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Early History of Catesby and Vicinity
About the middle of the next morning another puncher found us and escorted us to the Quinlan ranch home, where the cook really filled us up. From there it was but a few miles over a plain road to the little village of Quinlan on the Santa Fe Railroad. Here we spent the last dime we had with us for a few things to take with us to eat, and started on for Woodward along beside the railroad track. We camped that night about a mile south of the little town of Curtis, about six miles east of Woodward. One of the boys saw what appeared to be a melon patch a little distance from the road. As soon as it was dark the other two boys headed for the melon patch and soon returned with a large melon under each arm, their eyes shining like stars. They were so hard they couldn't stick a knife in them. After a few more trips with the same result, we decided it was not melon time. We later discovered they were pie-melons and had to be cooked to eat. In those days pie-melon sauce flavored with lemon or orange was quite a treat. My father, Eben Rose, was to come on the train and meet us on arrival at Woodward. The next morning, broke and nothing to eat, we made an early start and reached Woodward about ten o'clock. We drove up the crooked old main street lined on both sides with mostly old frame buildings, and got our first sight of a real western frontier cow town. Woodward in those days, while on a little "milder scale'' was about like Dodge City. Quite a shipping point for the range cattle of those days, it was naturally full of cowboys. The hitchracks were lined with saddle horses. A few buggies and wagons could be seen, and occasionally a covered homeseeker's wagon. We found a place to 'hitch the team, and while the other boys stayed with the wagon, I got out to hunt for the Old Cattle King Hotel where Father was to be waiting for us. The sidewalks were crowded and everything seemed to be in full blast. Every few buildings would be a saloon or an eating place. The mercantile stores were mostly large concerns for equipping the cattlemen and their ranches. The old Cattle King Hotel, which was Woodward's finest, was located on the southwest corner of the street, diagonally across from where the post office used to be. The land office was an old frame building where the federal building now stands. It is needless to express my pleasure to see my father sitting on the hotel porch reading a paper. I had not seen him for nearly four months. After we explained our hunger and poverty, he gather- ed us up and we started to look for an early dinner. About all we could find among the eating houses that early in the morning was some half cooked navy beans but they went down with great relish. Woodward was full of "locaters,'" men who would take home- seekers out to locate a claim for a fee of $15. Like all new land