by Andy Adams
CHAPTER XVII. WATER-BOUND
Our route was carrying us to the eastward of the Black Hills. Theregular trail to the Yellowstone and Montana points was by the way ofthe Powder River, through Wyoming; but as we were only grazing across toour destination, the most direct route was adopted. The first week afterleaving the Niobrara was without incident, except the meeting with aband of Indians, who were gathering and drying the wild fruit in whichthe country abounded. At first sighting their camp we were uneasy,holding the herd close together; but as they proved friendly, we relaxedand shared our tobacco with the men. The women were nearly all of onestature, short, heavy, and repulsive in appearance, while the men weretall, splendid specimens of the aborigines, and as uniform in a dozenrespects as the cattle we were driving. Communication was impossible,except by signs, but the chief had a letter of permission from the agentat Pine Ridge, allowing himself and band a month's absence from thereservation on a berrying expedition. The bucks rode with us for hours,silently absorbed in the beeves, and towards evening turned and gallopedaway for their encampment.
It must have been the latter part of July when we reached the South Forkof the Big Cheyenne River. The lead was first held by one and thenthe other herd, but on reaching that watercourse, we all found it moreformidable than we expected. The stage of water was not only swimming,but where we struck it, the river had an abrupt cut-bank on one side orthe other. Sponsilier happened to be in the lead, and Forrest and myselfheld back to await the decision of the veteran foreman. The river ranon a northwest angle where we encountered it, and Dave followed down itsome distance looking for a crossing. The herds were only three or fourmiles apart, and assistance could have been rendered each other, but itwas hardly to be expected that an older foreman would ask either adviceor help from younger ones. Hence Quince and myself were in no hurry,nor did we intrude ourselves on David the pathfinder, but sought out acrossing up the river and on our course. A convenient riffle was soonfound in the river which would admit the passage of the wagons withoutrafting, if a cut-bank on the south side could be overcome. There wasan abrupt drop of about ten feet to the water level, and I argued thata wagon-way could be easily cut in the bank and the commissaries loweredto the river's edge with a rope to the rear axle. Forrest also favoredthe idea, and I was authorized to cross the wagons in case a suitableford could be found for the cattle. My aversion to manual labor wasquite pronounced, yet John Q. Forrest wheedled me into accepting thetask of making a wagon-road. About a mile above the riffle, a dry washcut a gash in the bluff bank on the opposite side, which promised thenecessary passageway for the herds out of the river. The slope on thesouth side was gradual, affording an easy inlet to the water, the onlydanger being on the other bank, the dry wash not being over thirty feetwide. But we both agreed that by putting the cattle in well above thepassageway, even if the current was swift, an easy and successful fordwould result. Forrest volunteered to cross the cattle, and together wereturned to the herds for dinner.
Quince allowed me one of his men besides the cook, and detailed ClayZilligan to assist with the wagons. We took my remuda, the spades andaxes, and started for the riffle. The commissaries had orders to followup, and Forrest rode away with a supercilious air, as if the crossing ofwagons was beneath the attention of a foreman of his standing. Severalhours of hard work were spent with the implements at hand in cutting thewagon-way through the bank, after which my saddle horses were drivenup and down; and when it was pronounced finished, it looked more like abeaver-slide than a roadway. But a strong stake was cut and driveninto the ground, and a corral-rope taken from the axle to it; withoutdetaching the teams, the wagons were eased down the incline and crossedin safety, the water not being over three feet deep in the shallows. Iwas elated over the ease and success of my task, when Zilligan calledattention to the fact that the first herd had not yet crossed. Thechosen ford was out of sight, but had the cattle been crossing, we couldhave easily seen them on the mesa opposite. "Well," said Clay, "thewagons are over, and what's more, all the mules in the three outfitscouldn't bring one of them back up that cliff."
We mounted our horses, paying no attention to Zilligan's note ofwarning, and started up the river. But before we came in view of theford, a great shouting reached our ears, and giving our horses therowel, we rounded a bend, only to be confronted with the river full ofcattle which had missed the passageway out on the farther side. A glanceat the situation revealed a dangerous predicament, as the swift waterand the contour of the river held the animals on the farther side orunder the cut-bank. In numerous places there was footing on the narrowledges to which the beeves clung like shipwrecked sailors, constantlycrowding each other off into the current and being carried downstreamhundreds of yards before again catching a foothold. Above and below thechosen ford, the river made a long gradual bend, the current and deepestwater naturally hugged the opposite shore, and it was impossible for thecattle to turn back, though the swimming water was not over forty yardswide. As we dashed up, the outfit succeeded in cutting the train ofcattle and turning them back, though fully five hundred were in theriver, while not over one fifth that number had crossed in safety.Forrest was as cool as could be expected, and exercised an elegantcommand of profanity in issuing his orders.
"I did allow for the swiftness of the current," said he, in reply to acriticism of mine, "but those old beeves just drifted downstream like alot of big tubs. The horses swam it easy, and the first hundred cattlestruck the mouth of the wash square in the eye, but after that theymisunderstood it for a bath instead of a ford. Oh, well, it's live andlearn, die and forget it. But since you're so d---- strong on the sabe,suppose you suggest a way of getting those beeves out of the river."
It was impossible to bring them back, and the only alternative wasattempted. About three quarters of a mile down the river the cut-bankshifted to the south side. If the cattle could swim that distance therewas an easy landing below. The beeves belonged to Forrest's herd, andI declined the proffered leadership, but plans were outlined and westarted the work of rescue. Only a few men were left to look after themain herds, the remainder of us swimming the river on our horses. Oneman was detailed to drive the contingent which had safely forded, downto the point where the bluff bank shifted and the incline commenced onthe north shore. The cattle were clinging, in small bunches, under thecut-bank like swallows to a roof for fully a quarter-mile below themouth of the dry wash. Divesting ourselves of all clothing, a squad ofsix of us, by way of experiment, dropped over the bank and pushed intothe river about twenty of the lowest cattle. On catching the full forceof the current, which ran like a mill-race, we swept downstream at arapid pace, sometimes clinging to a beef's tail, but generally swimmingbetween the cattle and the bluff. The force of the stream drove themagainst the bank repeatedly, but we dashed water in their eyes andpushed them off again and again, and finally landed every steer.
The Big Cheyenne was a mountain stream, having numerous tributariesheading in the Black Hills. The water was none too warm, and when wecame out the air chilled us; but we scaled the bluff and raced backafter more cattle. Forrest was in the river on our return, but I orderedhis wrangler to drive all the horses under saddle down to the landing,in order that the men could have mounts for returning. This expeditedmatters, and the work progressed more rapidly. Four separate squads weredrifting the cattle, but in the third contingent we cut off too manybeeves and came near drowning two fine ones. The animals in questionwere large and strong, but had stood for nearly an hour on a slipperyledge, frequently being crowded into the water, and were on the verge ofcollapse from nervous exhaustion. They were trembling like leaves whenwe pushed them off. Runt Pickett was detailed to look especially afterthose two, and the little rascal nursed and toyed and played with themlike a circus rider. They struggled constantly for the inshore, but Runtrode their rumps alternately, the displacement lifting their heads outof the water to good advantage. When we finally landed, the two bigfellows staggered out of the river and dropped down through sheerweak
ness, a thing which I had never seen before except in wild horses.
A number of the boys were attacked by chills, and towards evening hadto be excused for fear of cramps. By six o'clock we were reduced to twosquads, with about fifty cattle still remaining in the river. Forrestand I had quit the water after the fourth trip; but Quince had a mannamed De Manse, a Frenchman, who swam like a wharf-rat and who stayed tothe finish, while I turned my crew over to Runt Pickett. The latter wasraised on the coast of Texas, and when a mere boy could swim all day,with or without occasion. Dividing the remaining beeves as near equallyas possible, Runt's squad pushed off slightly in advance of De Manse,the remainder of us riding along the bank with the horses and clothing,and cheering our respective crews. The Frenchman was but a momentlater in taking the water, and as pretty and thrilling a race as I everwitnessed was in progress. The latter practiced a trick, when catching afavorable current, of dipping the rump of a steer, thus lifting his foreparts and rocking him forward like a porpoise. When a beef droppedto the rear, this process was resorted to, and De Manse promised toovertake Pickett. From our position on the bank, we shouted to Runt todip his drag cattle in swift water; but amid the din and splash of thestruggling swimmers our messages failed to reach his ears. De Manse wasgaining slowly, when Pickett's bunch were driven inshore, a number ofthem catching a footing, and before they could be again pushed off, theFrenchman's cattle were at their heels. A number of De Manse's men wereswimming shoreward of their charges, and succeeded in holding theirbeeves off the ledge, which was the last one before the landing. Theremaining hundred yards was eddy water; and though Pickett fought hard,swimming among the Frenchman's lead cattle, to hold the two bunchesseparate, they mixed in the river. As an evidence of victory, however,when the cattle struck a foothold, Runt and each of his men mounted abeef and rode out of the water some distance. As the steers recoveredand attempted to dislodge their riders, they nimbly sprang from theirbacks and hustled themselves into their ragged clothing.
I breathed easier after the last cattle landed, though Forrest contendedthere was never any danger. At least a serious predicament had beenblundered into and handled, as was shown by subsequent events. At noonthat day, rumblings of thunder were heard in the Black Hills country tothe west, a warning to get across the river as soon as possible. Sothe situation at the close of the day was not a very encouraging oneto either Forrest or myself. The former had his cattle split in twobunches, while I had my wagon and remuda on the other side of the riverfrom my herd. But the emergency must be met. I sent a messenger afterour wagon, it was brought back near the river, and a hasty supper wasordered. Two of my boys were sent up to the dry wash to recross theriver and drift our cattle down somewhere near the wagon-crossing, thusseparating the herds for the night. I have never made claim to beingoverbright, but that evening I did have sense or intuition enough totake our saddle horses back across the river. My few years of trail lifehad taught me the importance of keeping in close touch with our baseof subsistence, while the cattle and the saddle stock for handling themshould under no circumstances ever be separated. Yet under existingconditions it was impossible to recross our commissary, and darknessfell upon us encamped on the south side of the Big Cheyenne.
The night passed with almost constant thunder and lightning in the west.At daybreak heavy dark clouds hung low in a semicircle all around thenorthwest, threatening falling weather, and hasty preparations were madeto move down the stream in search of a crossing. In fording the river tobreakfast, my outfit agreed that there had been no perceptible changein the stage of water overnight, which quickened our desire to move atonce. The two wagons were camped close together, and as usual Forrestwas indifferent and unconcerned over the threatening weather; he hadleft his remuda all night on the north side of the river, and hadactually turned loose the rescued contingent of cattle. I did not mincemy words in giving Mr. Forrest my programme, when he turned on me,saying: "Quirk, you have more trouble than a married woman. What do Icare if it is raining in London or the Black Hills either? Let her rain;our sugar and salt are both covered, and we can lend you some if yoursgets wet. But you go right ahead and follow up Sponsilier; he may notfind a crossing this side of the Belle Fourche. I can take spades andaxes, and in two hours' time cut down and widen that wagon-way until theherds can cross. I wouldn't be as fidgety as you are for a large farm.You ought to take something for your nerves."
I had a mental picture of John Quincy Forrest doing any manual laborwith an axe or spade. During our short acquaintance that had been putto the test too often to admit of question; but I encouraged him to flyright at the bank, assuring him that in case his tools became heated,there was always water at hand to cool them. The wrangler had rustledin the wagon-mules for our cook, and Forrest was still ridiculing myanxiety to move, when a fusillade of shots was heard across and up theriver. Every man at both wagons was on his feet in an instant, not oneof us even dreaming that the firing of the boys on herd was a warning,when Quince's horsewrangler galloped up and announced a flood-wavecoming down the river. A rush was made for our horses, and we struck forthe ford, dashing through the shallows and up the farther bank withoutdrawing rein. With a steady rush, a body of water, less than a miledistant, greeted our vision, looking like the falls of some river,rolling forward like an immense cylinder. We sat our horses inbewilderment of the scene, though I had often heard Jim Flood describethe sudden rise of streams which had mountain tributaries. Forrest andhis men crossed behind us, leaving but the cooks and a horse-wrangler onthe farther side. It was easily to be seen that all the lowlands alongthe river would be inundated, so I sent Levering back with orders tohook up the team and strike for tall timber. Following suit, Forrestsent two men to rout the contingent of cattle out of a bend which wasnearly a mile below the wagons. The wave, apparently ten to twelve feethigh, moved forward slowly, great walls lopping off on the side andflooding out over the bottoms, while on the farther shore every crannyand arroyo claimed its fill from the avalanche of water. The cattle onthe south side were safe, grazing well back on the uplands, so we gavethe oncoming flood our undivided attention. It was traveling at therate of eight to ten miles an hour, not at a steady pace, but sometimesalmost halting when the bottoms absorbed its volume, only to catch itsbreath and forge ahead again in angry impetuosity. As the water passedus on the bluff bank, several waves broke over and washed around ourhorses' feet, filling the wagon-way, but the main volume rolled acrossthe narrow valley on the opposite side. The wagons had pulled outto higher ground, and while every eye was strained, watching for therescued beeves to come out of the bend below, Vick Wolf, who happenedto look upstream, uttered a single shout of warning and dashed away.Turning in our saddles, we saw within five hundred feet of us a secondwave about half the height of the first one. Rowels and quirts wereplied with energy and will, as we tore down the river-bank, making agradual circle until the second bottoms were reached, outriding theflood by a close margin.
The situation was anything but encouraging, as days might elapse beforethe water would fall. But our hopes revived as we saw the contingentof about six hundred beeves stampede out of a bend below and across theriver, followed by two men who were energetically burning powderand flaunting slickers in their rear. Within a quarter of an hour, ahalfmile of roaring, raging torrent, filled with floating driftwood,separated us from the wagons which contained the staples of life. But inthe midst of the travail of mountain and plain, the dry humor of the menwas irrepressible, one of Forrest's own boys asking him if he felt anyuneasiness now about his salt and sugar.
"Oh, this is nothing," replied Quince, with a contemptuous wave of hishand. "These freshets are liable to happen at any time; rise in an hourand fall in half a day. Look there how it is clearing off in thewest; the river will be fordable this evening or in the morning at thefurthest. As long as everything is safe, what do we care? If it comes toa pinch, we have plenty of stray beef; berries are ripe, and I reckonif we cast around we might find some wild onions. I have lived a wholemonth at
a time on nothing but land-terrapin; they make larruping fineeating when you are cut off from camp this way. Blankets? Never usethem; sleep on your belly and cover with your back, and get up with thebirds in the morning. These Lovell outfits are getting so tony thatby another year or two they'll insist on bathtubs, Florida water, andtowels with every wagon. I like to get down to straight beans for afew days every once in a while; it has a tendency to cure a man with awhining disposition. The only thing that's worrying me, if we get cutoff, is the laugh that Sponsilier will have on us."
We all knew Forrest was bluffing. The fact that we were water-bound wastoo apparent to admit of question, and since the elements were beyondour control, there was no telling when relief would come. Until theweather moderated in the hills to the west, there was no hope ofcrossing the river; but men grew hungry and nights were chilly, andbluster and bravado brought neither food nor warmth. A third wave wasnoticed within an hour, raising the water-gauge over a foot. TheSouth Fork of the Big Cheyenne almost encircled the entire BlackHills country, and with a hundred mountain affluents emptying in theirtribute, the waters commanded and we obeyed. Ordering my men to killa beef, I rode down the river in the hope of finding Sponsilier on ourside, and about noon sighted his camp and cattle on the opposite bank. Agroup of men were dallying along the shore, but being out of hearing, Iturned back without exposing myself.
On my return a general camp had been established at the nearest wood,and a stray killed. Stakes were driven to mark the rise or fall ofthe water, and we settled down like prisoners, waiting for an expectedreprieve. Towards evening a fire was built up and the two sides of ribswere spitted over it, our only chance for supper. Night fell with noperceptible change in the situation, the weather remaining dry andclear. Forrest's outfit had been furnished horses from my remuda forguard duty, and about midnight, wrapping ourselves in slickers, welay down in a circle with our feet to the fire like cave-dwellers. Thecamp-fire was kept up all night by the returning guards, even until themorning hours, when we woke up shivering at dawn and hurried away tonote the stage of the water. A four-foot fall had taken place during thenight, another foot was added within an hour after sun-up, brighteningour hopes, when a tidal wave swept down the valley, easily establishinga new high-water mark. Then we breakfasted on broiled beefsteak, andfell back into the hills in search of the huckleberry, which abounded inthat vicinity.
A second day and night passed, with the water gradually falling. Thethird morning a few of the best swimmers, tiring of the diet of beef andberries, took advantage of the current and swam to the other shore. Onreturning several hours later, they brought back word that Sponsilierhad been up to the wagons the afternoon before and reported an easycrossing about five miles below. By noon the channel had narrowed to onehundred yards of swimming water, and plunging into it on our horses,we dined at the wagons and did justice to the spread. Both outfits wereanxious to move, and once dinner was over, the commissaries were starteddown the river, while we turned up it, looking for a chance to swim backto the cattle. Forrest had secured a fresh mount of horses, and somedistance above the dry wash we again took to the water, landing on theopposite side between a quarter and half mile below. Little time waslost in starting the herds, mine in the lead, while the wagons gotaway well in advance, accompanied by Forrest's remuda and the isolatedcontingent of cattle.
Sponsilier was expecting us, and on the appearance of our wagons, movedout to a new camp and gave us a clear crossing. A number of the boyscame down to the river with him, and several of them swam it, meetingthe cattle a mile above and piloting us into the ford. They had assuredme that there might be seventy-five yards of swimming water, with agradual entrance to the channel and a half-mile of solid footing atthe outcome. The description of the crossing suited me, and putting ourremuda in the lead, we struck the muddy torrent and crossed it withouta halt, the chain of swimming cattle never breaking for a single moment.Forrest followed in our wake, the one herd piloting the other, andwithin an hour after our arrival at the lower ford, the drag-end of the"Drooping T" herd kicked up their heels on the north bank of the BigCheyenne. Meanwhile Sponsilier had been quietly sitting his horse belowthe main landing, his hat pulled down over his eye, nursing the humor ofthe situation. As Forrest came up out of the water with the rear guardof his cattle, the opportunity was too good to be overlooked.
"Hello, Quince," said Dave; "how goes it, old sport? Do you keep stout?I was up at your wagon yesterday to ask you all down to supper. Yes, wehad huckleberry pie and venison galore, but your men told me that youhad quit eating with the wagon. I was pained to hear that you and Tomhave both gone plum hog-wild, drinking out of cowtracks and living onwild garlic and land-terrapin, just like Injuns. Honest, boys, I hate tosee good men go wrong that way."
