The Outlet

by Andy Adams

  CHAPTER V. RED RIVER STATION

  When the spirit of a man is once broken, he becomes useless. On thetrail it is necessary to have some diversion from hard work, long hours,and exposure to the elements. With man and beast, from the Brazos to RedRiver was a fire test of physical endurance. But after crossing into theChickasaw Nation, a comparatively new country would open before us. Whenthe strain of the past week was sorest, in buoying up the spirits of myoutfit, I had promised them rest and recreation at the first possibleopportunity.

  Fortunately we had an easy ford. There was not even an indication thatthere had been a freshet on the river that spring. This was temperingthe wind, for we were crippled, three of the boys being unable to resumetheir places around the herd on account of inflamed eyes. The cook hadweathered the sand-storm better than any of us. Sheltering his team, andfastening his wagon-sheet securely, he took refuge under it until thegale had passed. Pressing him into the service the next morning, andassigning him to the drag end of the herd, I left the blind to lead theblind in driving the wagon. On reaching the river about the middleof the forenoon, we trailed the cattle across in a long chain, notan animal being compelled to swim. The wagon was carried over on aferryboat, as it was heavily loaded, a six weeks' supply of provisionshaving been taken on before crossing. Once the trail left the breaks, onthe north side of the river, we drew off several miles to the left andwent into camp for the remainder of the day. Still keeping clear ofthe trail, daily we moved forward the wagon from three to fivemiles, allowing the cattle to graze and rest to contentment. Theherd recuperated rapidly, and by the evening of the fourth day aftercrossing, the inflammation was so reduced in those whose eyes wereinflamed, that we decided to start in earnest the next morning.

  The cook was ordered to set out the best the wagon afforded, severaloutside delicacies were added, and a feast was in sight. G--G Cederdallhad recrossed the river that day to mail a letter, and on his returnproudly carried a basket of eggs on his arm. Three of the others hadjoined a fishing party from the Texas side, and had come in earlier inthe day with a fine string of fish. Parent won new laurels in the supperto which he invited us about sundown. The cattle came in to their bedsgroaning and satiated, and dropped down as if ordered. When the firstwatch had taken them, there was nothing to do but sit around and tellstories. Since crossing Red River, we had slept almost night and day,but in that balmy May evening sleep was banished. The fact that we werein the Indian country, civilized though the Indians were, called forthmany an incident. The raids of the Comanches into the Panhandle countryduring the buffalo days was a favorite topic. Vick Wolf, however, hadhad an Indian experience in the North with which he regaled us at thefirst opportunity.

  "There isn't any trouble nowadays," said he, lighting a cigarette, "withthese blanket Indians on the reservations. I had an experience once on areservation where the Indians could have got me easy enough if they hadbeen on the war-path. It was the first winter I ever spent on a Northernrange, having gone up to the Cherokee Strip to avoid--well, no matter.I got a job in the Strip, not riding, but as a kind of an all-roundrustler. This was long before the country was fenced, and they rodelines to keep the cattle on their ranges. One evening about nightfallin December, the worst kind of a blizzard struck us that the country hadever seen. The next day it was just as bad, and BLOODY cold. A fellowcould not see any distance, and to venture away from the dugout meantto get lost. The third day she broke and the sun came out clear in theearly evening. The next day we managed to gather the saddle horses, asthey had not drifted like the cattle.

  "Well, we were three days overtaking the lead of that cattle drift, andthen found them in the heart of the Cheyenne country, at least on thatreservation. They had drifted a good hundred miles before the stormbroke. Every outfit in the Strip had gone south after their cattle.Instead of drifting them back together, the different ranches rustledfor their own. Some of the foremen paid the Indians so much per head togather for them, but ours didn't. The braves weren't very much struckon us on that account. I was cooking for the outfit, which suited me inwinter weather. We had a permanent camp on a small well-wooded creek,from which we worked all the country round.

  "One afternoon when I was in camp all alone, I noticed an Indianapproaching me from out of the timber. There was a Winchester standingagainst the wagon wheel, but as the bucks were making no trouble, I gavethe matter no attention. Mr. Injun came up to the fire and professedto be very friendly, shook hands, and spoke quite a number of words inEnglish. After he got good and warm, he looked all over the wagon,and noticing that I had no sixshooter on, he picked up the carbine andwalked out about a hundred yards to a little knoll, threw his arms inthe air, and made signs.

  "Instantly, out of the cover of some timber on the creek a quarterabove, came about twenty young bucks, mounted, and yelling like demons.When they came up, they began circling around the fire and wagon. I wassitting on an empty corn-crate by the fire. One young buck, seeing thatI was not scaring to suit him, unslung a carbine as he rode, and shotinto the fire before me. The bullet threw fire and ashes all over me,and I jumped about ten feet, which suited them better. They circledaround for several minutes, every one uncovering a carbine, and theymust have fired a hundred and fifty shots into the fire. In fact theyalmost shot it out, scattering the fire around so that it came nearburning up the bedding of our outfit. I was scared thoroughly by thistime. If it was possible for me to have had fits, I'd have had one sure.The air seemed full of coals of fire and ashes. I got good practicalinsight into what hell's like. I was rustling the rolls of bedding outof the circle of fire, expecting every moment would be my last. It's awonder I wasn't killed. Were they throwing lead? Well, I should remark!You see the ground was not frozen around the fire, and the bulletsburied themselves in the soft soil.

  "After they had had as much fun as they wanted, the leader gave ayell and they all circled the other way once, and struck back into thetimber. Some of them had brought up the decoy Indian's horse when theymade the dash at first, and he suddenly turned as wild as a Cheyennegenerally gets. When the others were several hundred yards away, heturned his horse, rode back some little distance, and attracted myattention by holding out the Winchester. From his horse he laid itcarefully down on the ground, whirled his pony, and rode like a scaredwolf after the others. I could hear their yells for miles, as they madefor their encampment over on the North Fork. As soon as I got the fireunder control, I went out and got the carbine. It was empty; the Indianhad used its magazine in the general hilarity. That may be an Indian'sstyle of fun, but I failed to see where there was any in it for me."

  The cook threw a handful of oily fish-bones on the fire, causing it toflame up for a brief moment. With the exception of Wayne Outcault, whowas lying prone on the ground, the men were smoking and sitting Indianfashion around the fire. After rolling awhile uneasily, Outcault sat upand remarked, "I feel about half sick. Eat too much? Don't you think it.Why, I only ate seven or eight of those fish, and that oughtn't to hurta baby. There was only half a dozen hard-boiled eggs to the man, and Idon't remember of any of you being so generous as to share yours withme. Those few plates of prunes that I ate for dessert wouldn't hurtnobody--they're medicine to some folks. Unroll our bed, pardner, andI'll thrash around on it awhile."

  Several trail stories of more or less interest were told, when RuntPickett, in order to avoid the smoke, came over and sat down betweenBurl Van Vedder and me. He had had an experience, and instantly openedon us at short range. "Speaking of stampedes," said Runt, "reminds meof a run I was in, and over which I was paid by my employer a very highcompliment. My first trip over the trail, as far north as Dodge, was in'78. The herd sold next day after reaching there, and as I had an olduncle and aunt living in middle Kansas, I concluded to run down and paythem a short visit. So I threw away all my trail togs--well, they wereworn out, anyway--and bought me a new outfit complete. Yes, I evenbought button shoes. After visiting a couple of weeks with my folks,I drifted back to Dodge in the hope of gett
ing in with some herd boundfarther north--I was perfectly useless on a farm. On my return to Dodge,the only thing about me that indicated a cow-hand was my Texas saddleand outfit, but in toggery, in my visiting harness, I looked like a ranktenderfoot.

  "Well, boys, the first day I struck town I met a through man looking forhands. His herd had just come in over the Chisholm Trail, crossing tothe western somewhere above. He was disgusted with his outfit, and wasdischarging men right and left and hiring new ones to take their places.I apologized for my appearance, showed him my outfit, and got a jobcow-punching with this through man. He expected to hold on sale a weekor two, when if unsold he would drift north to the Platte. The firstweek that I worked, a wet stormy night struck us, and before ten o'clockwe lost every hoof of cattle. I was riding wild after little squads ofcattle here and there, guided by flashes of lightning, when the stormfinally broke. Well, there it was midnight, and I didn't have a HOOF OFCATTLE to hold and no one to help me if I had. The truth is, I was lost.Common horse-sense told me that; but where the outfit or wagon was wasanybody's guess. The horses in my mount were as good as worthless; wornout, and if you gave one free rein he lacked the energy to carry youback to camp. I ploughed around in the darkness for over an hour, butfinally came to a sudden stop on the banks of the muddy Arkansaw. Rightthere I held a council of war with myself, the decision of which wasthat it was at least five miles to the wagon.

  "After I'd prowled around some little time, a bright flash of lightningrevealed to me an old deserted cabin a few rods below. To this shelterI turned without even a bid, unsaddled my horse and picketed him, andturned into the cabin for the night. Early the next morning I was outand saddled my horse, and the question was, Which way is camp? As soonas the sun rose clearly, I got my bearings. By my reasoning, if theriver yesterday was south of camp, this morning the wagon must be northof the river, so I headed in that direction. Somehow or other I stoppedmy horse on the first little knoll, and looking back towards the bottom,I saw in a horseshoe which the river made a large bunch of cattle. Ofcourse I knew that all herds near about were through cattle and underherd, and the absence of any men in sight aroused my curiosity. Iconcluded to investigate it, and riding back found over five hundredhead of the cattle we had lost the night before. 'Here's a chance tomake a record with my new boss,' I said to myself, and circling inbehind, began drifting them out of the bottoms towards the uplands. Byten o'clock I had got them to the first divide, when who should ride upbut the owner, the old cowman himself--the sure enough big auger.

  "'Well, son,' said my boss, 'you held some of them, didn't you?' 'Yes,'I replied, surly as I could, giving him a mean look, 'I've nearly riddenthis horse to death, holding this bunch all night. If I had only had agood man or two with me, we could have caught twice as many. What kindof an outfit are you working, anyhow, Captain?' And at dinner that day,the boss pointed me out to the others and said, 'That little fellowstanding over there with the button shoes on is the only man in myoutfit that is worth a --------.'"

  The cook had finished his work, and now joined the circle. Parent beganregaling us with personal experiences, in which it was evident that hewould prove the hero. Fortunately, however, we were spared listeningto his self-laudation. Dorg Seay and Tim Stanley, bunkies, engaged in afriendly scuffle, each trying to make the other get a firebrand for hispipe. In the tussle which followed, we were all compelled to give way orget trampled underfoot. When both had exhausted themselves in vain, weresumed our places around the fire. Parent, who was disgusted over theinterruption, on resuming his seat refused to continue his story at therequest of the offenders, replying, "The more I see of you two varmintsthe more you remind me of mule colts."

  Once the cook refused to pick up the broken thread of his story, JohnLevering, our horse-wrangler, preempted the vacated post. "I was overin Louisiana a few winters ago with a horse herd," said John, "and hada few experiences. Of all the simple people that I ever met, the 'Cajin'takes the bakery. You'll meet darkies over there that can't speak a wordof anything but French. It's nothing to see a cow and mule harnessedtogether to a cart. One day on the road, I met a man, old enough to bemy father, and inquired of him how far it was to the parish centre,a large town. He didn't know, except it was a long, long ways. He hadnever been there, but his older brother, once when he was a young man,had been there as a witness at court. The brother was dead now, but ifhe was living and present, it was quite possible that he would rememberthe distance. The best information was that it was a very long ways off.I rode it in the mud in less than two hours; just about ten miles.

  "But that wasn't a circumstance to other experiences. We had drivenabout three hundred horses and mules, and after disposing of over twothirds of them, my employer was compelled to return home, leaving me todispose of the remainder. I was a fair salesman, and rather than carrythe remnant of the herd with me, made headquarters with a man who owneda large cane-brake pasture. It was a convenient stopping-place, andthe stock did well on the young cane. Every week I would drive to somedistant town eighteen or twenty head, or as many as I could handlealone. Sometimes I would sell out in a few days, and then again it wouldtake me longer. But when possible I always made it a rule to get backto my headquarters to spend Sunday. The owner of the cane-brake and hiswife were a simple couple, and just a shade or two above the Arcadians.But they had a daughter who could pass muster, and she took quitea shine to the 'Texas-Hoss-Man,' as they called me. I reckon youunderstand now why I made that headquarters?--there were other reasonsbesides the good pasturage.

  "Well, the girl and her mother both could read, but I have some doubtabout the old man on that score. They took no papers, and the nearestapproach to a book in the house was an almanac three years old. Thewomen folks were ravenous for something to read, and each time on myreturn after selling out, I'd bring them a whole bundle of illustratedpapers and magazines. About my fourth return after more horses,--I wasmighty near one of the family by that time,--when we were all seatedaround the fire one night, the women poring over the papers and admiringthe pictures, the old man inquired what the news was over in the parishwhere I had recently been. The only thing that I could remember was thesuicide of a prominent man. After explaining the circumstances, I wenton to say that some little bitterness arose over his burial. Owing tohis prominence it was thought permission would be given to bury himin the churchyard. But it seems there was some superstition aboutpermitting a self-murderer to be buried in the same field as decentfolks. It was none of my funeral, and I didn't pay overmuch attentionto the matter, but the authorities refused, and they buried him justoutside the grounds, in the woods.

  "My host and I discussed the matter at some length. He contended that ifthe man was not of sound mind, he should have been given his littlesix feet of earth among the others. A horse salesman has to be a goodsecond-rate talker, and being anxious to show off before the girl, Idiffered with her father. The argument grew spirited yet friendly, and Iappealed to the women in supporting my view. My hostess was absorbedat the time in reading a sensational account of a woman shooting herbetrayer. The illustrations covered a whole page, and the girl wassimply burning, at short range, the shirt from off her seducer. The oldlady was bogged to the saddle skirts in the story, when I interruptedher and inquired, 'Mother, what do you think ought to be done with aman who commits suicide?' She lowered the paper just for an instant, andlooking over her spectacles at me replied, 'Well, I think any man whowould do THAT ought to be made to support the child.'"

  No comment was offered. Our wrangler arose and strolled away from thefire under the pretense of repicketing his horse. It was nearly timefor the guards to change, and giving the last watch orders to pointthe herd, as they left the bed-ground in the morning, back on an angletowards the trail, I prepared to turn in. While I was pulling off myboots in the act of retiring, Clay Zilligan rode in from the herd tocall the relief. The second guard were bridling their horses, and asZilligan dismounted, he said to the circle of listeners, "Didn't I tellyou fellows that th
ere was another herd just ahead of us? I don't careif they didn't pass up the trail since we've been laying over, they arethere just the same. Of course you can't see their camp-fire from here,but it's in plain view from the bed-ground, and not over four or fivemiles away. If I remember rightly, there's a local trail comes in fromthe south of the Wichita River, and joins the Chisholm just ahead. Andwhat's more, that herd was there at nine o'clock this morning, and theyhaven't moved a peg since. Well, there's two lads out there waiting tobe relieved, and you second guard know where the cattle are bedded."