A few years later, Dad, known as Perk or Perkins, was running a small ranch in Clay County (east of Wichita Falls, Texas) for the Neville brothers. During this time he became acquainted with a young lady who was to become my mom. Every week or two, work permitting, he would ride (horseback, of course) to her father’s farm. I believe that location to be just north of the Red River in Oklahoma.
To get there, he had three rivers to cross. The Big Wichita was not an issue; the Red River was not much of a problem; but, the Little Wichita, though not wide, was deep. Dad often rode broncs, green and unseasoned; and without bridges, he had little choice but to punch his mount for the day off into the waters of the Little Wichita. Upon surfacing, they would swim across. He would then hang his clothes out in the trees to dry, before continuing his journey. Apparently, this happened often enough, that his coming and goings were humorously appreciated by the local community.