BY MRS. KATE M. BRAINARD OF OAKDALE

     (195)I WAS not born in Antelope County. That is not my fault, but it is my misfortune. It is a good place to be born in. I was born in Dodge County, Nebraska, October 27, 1868, and came to what is now Antelope County with my parents in May, 1870, at the age of one and a half years. My earliest recollections of the county history are therefore rather dim, with the exception of a few incidents which I recall very distinctly. I can see the little old log house with its tiny windows, and the floors made of basswood puncheon which warped so badly that my baby feet could not step over their edges, and shrunk so there were great cracks between the planks. So the puncheon floor was soon torn up and thrown out of doors. After that we lived on an earth floor with strips of rag carpet spread down to make it look more homelike. I can see the deep ravine which was back of the house, which was a source of mystery and delight to us children as long as we lived on the old homestead. It was about half a mile or more in length, with steep, high banks, and filled with timber. Here many kinds of delicate wild flowers grew, such as the yellow and blue violet, wild honeysuckle or columbine, Jack-in-the-pulpit, and many other favorites. Here we learned our first lessons in botany long before we went to school. My brothers were great lovers of everything in nature and so we soon knew not only the names of every tree, shrub, vine, and flower in the old ravine, but much about the nature and habits of the same, and the same way with the birds and animals that we saw.

     I have often thought that while the children of the earliest settlers were deprived of many advantages of an (196) older settled country, still they had many privileges and pleasures that do not come nowadays. Every Sunday afternoon that was pleasant we would coax father and mother to take a walk up the ravine. We played there all the week by ourselves, but it was always new and more interesting when papa and mamma could go, too. We always learned something new, heard new stories, so that all the beautiful things took on new beauties, and every badger hole was fraught with new mysteries. We learned, or at least my brothers did, to know the track of every animal from the tiny mouse and rabbit track to the track of a deer or antelope. About half way up the ravine and near where it branches off in two deep cuts, stood the old cedar tree whose lower branches furnished us with a number of Christmas trees. Farther on there was a clay bank where nothing grew, but which furnished a clay excellent for moulding. There we made all kinds of funny figures, built railroads and bridges, forts and cities, and spent many long, happy hours.

     Our pets were numerous and of great variety. We usually had anywhere from one to half a dozen rabbits, either the small gray variety or the jack-rabbit, in the summer, which we would keep a few days, when they would either get away or we would get to feeling so sorry for them, seeing them shut up all the time, that we would let them go, only to replace them in a few days with others. At one time my brother brought home a full grown fox squirrel. I suppose he was too old to be taught new tricks. At least he never took very kindly to confinement and never got very tame. He was always gnawing out of his box and racing all over the house, knocking things off the shelves and stirring things up generally. So we soon turned him loose to take care of himself. Another favorite pet with my youngest brother was a large horned or hoot owl. I don't know why he wanted them, because, living entirely on small animals as they do, it was hard to get food for them. But I suppose they were an interesting study to him; at least he had several at different times. (197) One of these, I remember, caused me considerable grief. It. was after our new house was built, the old log one being fitted up and used for a granary. The owl was kept upstairs in the old house while down stairs in an empty bin was an old mother cat with her family of four baby kittens. I visited the kittens many times during the day, but kept away from the owl unless the boys were there, as I didn't like to hear him "crack" his bill at me. What was my astonishment and rage on one of my visits to find Mr. Owl in the kittens' nest. Two of the kittens had already disappeared down his capacious throat while the third was all down but the tail, which was fast disappearing. I gave one scream, seized the remaining kitten and fled to the house to pour out my trouble in my mother's arms.

     Another entertaining little pet was a young wildcat. This the boys obtained by trading some flour for it with some Ponca Indians who were camped on the creek, trapping. He was as playful and affectionate as any kitten, and we soon grew very fond of him. But one morning while a neighbor waited at the door with a heavy lumber wagon the kitten got under the wheel, and, the horses backing up suddenly, his short life was ended. But of all our pets the best loved by not only the whole family but by the whole neighborhood were Frank and Fanny, our antelopes. I can see them yet so plainly, although I was only a tiny little girl when father brought them home. Queer, wobbly little fellows they were at first -- could scarcely stand alone -- but with good care they grew rapidly and were soon running all about. They were never tied up or kept in confinement in any way, but roamed all over the place and neighborhood at will. But they knew where home was and who was their protector, for if, as it frequently happened, a neighbor's dog gave chase, they came flying home and up to old Captain (our dog), who immediately sent Mr. Dog home about his business. Fanny was a quiet little thing and never gave any one any trouble, but Frank was a "rake " and was full of pranks that he was always trying to play on us. When (198) the garden was planted he would sneak up quietly from behind and paw the seeds out of the ground as fast as they were put in, until he was discovered at his mischief, when he would go bounding away out of reach. I couldn't go out of doors alone without he would knock me down never hurt me but seemed to delight in seeing me tumble over, for I would no sooner get on my feet than down I would have to go again, until my screams would bring some one to my assistance, when away he would fly again, just out of reach, where he would stop and bound up and down, fairly quivering with delight. But his favorite trick was always reserved for strangers, -- strange men. I believe he was quite gallant to the ladies, but let a strange man come there and Frank would always keep his distance, feeding quietly just as any respectable antelope should, apparently taking no notice of anything until father, becoming interested in the conversation, would forget to keep watch of Frank, who would slip up quietly from the rear -- Whack! and over would go Mr. Man like a ninepin and before he could collect his scattered senses and pick himself up the antelope would have put a good distance between them and be quietly waiting for a chance to repeat the performance. The boys decided that they would break him of this disagreeable trait. So one day, when some one was there, they borrowed his coat and hat and arranging them on a post as lifelike as possible, waited for Frank. He came, full tilt, but to his amazement the supposed stranger never moved. He tried it again, this time a little harder. Same result. This was something he had never met with before, and evidently he could not understand it. He backed off, shaking his head, took a run and another bout with the post. I do not remember how many times he butted his head against the post, but after a while, tired out, he stopped, a sadder if not wiser antelope.

     The spring that they were a year old, Fanny grew restless and uneasy and seemed to want to go away, but Frank wouldn't leave. She coaxed him for a week or two, going (199) away for a day or two at a time and then returning, but as Frank evidently couldn't be prevailed upon to leave home, she finally gave up and took her leave without him. After Fanny had gone Frank stayed closer at home, following the members of the family around like a dog, and if possible, he grew more mischievous than ever. I could scarcely play out of doors at all, he bothered me so, and one day I overheard father tell some one that he was afraid he would have to kill Frank, he was so mean to his little girl. Now I had no idea what the word kill meant, but if it was something that would fix Frank so that he couldn't knock me over every time I went out of doors I wanted it done. So every day after that I would tease to have Frank killed. One day as I ran around the house I came suddenly upon a sight that struck me dumb with horror. There hung our antelope, head down, throat cut, and father just ready to dress him. Now I knew what "to kill" meant, and my baby heart was torn with sorrow and remorse to think I had been the cause of my troublesome playfellow's death. It is needless to add that none of us could eat a mouthful of the meat, tender and sweet though it was, but we gave it all away.

     Fanny stayed away all summer, but returned in the fall, bringing a strange antelope with her, which followed her clear down into the cattle yard, just across the creek from the house; then becoming frightened, he ran back over the hills and out of sight. Fanny acted pleased to see us all and stayed all winter, leaving again the next spring just before the big April storm. We never saw her again and as so many antelope and deer perished in that storm it is more than likely that such was her fate.

     In those days we usually had plenty of wild meat, such as elk, deer, antelope, with prairie chickens at certain seasons of the year. We children were used to it and liked it, but mother used to get tired of the wild meat and was always telling how much better beef was and wishing we could have some beef. Finally Mr. Putney, a neighbor, killed a beef and of course divided with his neighbors, (200) sending us a liberal supply. We children were delighted and could hardly wait until dinner for mother to prepare some of that steak. But oh, how disappointed we were! It seemed so tough and tasteless, and I wondered how any one could prefer beef to venison.

     We were always quite proud of our school. Our district was No. 1, and that of itself was considered a distinction. We had a frame school-house while the other schoolhouses, with one exception, as far as we knew, were sod or log. As this same school building was afterwards bought by Mr. Eggleston and used for a chicken house, I hardly suppose it was as fine a building as it seemed to our childish eyes. But we did have a good school and pleasant surroundings, for the school-house stood in a cozy little nook, not so very far from the creek, where there were lots of timber, wild flowers, and many delightful places for play. When I commenced going to school, and for some years afterwards, I was the only scholar that was born in Nebraska. The other children used to twit me of this fact and rather poked fun at me for never having been out of the state.

     In the year 1878, when I was ten years old, I took a trip with my parents and little sisters to the southern part of the state, a distance of four hundred miles there and return, to visit an aunt. We went in a covered wagon and camped out at night. What a trip that was! A journey across the continent in a Pullman car couldn't compare with it. I learned the name of every county visited, and every stream we crossed, and every town that we passed through or any where near. It may be interesting to some to know that in that whole distance we only saw two or three frame houses outside of the towns. At Kearney I saw the cars for the first time, and father bought some pears, the first we had ever seen. I remember that I got out and walked across the bridge over the Platte River, which is a mile wide at that place. But my greatest joy was that when I arrived at my aunt's there was a high hill back of the house where I could see over into Kansas. (201) I know now that if father had had any idea how I longed to step across that state line he would have driven the five miles farther to have gratified me. But I kept my thoughts to myself and we came back home without my having been "out of the state." But thereafter when the children would taunt me of that fact I would toss my head and say, "Well, I guess I have seen over into Kansas, anyway." And I really believe that that gave me some prestige.

     It was during my twelfth year that we bought an organ and I commenced taking lessons of Mrs. Leduc in Oakdale, going back and forth, a distance of six miles and return, on horseback. But the same year the railroad reached Oakdale and Antelope was no longer a frontier county.