Excerpt from the autobiography of Taft Rowberry WRATHALL
(1909 - 1985)
[Written approx. 1980 (age 71)]
Cattle Ranches
Milk cows were quite docile, but there was another group of cows we became involved with which were wild and unruly. My father's [ James L. Wrathall (1860 -1932)] greatest source of fame came as a cattle rancher, as was his father before him [ James Wrathall (1828 - 1896)], and at one time he was one of the biggest and most prosperous beef cattle owners in Tooele County. During the summer months these cattle, numbering in the hundreds, were allowed to roam on designated grazing lands west of the Great Salt Lake in an area called Lakeside. They would be wintered in an area called Fishing Creek, 3 or 4 miles north of Grantsville. Fishing Creek, an area of 2 to 3 thousand acres, was fenced in and had numerous hay stacks from which the cattle were fed. During the cold, snowy winter months, hay was scattered over the snow for the cattle to feed on. Every spring they were driven from Fishing Creek to Lakeside (a distance of 50 to 75 miles), and each fall they would be driven back again. These "cattle drives" were just like in the movies. The drivers were cowboys dressed in old Stetsons, weathered chaps, levis, cowboy boots and spurs, and most had lassos tied to their saddle. Some drivers had long rawhide whips about 15 feet long called "bullwhips". Usually they would be snapped aver the heads of the cattle to control them, but the stubborn ones would sometimes fell the sting of these fearsome persuaders. Some of the drivers were men who were a little loose with their language; some smoked, rolling their own cigarettes or chewed tobacco. It was some sight when these herds came through town. They would come in a cloud of dust, completely filling the town street from fence to fence, bawling and bellowing. The little kids would run in the house timidly peeking out from behind the window curtains.
Had I been more inclined toward this sort of thing, I might have been invited to go along on these drives, even though I was quite young. I did, however, become involved with this operation in another way. During the late spring, the young male cows (steers) were identified and emasculated, and this was some experience. These steers stood 3 or 4 feet high and weighed about 2 to 4 hundred pounds. They would be separated from the main herd, one at a time, and put in a corral about 100 feet square. Someone would lasso [a] beast and throw it down on its side. In the meantime, the mother on the other side of the fence would paw dirt with her hoofs, bellow and In other ways express her anger and displeasure at being separated from her offspring. She would charge anyone in sight, and sometimes even go through the fence to get to her calf. So the number-one priority was to keep an eye on her, and head for the top of the fence, real fast, if she broke through. These young steers would have horns 4 to 6 inches long, which were removed for the future protection of people and other steers, and the preservation of fences. My job was to sit on the neck of these beasts while the various anatomical operations were performed.
The horns were cut back to 1-inch stubs, using dehorning shears around 3 feet long. When the horns were cut, a fine stream of blood would usually squirt out of the stub, sometimes shooting a stream 4 feet long. As I struggled to stay on the neck of these struggling beasts, it was impossible to avoid this spray, and as time went on, my shirt, pants and shoes would be crisscrossed with red lines. The best I hoped for was to keep my face clean, which I was only partially successful in doing. One method of cattle identification was to "earmark" or cut their ears in an assigned pattern: 1 slice, 2 slices or more on one or both ears, Vee notches, etc. This was done at the same time as dehorning. Fortunately, the blood flowed from the ears, rather than squirting, but it still ended up on my hands and pants. While this was going on, a hot branding iron was being applied to the steer's flank. The scar from this hot iron would remain throughout the life of the steer as an identification. In the early history of the West, to apply one's own brand to a cow which didn't belong to you, or to modify a brand already on someone else's cow, was a capital crime which, in the extreme, could produce rope burns around the neck. Somehow it seemed the breeze would always blow in such a direction to bring this acrid smell of burning flesh and hair right in my face. As if this wasn't enough, each patient was castrated. My father's brand was J-◊ (Jay-Diamond), right side up on the left (I believe) flank. The childrens' brands were usually made with the same iron on the opposite side, upside down, at 90 degrees or otherwise. I didn't have many cows of my own and cannot recall what my brand was.