By Christine Musser

 

In Longsdorf Cemetery, New Kingstown, Pa., stands a large granite headstone. The engraving on the headstone tells the story of the man buried beneath it. The inscription reads:

Who was this man for which such a detailed description had been written about his death? Why wasn’t he buried where he died, as so many others were in that time? According to the Nebraska State Historical Society, “David B. Herman was the ranch foreman for the Bosler B Bar Ranch, located in western Nebraska. He was killed while fording the North Platte River at Clarke’s Bridge. On his person he had $2,000 in cash along with a check from the Sioux City Bank. These items were strewn all over the land. His clothes were removed and taken, as well as his pistol. The cattle he was in charge of were also scattered about.”

The Boslers and Hermans were prominent families in Carlisle during the nineteenth century. The two families intermarried, which made David B. Herman a cousin to the men he worked for in Nebraska. The Hermans earned their prestige and money by becoming lawyers and judges, while the Boslers built their fortune in the West through cattle ranching. Although the Boslers didn’t have the wealth of the Carnegies or Vanderbilts, they did have enough to be called “second-tier entrepreneurs.” Their social circle consisted of United States presidents, senators and railroad barons. They donated money in Pennsylvania and Iowa to build libraries, schools and jailhouses.

There were four Bosler brothers, but James Williamson Bosler especially loved the western frontier. He never called the West home but he always felt drawn to the prairie, which is obvious in the letters he wrote back home to his fiancé.

Clark Fuller described in his book Pioneer Paths old ranches along the North Platte River near Bridgeport. He noted that the “Bosler Brothers were north of the river and the present town of Gering.” The ranch accommodated 40,000-50,000 head of cattle, ran 150 miles along the North Platte and eventually extended into Wyoming (Bosler, Wyo., is named for James Williamson Bosler). Nellie Snyder Yost’s book Call of the Range pinpointed the ranch headquarters on Brown Creek, nine miles east of Bridgeport. All buildings were soddies, she wrote. Twenty-five men rode on spring roundups, 15 men were kept busy on the ranch through summer and eight men stayed on to handle chores over the winter. In addition, Yost added, “There wasn’t a woman anywhere within the 640,000 acre B Bar Cattle Kingdom.”

On Bridgeport’s wide streets, it’s easy for a present-day easterner to conjure up images of the cowboy era – trail dust, smells of sweat and manure, bawling cattle and yelling cowpokes. Although Bridgeport wasn’t much of a cowtown, Sidney and Ogallala certainly were. Nights turned wild in those places when cowboys rode in off the trail. At least one Bosler brother was present one evening at Ogallala’s Leach House when 15 shots were fired into the room where he sat talking with several men. A lamp shattered, as did every window, but the men escaped without a scratch. Later they learned a brawl had broken out in the nearby Tucker Saloon. When the fight spilled into the street, the only light the brawlers spotted was a lamp illuminating Bosler’s conversation. The brawlers decided the light should be out, so out it went.

The ranch reaped a golden harvest by buying Texas cattle, grass feeding them on the Nebraska range and then selling them to Indian agencies. Like so many big businesses of any era, the Bosler operation wasn’t immune to scandal. The ugliest charge, never proven, came from surveyor Alex Schleigal. One of his assistants was found hanging from a tree near Sidney with a sign that read “Horse Thief.” Schleigal was scheduled to survey Bosler rangelands, activity the Boslers opposed because they saw it as the first step toward opening the country to homesteaders. The surveyor believed his assistant died not because he was a horse thief, but to scare the surveyors away. The surveying continued without further incident.

The most notable Bosler scandal – literally a federal case – came after a Yale University paleontology professor showed up at Red Cloud Agency and asked Red Cloud if he might explore for fossils. Red Cloud said he could if he promised to report to Washington that the agency wasn’t receiving promised supplies of beef, flour and corn. Samuel Walker, Board of Indian Affairs clerk, investigated and wrote, “Neither is there any record of the amount of beef received at the agency, other than copies of the receipts issued to the contractor, which Mr. Bosler, who is really the beef contractor, informed me he made out himself.” Further, Walker reported, the price the government paid for Bosler beef was established by weighing only the largest animals, prior to a proper scale being set up.

Tensions ran high prior to the Battle of Little Big Horn, although as the Carlisle, Penn., paper reported, the Bosler ranch was far from the Black Hills and it was “perfectly quiet in that section, there being no trouble with the Indians.” The fact that Bosler’s clothes were taken but the money had not, the paper noted, made the Indians suspect.

The Bosler ranch didn’t survive much longer than its foreman did. In 1883, James Williamson Bosler died after losing a stressful senate race and while being investigated with Senator Stephen Dorsey in the Star Route fraud. Older brother J. Herman Bosler decided to sell the cattle and land holdings to William Paxton’s Keystone Cattle Company. That enterprise eventually became the Ogallala Cattle Company, which has been relocated to Douglas, Wyo., where it is a working dude ranch.

Today, the Boslers’ Nebraska story lives mainly in local history books and one chapter is recorded in granite at a Pennsylvania cemetery. It’s ironic how geographic details on the headstone appear as testimony to the empire the Boslers and their cousin believed they were building out West. After all, there’s no mention of David B. Herman’s family, a law degree, political acquaintances or the fraternity that participated in his funeral. Instead, we’re left with references to western Nebraska, the North Platte River and the main road to Red Cloud and the Black Hills.   Y Christine Musser is a freelance writer from Mechanicsburg, Pa.

 

Graphics Used:

 

James-W.jpg

Caption: James Williamson Bosler

 

DBH-Headstone.jpg

 

RG3289-1-SFN1703.jpg

By Christine Musser

 

I

n Longsdorf Cemetery, New Kingstown, Pa., stands a large granite headstone. The engraving on the headstone tells the story of the man buried beneath it. The inscription reads:

Who was this man for which such a detailed description had been written about his death? Why wasn’t he buried where he died, as so many others were in that time? According to the Nebraska State Historical Society, “David B. Herman was the ranch foreman for the Bosler B Bar Ranch, located in western Nebraska. He was killed while fording the North Platte River at Clarke’s Bridge. On his person he had $2,000 in cash along with a check from the Sioux City Bank. These items were strewn all over the land. His clothes were removed and taken, as well as his pistol. The cattle he was in charge of were also scattered about.”

The Boslers and Hermans were prominent families in Carlisle during the nineteenth century. The two families intermarried, which made David B. Herman a cousin to the men he worked for in Nebraska. The Hermans earned their prestige and money by becoming lawyers and judges, while the Boslers built their fortune in the West through cattle ranching. Although the Boslers didn’t have the wealth of the Carnegies or Vanderbilts, they did have enough to be called “second-tier entrepreneurs.” Their social circle consisted of United States presidents, senators and railroad barons. They donated money in Pennsylvania and Iowa to build libraries, schools and jailhouses.

There were four Bosler brothers, but James Williamson Bosler especially loved the western frontier. He never called the West home but he always felt drawn to the prairie, which is obvious in the letters he wrote back home to his fiancé.

Clark Fuller described in his book Pioneer Paths old ranches along the North Platte River near Bridgeport. He noted that the “Bosler Brothers were north of the river and the present town of Gering.” The ranch accommodated 40,000-50,000 head of cattle, ran 150 miles along the North Platte and eventually extended into Wyoming (Bosler, Wyo., is named for James Williamson Bosler). Nellie Snyder Yost’s book Call of the Range pinpointed the ranch headquarters on Brown Creek, nine miles east of Bridgeport. All buildings were soddies, she wrote. Twenty-five men rode on spring roundups, 15 men were kept busy on the ranch through summer and eight men stayed on to handle chores over the winter. In addition, Yost added, “There wasn’t a woman anywhere within the 640,000 acre B Bar Cattle Kingdom.”

On Bridgeport’s wide streets, it’s easy for a present-day easterner to conjure up images of the cowboy era – trail dust, smells of sweat and manure, bawling cattle and yelling cowpokes. Although Bridgeport wasn’t much of a cowtown, Sidney and Ogallala certainly were. Nights turned wild in those places when cowboys rode in off the trail. At least one Bosler brother was present one evening at Ogallala’s Leach House when 15 shots were fired into the room where he sat talking with several men. A lamp shattered, as did every window, but the men escaped without a scratch. Later they learned a brawl had broken out in the nearby Tucker Saloon. When the fight spilled into the street, the only light the brawlers spotted was a lamp illuminating Bosler’s conversation. The brawlers decided the light should be out, so out it went.

The ranch reaped a golden harvest by buying Texas cattle, grass feeding them on the Nebraska range and then selling them to Indian agencies. Like so many big businesses of any era, the Bosler operation wasn’t immune to scandal. The ugliest charge, never proven, came from surveyor Alex Schleigal. One of his assistants was found hanging from a tree near Sidney with a sign that read “Horse Thief.” Schleigal was scheduled to survey Bosler rangelands, activity the Boslers opposed because they saw it as the first step toward opening the country to homesteaders. The surveyor believed his assistant died not because he was a horse thief, but to scare the surveyors away. The surveying continued without further incident.

The most notable Bosler scandal – literally a federal case – came after a Yale University paleontology professor showed up at Red Cloud Agency and asked Red Cloud if he might explore for fossils. Red Cloud said he could if he promised to report to Washington that the agency wasn’t receiving promised supplies of beef, flour and corn. Samuel Walker, Board of Indian Affairs clerk, investigated and wrote, “Neither is there any record of the amount of beef received at the agency, other than copies of the receipts issued to the contractor, which Mr. Bosler, who is really the beef contractor, informed me he made out himself.” Further, Walker reported, the price the government paid for Bosler beef was established by weighing only the largest animals, prior to a proper scale being set up.

Tensions ran high prior to the Battle of Little Big Horn, although as the Carlisle, Penn., paper reported, the Bosler ranch was far from the Black Hills and it was “perfectly quiet in that section, there being no trouble with the Indians.” The fact that Bosler’s clothes were taken but the money had not, the paper noted, made the Indians suspect.

The Bosler ranch didn’t survive much longer than its foreman did. In 1883, James Williamson Bosler died after losing a stressful senate race and while being investigated with Senator Stephen Dorsey in the Star Route fraud. Older brother J. Herman Bosler decided to sell the cattle and land holdings to William Paxton’s Keystone Cattle Company. That enterprise eventually became the Ogallala Cattle Company, which has been relocated to Douglas, Wyo., where it is a working dude ranch.

Today, the Boslers’ Nebraska story lives mainly in local history books and one chapter is recorded in granite at a Pennsylvania cemetery. It’s ironic how geographic details on the headstone appear as testimony to the empire the Boslers and their cousin believed they were building out West. After all, there’s no mention of David B. Herman’s family, a law degree, political acquaintances or the fraternity that participated in his funeral. Instead, we’re left with references to western Nebraska, the North Platte River and the main road to Red Cloud and the Black Hills.   Y Christine Musser is a freelance writer from Mechanicsburg, Pa.

 

Graphics Used:

 

James-W.jpg

Caption: James Williamson Bosler

 

DBH-Headstone.jpg

 

RG3289-1-SFN1703.jpg

Soon other buildings including stores, a hotel and a military blockhouse sprang up. This place was commonly called Camp Clarke. It remained vibrant until the railroads reached the Black Hills in the mid-1880s.