only constituted a portion of it and was not solely responsible for the town’s character. Nevertheless, the place had ample facilities for entertaining visitors who had trailed in from the ranges, as many unfortunate individuals discovered to their detriment. Laramie was closer to the true cowtown experience, measured by the standards of Abilene or Dodge City. Still, as it served as the headquarters for a significant part of the Union Pacific Railroad’s operational administration, it was not entirely a cowtown. While it was rough and tough, much of its fame across the country, particularly in the East, as a "bad" place was due to the whimsical exaggerations of "Bill" Nye in his newspaper, the Laramie Boomerang. In general, however, Laramie depended on the business of stockmen, serving as the outlet for a large region of range country.
Miles City, Montana, achieved a degree of distinction as a cowtown, offering most of the usual cowtown "attractions" for several years. However, its sphere of influence was limited. Furthermore, the northern range men were not as easily swayed by gaudiness as those of the South, who made pilgrimages to the old cattle towns of Kansas. The cattlemen, including the cowboys, of the far-Northern ranges were generally more conservative in many ways than those of the central and southern parts of the range country.
President Roosevelt, writing in the mid-1880s, referred to Miles City as "a true cowtown," but he did not mean the kind of cowtown we have been discussing here, not like the all-wool-and-more-than-a-yard-wide Abilene or Dodge City of the earlier period. Indeed, neither of those towns, in their cowtown "glory," would have tolerated such tame diversions as horse races. In his "Ranch Life and the Hunting Trail," Mr. Roosevelt described his impressions of Miles City and its inhabitants in the mid-1880s:
"A true ‘cowtown’ is worth seeing – such a one as Miles City, for instance, especially at the time of the annual meeting of the great Montana Stock-raisers’ Association. Then the whole place is full to overflowing, the importance of the meeting and the fun of the attendant frolics, especially the horse races, drawing from the surrounding ranch country many hundreds of men of every degree, from the rich stock-owner with his millions to the ordinary cowboy who works for forty dollars a month. It would be impossible to imagine a more typically American assemblage. Although there are always many foreigners, usually English, Irish, and German, they have become completely Americanized. It would be difficult to gather a finer body of men, despite their numerous shortcomings."
Texas, the great patron of the old cowtowns of Kansas, had nothing quite like them herself. The Missouri, Kansas, Texas Railroad, the first line to Texas from the North, was completed into the northeastern part of the state at the beginning of 1873. By the autumn of that year, it and its connections provided a direct route to Chicago. Gainesville and Fort Worth soon became important cattle shipping points, but they were not characterized by vice, lawlessness, and crime. The same could be said of several other Texas towns that later became prominent in the cattle shipping trade. These towns were not entirely free from disorder, but it was incidental and not dominant.
Later, when the vast western and