We look back with fond recollections to the days of our childhood. The earliest days of my childhood were spent on a farm near Oak Ridge, Missouri. My father was George Washington Fulbright, and my mother was Louisa Catherine (Pair). They lived on this farm with their six children; namely John Miles, George Donald, Grace, Ruth, Nic Amos, and Hester. There was a baby, William (Willie) born between John and George, who died in infancy.

I was Ruth, the fifth child and second girl. We were very happy living here on this pretty farm. The house set well back from the County road, on a slightly rising slope. A driveway ran up the east side of the house and on to the barn. There was a gate which we called the "big gate" opening in to the driveway from the road, and on the east side of the gate was a huge elm tree. My sister, Grace, and I often played under the tree when our father went to town, opening the "Big Gate" for him when he returned, clambering in with him to ride up to the house. He always stopped at the side porch, where Mama was waiting to unload his purchases.

There was another gate at the end of the driveway, opening into the barn lot. This gate closed with a big wooden peg, and "Charley Horse", a pretty black colt belonging to my brother, John, had learned to reach his head over the gate and pull out the peg, and gallop gaily down the drive to the big, grassy lot between the house and the road. This irked my father, but delighted us very much.

The house had a porch which extended the full width of the house. On the east side was a beautiful sweetbrier rose which climbed up the porch post to the roof. On the west side was a grape arbor extending the depth of the house. There was a hammock, made of barrel staves wired together on the porch. There was a quilt folded to make a comfortable pad in the hammock. We loved to swing in it and often went to sleep. A pathway of huge flagstones led to the yard gate, and on each side were clumps of iris, called "blue flags". There were beautiful cedar trees on each side of the house. It made a pretty picture to look up from the "big road" (as the County road was called) to the house. The tree on the east side was called my tree, and the one on the west side was Grace's. We made our play-houses under these trees and played with our dolls there.

There was a spring on the west side of the house where the land sloped down to a group of big trees. The spring branch flowed gently down to the "big road" and under the bridge. Wild flowers grew along the side of the branch and we loved to play here and pick the flowers. We were forbidden to play in the water, but we often did. There were two huge flat rocks down near the bridge, and Grace played on one and I on the other, making mud pies and great families of mud dolls. Once Grace was very daring. She caught a low-hanging branch of a tree and swung across the spring branch. She was so entranced that she did this again and again, until her dress dipped in the water, as her hold slipped. She was wearing her new "snaky" dress, so called because there were designs printed of pink wavy figures. She had to sit out on her big rock until her dress dried, before we could go back to the house.

We loved this farm, as there were so many interesting places to play. In haying time we were allowed to climb up on the barnlot gate and watch the big hay fork swing out from the opening in the hay barn and take great loads of hay and swing out on a pulley. It could almost take a whole wagon load of hay in one trip!

Another interesting place was the wheat house. In this the threshed wheat was stored. We were not allowed in the wheat house, but sometimes we slipped in and had a great time playing in the loose wheat. Our mother told us it was very dangerous to play in the wheat, and told stories of a wheat grain being lodged in a child's ear, or nostril, and even sprouting before it was discovered and dislodged. But this didn't stop us from slipping in when we could.

There was a "dry house", too--a pretty little house on wheels, with rows of shallow trays on each side to hold the fruit being dried for winter consumption--apples, peaches, etc. A fire was made in the center, and kept at an even temperature to dry the fruit just right. We were not allowed near this dryhouse.

The sugar cane patch was at the west side of the vegetable garden, and when the cane was ripe we would bend the stalks and twist them and suck the sweet juice out. Our father didn't like for us to do this, so he would cut a canestalk and cut it in short lengths for us to eat. At cutting time, he would cut the cane and take it to the sorghum mill to be made into sorghum molasses for our winter use. Oftentimes he allowed us to go along and watch the mule go around and around, turning the mill that pressed the sap from the cane stalks. Then the juice had to be boiled down to the right consistency. Sometimes it was so thick it wouldn't pour in the wintertime!

Another very enchanting place to play was our attic. On rainy days, we would play up there all day long. There were two beds up there with tall cannon ball posts. Mama permitted John to saw the balls off one bed to make croquet balls. There were hoop skirts, too, and Grace and I played "lady" wearing them, and had a great deal of fun. We would wear the old blue soldier uniforms, too, polishing the brass buttons until they shone. John found a bullet mold and made many lead bullets, which he carried around in a little leather bag. There was a big old charcoal sad iron, too, among many other interesting things. We liked to cut paper dolls from the old fashion magazines, too.

Papa had a beautiful team of horses he called "Price" and "Bill", so called because he bought them from Uncle Price and Aunt Bill (Aunt Barbara). Bill was gentle and easy to handle, but Price was wild and skittish. Papa was determined to break Price to double harness, so he hitched the team to the farm wagon to haul wood, taking John along. Price became scared of a rattle, and bolted and ran away, with the wagon bumping and bouncing. Papa was unable to hold the horses, and called for John to jump out. They both jumped, but the wagon ran over John's leg. It wasn't broken, but was badly bruised. Mama made him comfortable in a huge hickory rocker on the big porch. He quickly recovered, but I will never forget how his leg looked--all black, blue, green, and purple!

Papa continued to work with Price to break him, and he saddled him to ride to town. Mama had a basket of eggs to send in to market, and as she handed them up to Papa the eggs rattled, scaring Price. Papa had all he could do to restrain the horse, and he dropped the basket, breaking the eggs, alas! But every day Price was hitched up, and finally he seemed to become gentle enough to be hitched with Bill to the surrey. Papa had a new surrey with a fringe on top--a beautiful black shiny surrey with red wheels. The top was lined in bright kelly green flannel, and the fringe around the top danced as we gaily cantered down the big road! Papa liked to take his family for a Sunday ride, and he always wanted his girls dressed in white. Mama was still afraid of Price, but she went anyway.

Papa was proud of his family, and decided to have the "the family group" taken. He wanted us grouped on the pretty lawn, and he wanted the girls dressed in white. He had the photographer, Mr. Kassel, come out to the house to take the picture. The proofs came out bad, as the sun made a glare on the white dresses. So, we had to go into the studio for the picture. This time, Mama had us wear dark dresses. Papa didn't like this, and tension was high for awhile, but we finally were grouped, and the photographer put a black cloth over his head, scaring Hester, and she cried. Things were delayed for awhile, but finally after much coaxing everything was calm and the picture was taken. Shortly after this incident our brother Peter was born. Papa named him for his third brother, Peter Horry. Now there were seven children.

One incident that I recall so vividly was when "Old Ball" fell in the barnlot spring. Aunt "Bill" (Barbara) had driven over in the buggy for a visit and to get a bushel of the sweet little sugar pears from the big old pear tree out by the bee hives. Cousin Dick took the harness off Old Ball and let her loose in the barnlot. She wandered down to the spring, which was fenced on three sides. The water ran off in a shallow, pebble bottomed drain branch. Our horses had no trouble drinking from the branch, but Old Ball fell in. Aunt "Bill" became frantic, lest the old horse would be unable to get up and would die there. The boys hurriedly got fence rails and pried the old horse up so she could regain her footing. We children were so frightened as Aunt "Bill" was crying. But Old Ball was hitched to the buggy and off they drove with the pears.

My mother's cousin, Silas Pair, taught the Fulbright School and boarded at our house. He was amazed at Grace, who at the age of four could read, and make figures to ten, and write her name. He urged Mama to let her go to school with him. He would carry her over the rough places and across the creek. She was the youngest pupil in school, but was bright and took her place with older pupils, making good grades. When I reached the age of four, I wanted to "read words" in books, too, as Grace had a book and could read. She wouldn't let me have her book, or even look over her shoulder. I was in the corner crying one evening when Papa came in, and told him I wanted to "read words in books". He said he would get me a book if I would learn to read, and the next time he went to town he brought me my first book, The New Franklin First Reader. (It was pale blue with black lettering and design.) Oh, how proud I was of my own book! I sat on the arm of his chair and he taught me to read. I carried my book continually, and am sorry to say, chewed the corners of it.

I must go back to the time of my birth and explain why Grace resented me so much. My mother had three boys before Grace was born, and when my parents knew they had a girl baby, their joy knew no bounds. Papa exclaimed, "Mama, we have a little geisha!" She was the delight of the family, and was a very bright and lovely child. She remained the petted darling for almost three and a half years, until I was born. I was a very small baby, weighing only three and a half pounds. My parents were afraid I wouldn't survive and Papa held me on a pillow on his lap all night long, watched lest I stop breathing. Although small, I was a strong and healthy baby, and soon gained weight. There were stories about how I could lie in a shoe box and many other tales that delight and interest children. Many friends and neighbors came to see and exclaim over the tiny baby, so Grace felt slighted, as she had always had all the attention, and from the first resented me. Mama said she was continually trying to get me away and had to be watched closely lest she harm me. As I grew older and reached the toddling stage, my hair grew and came in curly. People were always remarking about my pretty curly hair. Grace resented this also and would get both hands full of hair trying to pull it out. Mama would hear me screaming and would know that Grace was pulling my hair. This was really a sad state of affairs, for Grace was only a baby herself, and with tact on Mama's part, could have been trained to love the new baby instead of resenting it. I repeat, it was sad, as it lasted all through our childhood and girlhood, but we did have many happy times together, and in our later years had many happy times talking over the past.

There was a big fireplace in the end of the living room, and on winter evenings Papa would often pop corn, as we sat around the fire. We loved to watch the fluffy white corn popping and sometimes it would force the lid open and the corn would pop high and fall into the coals. We would squeal with delight when this happened.

John and George saved the signatures from "Arbuckle's" Coffee and after saving the required number, sent away for a Magic Lantern and a dozen colored glass slides. Oh, we all thought this was wonderful! A sheet was hung on the wall, and the pictures were projected on the sheet. I remember there were soldiers, cowboys, and circus animals. Papa always supervised this, as there was a kerosene lamp in the lantern for the light.

A very delightful event that stands out in my memory was our visit to Grandma Pair, who lived in Cape Girardeau, twenty miles from Oak Ridge. Grandma wanted Grace and me to spend two weekends with her. Uncle Don and Aunt Dora were still there with her, and were eager for us to come, too. We had such a wonderful time there. A little negro girl, Cora Jane, lived with her mother in the alley behind Grandma's, and Grandma allowed her to come in our yard and play with us under a big tree, where we had our playhouse. Uncle Don made a rope swing for us and we had wonderful times playing there. Sometimes Grandma would let us eat our lunch out under the tree, and Cora Jane brought big sugary molasses cookies and ate with us. I loved Cora Jane; she was a delightful playmate.

Aunt Dora gave us many little trinkets and treasures, and oh, the joy when she gave us some tortoise shell hairpins!! I'll never forget my precious hairpins. I wanted my hair pinned up, but my hair hung in curls and Aunt Dora didn't want to pin it up; however, she took a curl and made a little knot on top of my head and pinned it with my precious hairpins. I was so very proud of my "noodie", and kept feeling of it to feel my hairpins. Grace put hers in her shoe box with her side combs and other treasures.

The day came when our visit was over, and that day Uncle Don brought us gifts. He held the two packages behind him and asked me which color I liked best--pink or green. I said, "Pink!" So he gave me the package with the pink gift. But Grace, too, preferred the pink gift, and refused to accept the green gift, so I had to give her the pink one although bitter tears were shed. The gifts were a child's service of a plate, cup and saucer and a cereal bowl. They were lovely, but I could never really like the greenish-blue set, and always had a longing for the pink set that Uncle Don gave me. Years and years later--seventy three, to be exact--Grace gave me the little pink cup and saucer--the only pieces left from our gifts. I have them on a whatnot shelf in the "Pink Boo" room now (in 1970).

Our journey home was made in a "hack" driven by Pink Wills. Our Aunt Al accompanied us. We set off in high spirits with our trinkets and treasures and a big box of rolled oats that Grace held in her arms. We ate rolled oats for the first time at Grandma's and liked them so much, that she gave us a big box to take home. We had to Cross Byrd's Creek on the way home, and a recent heavy rain had filled the creek to overflowing. Pink Wills was familiar with the creek and knew where to ford it, so drove the horses right into the water. Aunt Al screamed as the water came up in the hack, wetting our luggage, but we got safely across and the horses scrambled up the bank.

When we arrived home, the whole family came out to greet us, and we were so happy to see them all. Papa lifted us out of the hack, Grace still clutching the box of rolled oats in her arms. John called out to Grace, "What is in that big box you are carrying?" And she replied, "It's grind oats and you can't have any!" He never would have any, though Mama would serve him a dish, too.

As our things were taken from the hack, Grace discovered that her box of treasures was gone. It was washed out of the hack as we crossed the creek. Alas! Grace would not be consoled, as she mourned the loss of her hairpins. I still had mine in my "noodie", but Mama kept urging me to let Grace have them as she was so grieved over the loss of hers. I gave them to her, but not without tears and a heart break.

Once a big windstorm swept through our farm, and when Papa saw the heavy black clouds, he hurried to the house, to take us all down in the cellar where he thought it was safer. He took all of us children down, but Mama refused to go, and he picked her up bodily and carried her down. The storm did no damage, however, but blew down a big tree by the spring house. It was partly rotted, so was easily blown down. The boys ran down to see what damage was done, but hurriedly returned saying there were a lot of snakes at the base of the broken tree. Mama and Papa called for garden hoes and ran down there. John helped them, and with an ax and the hoes they killed twenty-seven water moccasins. We were not allowed to play down there any more.

The boys, John and George, were old enough to help with some of the farm work, and were cutting cornstalks in a small patch on the east side of the apple orchard. I was following George, wanting to help, but only getting in his way, as I was too small to help any. I darted in his way and the big corn knife came down on my head cutting a big gash. Oh, the blood streamed down my face and on my dress and I was frightened and screaming. Mama washed the blood away and dressed me in clean clothes, and allowed Grace and me to play in the attic--which was always a treat to us. I still bear the big ugly scar on my head.

We all loved books. George's favorite was a history book with a full page picture of General Putnam on a horse riding at full speed. George admired Gen. Putnam so much that he was dubbed "Old Put" and that name "Put" stayed with him throughout his life.

The book that Grace and I preferred was Grimm's Fairy Tales--a book Papa brought to her when he returned from his first trip to Oklahoma. He brought me Alice in Wonderland. I liked Grace's book better than mine. She wouldn't let me hold hers, but she would read the stories aloud. I will never forget the story of "Bluebeard". She read it with much feeling and expression, as I sat there shivering.

Grace and I were old enough now to attend school in Oak Ridge with our brothers, John and George, walking the short mile to and from school in nice weather. When there was a heavy snow, Papa would take us in a big homemade sleigh, putting straw in the bed of the sleigh, with a comforter of Mama's over it. There was room for our cousins to ride with us, and we had a very merry time. There were times when the snow would drift against the fence, and a light rain would freeze, making a crust on the snow. The tops of the fenceposts peeped above the crusted snow, and we were hilarious, walking along the top of the fence, much to the consternation of our cousin, Rosy, who taught in the school, and supervised us to and from school.

Before I finish the story of my childhood, I must go back and mention more about the younger members of our family--the ones coming after me; namely Nick Amos, Hester, Peter Horry and Andrew Quanah. Enough has been said about the first four living children, and the four younger ones were a very vital part of our family, too.

First after me was Nick Amos, so named by Papa for his old friend, Nick Amos. I remember this old man very clearly. He had a bushy beard and spoke brokenly. Papa was fond of him and gave Nick his full name. He was always referred to as Ol' Nick Amos, and I never heard him called anything else. He had a wife, whom he called "Meery" (Mary) and two sons, Albert and "Cholly" (Charley), but I am getting away from the Fulbright story.

Nick was a favorite of Papa's and he always called him "The Feller". Nick would watch for Papa to come in from working, riding Bill and leading Price unhitched, and with the harness thrown over their backs. Papa would stop and take Nick up on the horse in front, and let him ride to the barnyard gate. Nick always got a big thrill doing this. Nick wore little blue dresses--blue with a tiny white dot--gathered on a yoke and with little collars. One day, Papa said that Nick should have pants instead of wearing dresses. So Mama made him little blue overalls, but Nick cried and refused to wear them, and had to have on his little blue dress. When Papa came home, he was astonished to see Nick back in dresses and said, "Well, I see we have a little girl here!" Nick instantly flared up and said, "No! I are a boy!" Papa said that boys wore "boy-pants". At that, Nick demanded his overalls and from that time, always called them his "boy-pants". I remember, too, that his Sunday suit was a little Eton suit worn with a white ruffled blouse with a large collar. Papa bought him a pair of red-topped boots, too. Nick was so proud of his boots, and didn't want to take them off when he went to bed! There were red tops, or cuffs, with two scallops at the side, and brass buttons in the scallops. He wore his Eton suit and red-topped boots in the "family picture".

Next came Hester. She was named for our Grandmother Pair--Mama's mother. Hester was a very engaging and lovable child with flaxen hair and blue eyes, always chattering to anyone who would listen, even to strangers. She was never shy, quite determined to have her own way--and usually got it! Once, a neighbor came. His name was Bob McClain. He talked about hunting 'coons and 'possums, which entranced Hester, and after he left she called herself "Bob" and demanded that we do the same. So, she was called "Bob", and then it went to "Bob-Hes", which lasted for quite awhile. How fortunate for her that this nickname didn't stay with her! The Fulbrights were always strong on nicknames.

Since Hester was younger, Grace and I never did include her in our play. Later, as Grace started to grow up, she cast me aside and would have nothing to do with either of us. So Hester and I were playmates and were devoted to each other all through the rest of time, remaining so until her death in 1962. We shared everything, down to the last bite of candy. Oh! We had such happy times together, sharing our joys and sorrows. It tears my heart asunder to recall those days, and I cannot keep the tears back.

Next comes Peter Horry. Papa named him for his brother, Peter. This child was a very good and quiet little one, and a very handsome boy. His most attractive feature were his grey-blue eyes. Mama often said he looked like Grandpa Fulbright out of the eyes. He had a very straight, intent and direct look, as if reading one's mind before speaking. My brother, George, had this look, too, as does his daughter, Dorothy--a somewhat quizzical look. My sister Grace had it, too. When Pete was a baby, Papa brought in a horse collar and put it on the floor, with the padded side up. Mama put a soft, old quilt over it, thus making a very safe place for the baby to sit and play. He wouldn't fall over, as the padded horse collar held him safely. His favorite toy was a string of four or five spools. He would ecstatically shake the string, sometimes striking his head hard, and would cry. Another plaything was a glass bluing bottle. Mama used bluing in the laundry. The bottle was a beautiful cobalt blue. She washed it out, and Pete was entranced with his new plaything. He was cutting teeth, and the two upper front teeth were well through. He had his blue bottle and bobbed his head forward, bumping his mouth on the bottle, thus knocking one of his front teeth out. Oh! We all cried at seeing the blood on our baby's dress. It frightened Mama, too. Pete had no tooth in that space until he was six years old!

As he grew, he developed into a very handsome little boy. He was our "Little Lord Fauntleroy", having long golden curls hanging to his shoulders. His "Sunday" suit was of black velvet, with which he wore a stiff white blouse trimmed in eyelet ruffles. For everyday wear, he wore little blue pants with a blue ruffled blouse.

When we lived in Oak Ridge in the house across the street from Dr. Walker's drugstore and Dr. Ellis's office, Mama would be at our restaurant on the corner of the block, and Pete would go across the street to Dr. Ellis's office, staying there until Mama would get home. Dr. Ellis called Pete his "office boy". Pete couldn't talk very plainly, and called Dr. Ellis "Docken Ette". Dr. Ellis was very fond of Pete and liked having him in the office with him. But, alas! One day Dr. Ellis took Pete to the barber shop and had his curls shorn! Mama was terribly hurt and cried over her "shorn lamb". Dr. Ellis seemed very sorry and wrapped the beautiful, golden curls in blue paper, such as absorbent cotton comes in, and put the package in the fork of the maple tree in front of his office. He called to Mama, "I'm sorry, Kate, I should have asked you before having it done." But, that didn't make her feel any better over it. Pete continued to be his office boy.

The last child in our family was our darling Quanah. He was born on the Indian Reservation in Oklahoma and was adored by all who saw him. He was named for the great Comanche Chief, Quanah Parker, whose mother was a white woman, and father the great chief Peta Noconah. Cynthia Ann Parker had been captured as a young girl by the Comanches in the raid on Parker's Fort near Mexia, Texas. But, I'm getting ahead of my story, and must tell you how we came to be in Oklahoma.

When Peter was about two years old, Papa had a great desire to go to Oklahoma, where his brother Andrew (Uncle Cot) lived. Uncle Cot wrote in glowing terms of the state, and when Papa made a trip to see for himself, his desire to move there grew greater. Mama did not want to go, but Papa persisted, and finally he sold the farm, and had an auction sale of our household goods and belongings.

The day of the sale dawned fair after a day or two of rain. Mr. Tom Williams put up a stand, selling candy, cracker jacks and lemonade. He had this stand against the paling fence, and Hester, who was about four years old, reached her little hand through the palings and got sticks of peppermint and lemon candy for the children before being discovered.

I remember the talk following the sale. Our cedar water bucket with brass bands went for $.25 and the two brass buckets that held the bran mixtures for the pigs brought $.50 each. When Mama's white-pine dough board was handed out to the auctioneer, he put it down and stood on it, as the ground was wet from the rain. Mama cried about this, and she also cried when she opened the big cage to set her mockingbird free. She had rescued the tiny birds when a cat caught the mother, feeding them boiled egg and mashed potato. Only one bird survived, and he became quite tame. She had a big parrot cage for him and hung it on the front porch. When she opened the cage door to free him, he flew to the fence, then back again to his cage, and sang before flying away.

We left for Oklahoma on October 28, 1901, with only the proceeds of the sale, our clothing, and some boxes of bedding, carpets, etc. I remember the hot railroad coach with its scratchy red plush seats. We children kept going to the water cooler for a drink, and then to the restroom. The coach lurched and bumped and we found it hard to keep from falling in the aisle. It seemed to us a long, long trip on the train before we finally reached Lawton where we got off.

Papa took us to a lodging house--so new it wasn't even finished. The whole front of the building was open and we could see through to the back wall. The cooking range was against the back wall, and we could see women preparing the evening meal. There was a long, narrow porch across the front of the building, with steps going up at each end, and a long hitching rack in front where teams were hitched. There were no screens and the flies were settled thick on the dining table, which was new pine unpainted boards laid on saw horses. New pine benches were at each side of the long table, and there were no linens, the food being laid on the bare, new, rough boards. It was dark in the back of the room, but several coarsely dressed women were cooking there on a big, black range. The woman making biscuits was nearly blind, but she was busily working along with another woman. They placed large bowls of boiled Irish potatoes on each end of the table, with big platters of fried pork swimming in brown skillet gravy, and big bread plates heaped with brown hot biscuits. We were tired and hungry so Papa lined us up on one bench with Mama at one end and himself at the other. There were rough, but kindly men on the other bench, and I remember quite clearly that one rough looking bearded man called loudly, "I want some of the 'spittoon' gravy!" In fact, I clearly remember other incidents of that meal. Flies were swimming in the gravy with the meat, and at the side of every plate was a pile of flies each person picked from the biscuits!! Mama wasn't hungry!

We had to spend the night here, awaiting the wagon which was to take us the twenty miles to Uncle Cot's. I have no recollection whatsoever of going to bed, I was so tired and sleepy. Nor do I remember anything of the wagon trip to Uncle Cot's. I only remember arriving there quite late in the day. His house was a large double log house, and one had to step over a log doorsill. I failed to step up and over, so I fell headlong in the house. They seemed very happy to see us, and we were happy to get there, as the talk of "going to Oklahoma" seemed like the "Promised Land".

Uncle Cot and Aunt Mattie had five children: Matilda (Tilly), Edna (Eddie), Lieu, Addie Lee and Ina May. The two families made a house full to running over! Tilly and I struck up a great friendship from the start while Grace and Eddie paired off. We had very happy times while we stayed there, playing with our dolls on the wide front porch. This porch extended the width of the double log cabin, having a dirt floor which was packed down hard and shiny. There were two long benches on the porch and the cowboys (there were two of them) would sit out there singing in the evenings after supper. Indians from the Comanche Reservation would come, too. They were very friendly. Quanah Parker was their chief, and he had four wives--Sootakwee, Nanooky, Towpay, and Toonicy. These squaws often came to Aunt Mattie's and sat there on the bench. I remember Sootakwee and Nanooky picking lice from each other's heads and cracking them between their teeth, but Mama wouldn't allow us to speak of this--but, we saw it! Our cousins could speak the Indian language, and we were fast learning to speak it, too, but Mama would not let us speak it. However, we did learn some, and we could talk with our cousins when Mama couldn't hear us.

There was one extremely sad and trying time while we were there. Little Ina May suddenly developed a croupy cough one day and by night was struggling for breath. One of the cowboys went for the doctor twenty miles away. He reached there the next day and was very grave. He told Mama that the baby had membranous croup and it was doubtful if she would live. He expected her to pass away about three in the morning. Everyone was so upset, so Tilly and I decided to go out and pray for God to spare Ina May's life. I decided that we should go down in the dry creek bed behind the cabin, where the cowboys had found a bear track, and where we were strictly forbidden to go, that God would surely hear us if we were so brave. About midnight Ina May choked and Mama in desperation ran her finger down the baby's throat, winding a great string of phlegm out. She then gave her a weak solution of alum water. The baby lived, and Tilly and I always thought that God heard our prayers.

Although Aunt Mattie and Uncle Cot were happy to have us there, and glad for their children to have playmates, Mama was eager to move to a place of her own, as she was expecting her eighth child in February. There was no other house, but there was a log house--just a one room cabin near Uncle Cot's that he used as a blacksmith shop. Mama decided that we could live there, if Papa could add another room for the kitchen and dining room. This was quickly done, the men using lumber for the lower part, and a tent for the upper part. When it was cleaned out we moved in. Papa put straw on the cabin floor, which was dirt, and then put Mama's rag carpet with red stripes over it. We children loved living there, as we could play with our cousins every day. Chief Quanah Parker came to visit us bringing Papa a beautiful gaily colored blanket of red, green, yellow and black on a cream ground, and a pair of beautifully beaded moccasins for Mama. Mama refused to accept the moccasins, saying they didn't fit. She didn't want to come here in the first place, and was bitterly opposed to associating with the friendly Indians.

Papa and Quanah were fast friends, however, and Quanah was a constant visitor to our cabin, and was always made welcome. He loved the hear Papa play the violin, and would sit with bowed head and listen as long as Papa would play. Chief Quanah Parker was having a house built for his son--Harold, I believe--and seeing how crowded we were, he told Papa we could move into the new house as soon as it was finished. (His son Harold died.)

John was very happy when Uncle Cot told him he could ride the range with his cowboys, rounding up the cattle. He had a blanket roll behind his saddle, and a canvas grub bag, as they often rode so far they were unable to get back before night. One day they were riding range and night came on, so they found a small cave in the side of the mountain and stopped there. Being tired they ate cold rations and rolled up in their blankets and slept. The next morning upon awakening, John saw an Indian corpse next to him in the cave! The cowboys hurriedly left for the wide open spaces! The Indians never bury their dead, but put them in mountain crevices or a cave.

The Indians liked to see the cowboys out on the prairie and followed them, always getting a helping of food when they stopped to eat. Once John had cooked a pan of rice and was ready to eat when he saw that a huge cricket had hopped in and was cooked with the rice. He started to empty the rice on the ground, but an Indian grabbed the pan and dipped his fingers in the rice, getting the fat cricket and eating it, smacking his lips and saying, "Chot, chot, tabichee chot!" This means, "Good, good, heap good!" He ate the rice, too, as John had lost his appetite.

A gang of Indians would often kill a young beef--anyone's beef--out on the prairie, skin it, taking the choicest parts and roasting it on the fire. They would take the entrails, strip a length through their fingers, wrap it around a stick and roast it. This was the rarest delicacy to them! Often the cowboys saw Uncle Cot's brand on the hide of the young beef the Indians had killed, but nothing was ever said to the Indians as they didn't seem to think it was wrong to do it, always offering to share it with the cowboys.

One day one of the cowboys shot a big "loafer" wolf and brought if in for all to see. These wolves often attacked the cattle, but seldom were seen near our cabins. This wolf was a huge one. It was thrown across the pony in front of the saddle and the front paws touched the ground on one side, and its tail dragged the ground on the other side--a great, gray, ferocious animal!

There were coyotes, too. These were small wolves about the size of a dog. They would come yapping around the cabin at night, circling around yapping half the night. They were hungry and were smelling food. We heard tales of coyotes attacking children, but they were only seen around our cabin at night when we were all safe indoors.

We loved to watch the furry little prairie dogs, too, and often tried to catch one, but they would run swiftly into their burrows. The cowboys hated them as their burrows were treacherous to the horses. If a horse stepped in one of these holes, he was in great danger of breaking his leg.

Large herds of cattle roamed the prairie, too, and they often stampeded. We could hear them before we saw them. We could hear the rumbling, thundering sound of the stampede before they came in sight, and quickly ran in the house. After the thundering herd passed, the ground looked as if it had been plowed. There were great pyramids of bleached snow white bones of cattle piled here and there on the prairie, too. One could see them for a long distance as the ground was level.

There were times when the Indians would gallop by on their ponies, and none of them ever had a saddle. They would go by in groups of three or four and sometimes singly, always riding in the same direction. We would call to them, "Hi cupla mea?". In Comanche this meant, "Where are you going?" The answer was always, "Quanah Parker's". Quanah, the Chief, lived in a large red house with thirteen white stars on it, and there were twenty-four strands of barbed wire strung around it. Periodically the Indians congregated at Quanah's and at nightfall the tom-toms started to beat a steady rhythm--tom-tom-tom-tom--and would continue for three days and nights without a break in the rhythm. The Indians chewed a mescal button, which had the same effects as whiskey does. They would do a stomping dance around the fire, until they dropped in exhaustion, then others would take their place and join in the dance. Quanah called this "making medicine". Mama was always frightened when she heard the tom-toms, and was glad when they stopped.

Sometimes the Indians would stop at our cabins, and peer over the kitchen door, where there was a space of about 12". Papa put a flap of canvas there, but many times we would see two or three Indians peering in. If Mama was baking bread and had the big, fat, brown loaves cooling on the table, they would come in, take a loaf and go out plucking great bits of the fragrant bread, eating it and grunting their pleasure.

The wind blew over the prairie continually and the sand could not be kept out, even though Mama tried so hard to fill every crevice with town strips of cloth. Our food was always gritty with sand. The dishes in the cupboard were dusty, too, from the ever blowing sand. Mama always had a tablecloth on the table, even though the sand blew in and quickly soiled the cloth.

We were still living in the log cabin with the tent attached for a kitchen, when Mama's eighth child was born on February 20, 1902--a beautiful baby boy. Quanah came to see him and begged Mama to give him the baby, saying he would make a chief of him and give him a pony. This alarmed Mama, as Quanah came often to see the baby and kept wanting him. Mama told him that the baby had to have milk from her breast to live and Quanah said, "Hell, Kate, Toonicy give him titty!" It took a great deal of tact on my parents' part to keep from offending the Comanche Chief. They named the baby Quanah, which delighted the Chief.

Quanah Parker was a very dignified person, and always wore a black broadcloth suit, with a red silk handkerchief knotted around his neck. His hair hung over his shoulders in two braids bound in red wool yarn. He would sit and talk to Papa about the last war the Indians made on the white people. He said that when an Indian was killed, they would cry, "Hite poke, white smoke! One Injun dead!" (War referred to was War of Adobe Wells.)

Almost every day we would see Indians peering above the door. Sometimes they came in, never knocking, and looked at the things that interested them--Mama's red and multi-colored rag carpet, her pretty pillow shams with "Bo-Peep" and "Boy Blue" embroidered in red on them. They became quite agitated when they saw Papa's gun standing in the corner by the bed. Mama felt safer with the gun there.

The new house was not yet finished, but was far enough along that we could move in. The carpenters, Mr. Grantham and Mrs. Whittle, still had some more work to do, so they stayed with us while they finished the work on the house. One of them had a twitching in one eye, and at first Mama thought he was winking at her until she discovered he had a tic.

Easter dawned bright and fair and to our great delight we found Easter nests with green eggs in them! Mama had no pretty egg dyes, so she boiled our eggs with green new wheat, and they were a beautiful green. We gathered the creamy star-shaped snowdrops that grew on the prairie to adorn our nests, but they soon closed their blossoms, never to open again.

We made molasses taffy, too, as Uncle Cot had a huge barrel of molasses. One of the cowboys went to draw a pitcher of molasses and forgot to put the stopper back in the hole in the barrel, and bugs got in the molasses. The bugs were such odd-looking things--some with long, stick like bodies, some with wings--bugs of all sizes. My Uncle Cot didn't want to lose the barrel of molasses, so Aunt Mattie heated it and strained the bugs out and they used the molasses without any bad results. So, we did, too, and the taffy was good, as were the molasses cookies. My mother was timid about letting us make the taffy, but we were delighted. One day John and George made a big platter full of the delicious chewy taffy. They made twisted sticks and laid them neatly on the platter. Some Indians came in and John politely offered the candy. The first Indian scooped the whole lot of taffy up and grunted, leaving John aghast. Then they all filed out. Indians came often and expected food, going to the cupboard to look for it.

We children enjoyed living in Oklahoma, but Mama hated it. She lived in constant fear of the Indians, though they were always friendly and did no harm. She also hated and feared the wolves and rattlesnakes, the ever blowing sand, and the resulting grittiness of the food. Papa's health began to fail and the doctor in Cache advised him to go back to his old home doctor in Missouri. He went back to our family doctor, Dr. Walker, who advised him to send for his family as he had but a short time to live. Mama cried all day long the day she received the letter from Papa telling her the sad news. She packed our belongings and with her brood of children, which now numbered eight, made the journey back to Oak Ridge, Missouri.

Papa bought a restaurant there, with a butcher shop in the rear, and was able to take care of the business for a time. However, his health failed rapidly, and on February 9, 1903, he passed away and was laid to rest in the Fulbright Cemetery. Papa died of a kidney ailment--dropsy and Bright's disease. His legs had so much fluid they were twice the normal size, and the circulation must have been poor and his legs pained him. Before becoming bedfast, he would sit in a big rocker, and liked to have his legs massaged. Grace would rub one, while I would rub the other, an hour at a time. I remember we could press on his legs with a finger and it would leave a deep depression! We would massage his legs many times a day, day after day, before he became bedfast.

When he finally was no longer able to be up, I remember he would turn his face to the wall and cry. Then we would see Mama crying, too, and it made us very sad. Quanah was just beginning to pull up to the chairs, and the side of Papa's bed. He was unsteady on his feet, and would bob up and down, hitting his chin on the wooden bed rail. This bruised the tender flesh, and caused a carbuncle. It was bruised and blue and full of pus. Dr. Walker had to lance under his chin seven times. This frightened us, as it was such an ugly place under his baby chin. He had an ugly scar all during his baby days and as a little boy.

Pete couldn't talk plainly and couldn't say Quanah, and came out with "Tonna", which eventually came to be "Tiny", a nickname he would bear to the day he died. Quanah was a beautiful child with large brown eyes and long, curling lashes, and had soft, brown curls. It is unfortunate that we didn't have a photograph of him, but he was only a baby when Papa died, and following his death we had some lean years. I don't remember hearing anyone say how long Papa was bedfast before he died, but the last words he said as he turned his face to the wall were, "Keep the children in school."

This ends the story of our branch of the Fulbright family, as the struggle Mama had to rear her children and her re-marriage belong to another story.