The Outlet

by Andy Adams

  CHAPTER X. A FAMILY REUNION

  The hospitality of a trail wagon was aptly expressed in the invitationto enjoy ourselves. Some one had exercised good judgment in selectinga camp, for every convenience was at hand, including running water andample shade from a clump of cottonwoods. Turning our steaming horsesfree, we threw ourselves, in complete abandonment and relaxation, downin the nearest shade. Unmistakable hints were given our host of certainrefreshments which would be acceptable, and in reply Forrest pointed toa bucket of creek water near the wagon wheel, and urged us not to be atall backward.

  Every one was well fortified with brown cigarette papers and smokingtobacco, and singly and in groups we were soon smoking like hired handsand reviewing the incidents of the morning. Forrest's cook, a tall,red-headed fellow, in anticipation of the number of guests his wagonwould entertain for the day, put on the little and the big pot. As itonly lacked an hour of noon on our arrival, the promised fresh beefwould not be available in time for dinner; but we were not like guestswho had to hurry home--we would be right there when supper was ready.

  The loss of a night's sleep on my outfit was a good excuse for anafter-dinner siesta. Untying our slickers, we strolled out of hearingof the camp, and for several hours obliterated time. About three o'clockBob Quirk aroused and informed us that he had ordered our horses, andthat the signal of Sponsilier's cattle had been seen south on the trail.Dave was impatient to intercept his herd and camp them well down thecreek, at least below the regular crossing. This would throw Bob's andmy cattle still farther down the stream; and we were all determinedto honor Forrest with our presence for supper and the evening hours.Quince's wrangler rustled in the horses, and as we rejoined the camp thequarters of a beef hung low on a cottonwood, while a smudge beneath themwarned away all insect life. Leaving word that we would return duringthe evening, the eleventh-hour guests rode away in the rough, unevenorder in which we had arrived. Sponsilier and his men veered off tothe south, Bob Quirk and his lads soon following, while the rest of uscontinued on down the creek. My cattle were watering when we overtookthem, occupying fully a mile of the stream, and nearly an hour's ridebelow the trail crossing. It takes a long time to water a big herdthoroughly, and we repeatedly turned them back and forth across thecreek, but finally allowed them to graze away with a broad, fan-likefront. As ours left the stream, Bob's cattle were coming in over a mileabove, and in anticipation of a dry camp that night, Parent had beenadvised to fill his kegs and supply himself with wood.

  Detailing the third and fourth guard to wrangle the remuda, I sentLevering up the creek with my brother's horses and to recover our loanedsaddle stock; even Bob Quirk was just thoughtless enough to construe aneighborly act into a horse trade. About two miles out from the creekand an equal distance from the trail, I found the best bed-ground of thetrip. It sloped to the northwest, was covered with old dry grass, andwould catch any vagrant breeze except an eastern one. The wagon wasordered into camp, and the first and second guards were relieved justlong enough to secure their night-horses. Nearly all of these twowatches had been with me during the day, and on the return of Leveringwith the horses, we borrowed a number of empty flour-sacks for beef, andcantered away, leaving behind only the cook and the first two guards.

  What an evening and night that was! As we passed up the creek, wesighted in the gathering twilight the camp-fires of Sponsilier and mybrother, several miles apart and south of the stream. When we reachedForrest's wagon the clans were gathering, The Rebel and his crowd beingthe last to come in from above. Groups of saddle horses were tied amongthe trees, while around two fires were circles of men broiling beef overlive coals. The red-headed cook had anticipated forty guests outside ofhis own outfit, and was pouring coffee into tin cups and shying biscuitright and left on request. The supper was a success, not on account ofthe spread or our superior table manners, but we graced the occasionwith appetites which required the staples of life to satisfy. Then wesmoked, falling into groups when the yarning began. All the fresh-beefstories of our lives, and they were legion, were told, no one grouppaying any attention to another.

  "Every time I run a-foul of fresh beef," said The Rebel, as he settledback comfortably between the roots of a cottonwood, with his back to itstrunk, "it reminds me of the time I was a prisoner among the Yankees.It was the last year of the war, and I had got over my first desire topersonally whip the whole North. There were about five thousand ofus held as prisoners of war for eleven months on a peninsula in theChesapeake Bay. The fighting spirit of the soldier was broken inthe majority of us, especially among the older men and those who hadfamilies. But we youngsters accepted the fortunes of war and were gladthat we were alive, even if we were prisoners. In my mess in prisonthere were fifteen, all having been captured at the same time, and manyof us comrades of three years' standing.

  "I remember the day we were taken off the train and marched through thetown for the prison, a Yankee band in our front playing national airsand favorites of their army, and the people along the route jeering usand asking how we liked the music. Our mess held together during themarch, and some of the boys answered them back as well as they could.Once inside the prison stockade, we went into quarters and our messstill held together. Before we had been there long, one day there was acall among the prisoners for volunteers to form a roustabout crew. Well,I enlisted as a roustabout. We had to report to an officer twice a day,and then were put under guard and set to work. The kind of labor I likedbest was unloading the supplies for the prison, which were landed on anear-by wharf. This roustabout crew had all the unloading to do, and thereason I liked it was it gave us some chance to steal. Whenever therewas anything extra, intended for the officers, to be unloaded, look outfor accidents. Broken crates were common, and some of the contents wascertain to reach our pockets or stomachs, in spite of the guard.

  "I was a willing worker and stood well with the guards. They neversearched me, and when they took us outside the stockade, the captain ofthe guard gave me permission, after our work was over, to patronize thesutler's store and buy knick-knacks from the booths. There wasalways some little money amongst soldiers, even in prison, and I wasoccasionally furnished money by my messmates to buy bread from a baker'swagon which was outside the walls. Well, after I had traded a fewtimes with the baker's boy, I succeeded in corrupting him. Yes, had himstealing from his employer and selling to me at a discount. I was a goodcustomer, and being a prisoner, there was no danger of my meeting hisemployer. You see the loaves were counted out to him, and he had toreturn the equivalent or the bread. At first the bread cost me ten centsfor a small loaf, but when I got my scheme working, it didn't cost mefive cents for the largest loaves the boy could steal from the bakery. Iworked that racket for several months, and if we hadn't been exchanged,I'd have broke that baker, sure.

  "But the most successful scheme I worked was stealing the kidneys out ofbeef while we were handling it. It was some distance from the wharf tothe warehouse, and when I'd get a hind quarter of beef on my shoulder,it was an easy trick to burrow my hand through the tallow and get agood grip on the kidney. Then when I'd throw the quarter down in thewarehouse, it would be minus a kidney, which secretly found lodgment ina large pocket in the inside of my shirt. I was satisfied with one ortwo kidneys a day when I first worked the trick, but my mess caught on,and then I had to steal by wholesale to satisfy them. Some days, whenthe guards were too watchful, I couldn't get very many, and then againwhen things were lax, 'Elijah's Raven' would get a kidney for each manin our mess. With the regular allowance of rations and what I couldsteal, when the Texas troops were exchanged, our mess was ragged enough,but pig-fat, and slick as weasels. Lord love you, but we were a greatmess of thieves."

  Nearly all of Flood's old men were with him again, several of whom werethen in Forrest's camp. A fight occurred among a group of saddle horsestied to the front wheel of the wagon, among them being the mount ofJohn Officer. After the belligerents had been quieted, and Officer hadremoved and tied his horse to a convenient tr
ee, he came over and joinedour group, among which were the six trail bosses. Throwing himself downamong us, and using Sponsilier for a pillow and myself for footstool, heobserved:

  "All you foremen who have been over the Chisholm Trail remember thestage-stand called Bull Foot, but possibly some of the boys haven't.Well, no matter, it's just about midway between Little Turkey Creek andBuffalo Springs on that trail, where it runs through the Cherokee Strip.I worked one year in that northern country--lots of Texas boys theretoo. It was just about the time they began to stock that country withTexas steers, and we rode lines to keep our cattle on their range. Youbet, there was riding to do in that country then. The first few monthsthat these Southern steers are turned loose on a new range, Lord! butthey do love to drift against a breeze. In any kind of a rain-storm,they'll travel farther in a night than a whole outfit can turn them backin a day.

  "Our camp was on the Salt Fork of the Cimarron, and late in the fallwhen all the beeves had been shipped, the outfit were riding lines andloose-herding a lot of Texas yearlings, and mixed cattle, natives tothat range. Up in that country they have Indian summer and Squaw winter,both occurring in the fall. They have lots of funny weather up there.Well, late one evening that fall there came an early squall of Squawwinter, sleeted and spit snow wickedly. The next morning there wasn'ta hoof in sight, and shortly after daybreak we were riding deep in oursaddles to catch the lead drift of our cattle. After a hard day's ride,we found that we were out several hundred head, principally yearlings ofthe through Texas stock. You all know how locoed a bunch of dogies canget--we hunted for three days and for fifty miles in every direction,and neither hide, hair, nor hoof could we find. It was while we werehunting these cattle that my yarn commences.

  "The big augers of the outfit lived in Wichita, Kansas. Their foreman,Bibleback Hunt, and myself were returning from hunting this missingbunch of yearlings when night overtook us, fully twenty-five miles fromcamp. Then this Bull Foot stage came to mind, and we turned our horsesand rode to it. It was nearly dark when we reached it, and Biblebacksaid for me to go in and make the talk. I'll never forget that nicelittle woman who met me at the door of that sod shack. I told her oursituation, and she seemed awfully gracious in granting us food andshelter for the night. She told us we could either picket our horsesor put them in the corral and feed them hay and grain from thestage-company's supply. Now, old Bibleback was what you might call shyof women, and steered clear of the house until she sent her little boyout and asked us to come in. Well, we sat around in the room, owly-like,and to save my soul from the wrath to come, I couldn't think of aword that was proper to say to the little woman, busy getting supper.Bibleback was worse off than I was; he couldn't do anything but look atthe pictures on the wall. What was worrying me was, had she a husband?Or what was she doing away out there in that lonesome country? Thena man old enough to be her grandfather put in an appearance. He wasfriendly and quite talkative, and I built right up to him. And then wehad a supper that I distinctly remember yet. Well, I should say I do--ittakes a woman to get a good supper, and cheer it with her presence,sitting at the head of the table and pouring the coffee.

  "This old man was a retired stage-driver, and was doing the wranglingact for the stage-horses. After supper I went out to the corral andwormed the information out of him that the woman was a widow; that herhusband had died before she came there, and that she was from Michigan.Amongst other things that I learned from the old man was that she hadonly been there a few months, and was a poor but deserving woman. Itold Bibleback all this after we had gone to bed, and we found that ourfinances amounted to only four dollars, which she was more than welcometo. So the next morning after breakfast, when I asked her what I owedher for our trouble, she replied so graciously: 'Why, gentlemen, Icouldn't think of taking advantage of your necessity to charge you fora favor that I'm only too happy to grant.' 'Oh,' said I, 'take this,anyhow,' laying the silver on the corner of the table and startingfor the door, when she stopped me. 'One moment, sir; I can't think ofaccepting this. Be kind enough to grant my request,' and returned themoney. We mumbled out some thanks, bade her good-day, and started forthe corral, feeling like two sheep thieves. While we were saddlingup--will you believe it?--her little boy came out to the corral and gaveeach one of us as fine a cigar as ever I buttoned my lip over. Well,fellows, we had had it put all over us by this little Michigan woman,till we couldn't look each other in the face. We were accustomed tohardship and neglect, but here was genuine kindness enough to kill acat.

  "Until we got within five miles of our camp that morning, old Biblebackwouldn't speak to me as we rode along. Then he turned halfway in hissaddle and said: 'What kind of folks are those?' 'I don't know,' Ireplied, 'what kind of people they are, but I know they are good ones.''Well, I'll get even with that little woman if it takes every sou in mywar-bags,' said Hunt.

  "When within a mile of camp, Bibleback turned again in his saddle andasked, 'When is Christmas?' 'In about five weeks,' I answered. 'Do youknow where that big Wyoming stray ranges?' he next asked. I trailed ontohis game in a second. 'Of course I do.' 'Well,' says he, 'let's kill himfor Christmas and give that little widow every ounce of the meat. It'llbe a good one on her, won't it? We'll fool her a plenty. Say nothing tothe others,' he added; and giving our horses the rein we rode into campon a gallop.

  "Three days before Christmas we drove up this Wyoming stray and beefedhim. We hung the beef up overnight to harden in the frost, and the nextmorning bright and early, we started for the stage-stand with a goodpair of ponies to a light wagon. We reached the widow's place abouteleven o'clock, and against her protests that she had no use for somuch, we hung up eight hundred pounds of as fine beef as you ever setyour peepers on. We wished her a merry Christmas, jumped into the wagon,clucked to the ponies, and merely hit the high places getting away. Whenwe got well out of sight of the house--well, I've seen mule coltsplay and kid goats cut up their antics; I've seen children that wasfrolicsome; but for a man with gray hair on his head, old Bibleback Huntthat day was the happiest mortal I ever saw. He talked to the horses; hesang songs; he played Injun; and that Christmas was a merry one, forthe debt was paid and our little widow had beef to throw to the dogs. Inever saw her again, but wherever she is to-night, if my prayer counts,may God bless her!"

  Early in the evening I had warned my boys that we would start on ourreturn at ten o'clock. The hour was nearly at hand, and in reply to myinquiry if our portion of the beef had been secured, Jack Splann saidthat he had cut off half a loin, a side of ribs, and enough steak forbreakfast. Splann and I tied the beef to our cantle-strings, and whenwe returned to the group, Sponsilier was telling of the stampede ofhis herd in the Panhandle about a month before. "But that run wasn'ta circumstance to one in which I figured once, and in broad daylight,"concluded Dave. It required no encouragement to get the story; all wehad to do was to give him time to collect his thoughts.

  "Yes, it was in the summer of '73," he finally continued. "It was myfirst trip over the trail, and I naturally fell into position at thedrag end of the herd. I was a green boy of about eighteen at the time,having never before been fifty miles from the ranch where I was born.The herd belonged to Major Hood, and our destination was Ellsworth,Kansas. In those days they generally worked oxen to the chuck-wagons,as they were ready sale in the upper country, and in good demandfor breaking prairie. I reckon there must have been a dozen yoke ofwork-steers in our herd that year, and they were more trouble to me thanall the balance of the cattle, for they were slothful and sinfully lazy.My vocabulary of profanity was worn to a frazzle before we were out aweek, and those oxen didn't pay any more attention to a rope or myselfthan to the buzzing of a gnat.

  "There was one big roan ox, called Turk, which we worked to the wagonoccasionally, but in crossing the Arbuckle Mountains in the IndianTerritory, he got tender-footed. Another yoke was substituted, and in afew days Turk was on his feet again. But he was a cunning rascal andhad learned to soldier, and while his feet were sore, I favored him withsandy tra
ils and gave him his own time. In fact, most of my duties weredriving that one ox, while the other boys handled the herd. When hisfeet got well--I had toadied and babied him so--he was plum ruined.I begged the foreman to put him back in the chuck team, but the cookkicked on account of his well-known laziness, so Turk and I continued toadorn the rear of the column. I reckon the foreman thought it betterto have Turk and me late than no dinner. I tried a hundred differentschemes to instill ambition and self-respect into that ox, but he was anold dog and contented with his evil ways.

  "Several weeks passed, and Turk and I became a standing joke withthe outfit. One morning I made the discovery that he was afraid of aslicker. For just about a full half day, I had the best of him, andseveral times he was out of sight in the main body of the herd. But healways dropped to the rear, and finally the slicker lost its charm tomove him. In fact he rather enjoyed having me fan him with it--it seemedto cool him. It was the middle of the afternoon, and Turk had droppedabout a quarter-mile to the rear, while I was riding along beside andthrowing the slicker over him like a blanket. I was letting himcarry it, and he seemed to be enjoying himself, switching his tail inappreciation, when the matted brush of his tail noosed itself overone of the riveted buttons on the slicker. The next switch broughtthe yellow 'fish' bumping on his heels, and emitting a blood-curdlingbellow, he curved his tail and started for the herd. Just for a minuteit tickled me to see old Turk getting such a wiggle on him, but the nextmoment my mirth turned to seriousness, and I tried to cut him off fromthe other cattle, but he beat me, bellowing bloody murder. The slickerwas sailing like a kite, and the rear cattle took fright and beganbawling as if they had struck a fresh scent of blood. The scare flashedthrough the herd from rear to point, and hell began popping right thenand there. The air filled with dust and the earth trembled with therunning cattle. Not knowing which way to turn, I stayed right where Iwas--in the rear. As the dust lifted, I followed up, and about a mileahead picked up my slicker, and shortly afterward found old Turk,grazing contentedly. With every man in the saddle, that herd ran sevenmiles and was only turned by the Cimarron River. It was nearly dark whenI and the roan ox overtook the cattle. Fortunately none of the swing-menhad seen the cause of the stampede, and I attributed it to fresh blood,which the outfit believed. My verdant innocence saved my scalp thattime, but years afterward I nearly lost it when I admitted to my oldforeman what had caused the stampede that afternoon. But I was a trailboss then and had learned my lesson."

  The Rebel, who was encamped several miles up the creek, summoned hismen, and we all arose and scattered after our horses. There was quite acavalcade going our way, and as we halted within the light of the firesfor the different outfits to gather, Flood rode up, and calling Forrest,said: "In the absence of any word from old man Don, we might as wellall pull out in the morning. More than likely we'll hear from him atGrinnell, and until we reach the railroad, the Buford herds had bettertake the lead. I'll drag along in the rear, and if there's another movemade from Dodge, you will have warning. Now, that's about all, except togive your cattle plenty of time; don't hurry. S'long, fellows."