Rampage of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

“The Eagle River.”

  “How far do you make it from here?”

  “I’d say another forty miles,” Smoke said.

  “They’re going to be dry miles,” Billy said.

  “Yeah, I know,” Smoke said. “From the looks of the sign, there hasn’t been a rain here in quite a spell, which means that any narrow streams or watering holes between here and the Eagle will, more than likely, be dried up.”

  “Forty miles. That means what? Two more days without water?” Billy asked.

  Smoke nodded grimly. “I’m afraid so,” he said.

  “You prob’ly know this country better’n I do, Smoke. You know of any year-round streams or creeks between here and Eagle River?”

  “There aren’t any.”

  “Damn,” Billy said. “That means the herd is going to get awfully thirsty.”

  “Yeah, which means they will spook easily,” Smoke said. “You boys will just have to be very careful when you are driving them. Don’t make any sudden movements or noises. The least little thing, a sneeze or taking off your hat too fast, could spook them into a stampede.”

  “We’ll have to tell the others,” Billy said.

  “Billy, have you ever seen a stampede?” Smoke asked.

  “No, I haven’t. Have you?”

  “Yeah, but not one with this many cows. If this herd goes, I can promise you, we will have our hands full.”

  “You got any suggestions on the best way to handle ’em if they start?” Billy asked.

  “Yeah, my suggestion would be to get the hell out of their way,” Smoke replied.

  Billy chuckled. “Most likely, that ain’t somethin’ we’ll have to tell ’em. I reckon if anyone sees a whole herd of cows comin’ down on ’em at a gallop, they’ll just natural get out of the way.”

  Smoke laughed as well. “You may have a point there,” he said. “Next thing after you get out of the way, is just to follow them, and when they run down a little so that you can turn them, try and head them back in the right direction. But the best thing to do is keep them from stampeding in the first place.”

  Over the next two days, they pushed the cows through the dry area as gingerly as if the animals were made of glass. They made no sudden moves, whether mounted or not, and when they spoke to each other, they spoke in whispers. Finally, when Cal rode ahead and returned to tell them that they were now only ten miles away from water, it looked as if they would make it through with no real trouble.

  Smoke signaled to the others that they would camp by water that night, and the others responded with grateful waves as they continued to work around the perimeters, keeping the cows moving forward steadily and confidently. Despite what had to be a terrible thirst, the herd was well under control.

  That all changed when Dooley Thomas’s horse was spooked by a rattler. The horse whinnied loudly, then reared up on its back legs. The cows nearest the snake-spooked horse started running, and that spread through the rest of the herd. Then, like a wild prairie fire before a wind, it took only seconds for the entire herd to be out of control.

  “Stampede! Stampede!” Billy shouted from the front, and his cry was carried in relay until everyone knew about it.

  “Stampede!”

  There was obvious fright in the voices that shouted the warning, but there was grim determination as well, for every man knew what was at stake, and moved quickly to do what he could to stop the stampede.

  Smoke was riding on the left flank and, fortunately for him, when the stampede started, the herd veered away from him, toward the right, a living tidal wave of thundering hoofbeats, a million aggregate pounds of muscle and bone, horn and hair, red eyes, dry tongues, and running noses. Although the herd consisted of three thousand individual animals, they were moving as one entity, huge and ferocious. Their pounding hooves churned up a huge cloud of dust to hang in the air, leaving the air so thick that within moments Smoke could see nothing. It was as if he were caught in the thickest fog one could imagine, but this fog was brown, and it burned the eyes and clogged the nostrils and stung his face with its fury. And it was filled with thousands of pounding hooves and clacking, slashing horns.

  Leaning forward in his saddle, Smoke urged his horse to its top speed, allowing him to overtake the herd. Then he rode on their right in a desperate attempt to turn them back into the proper direction. He, like the others, was shouting and whistling and waving his hat at the herd, trying to get them to respond.

  Then, to Smoke’s horror, he saw Dooley fall from his horse. The stampeding cows adjusted their direction toward the helpless rider, almost as if they were intentionally trying to do him harm. Dooley regained his feet, but without a horse, all he could do was try to outrun them on foot. It quickly became clear that he was going to lose the race. Smoke watched the young ex-soldier go down.

  Smoke raced to Dooley, but even before he dismounted, he knew the young man was dead. The entire herd had passed over him, their slashing and pounding hooves leaving his body lying in the dirt behind them, battered and torn.

  Looking up toward the herd, Smoke saw that the cattle had slowed their run to a brisk trot, and as they did, the rest of the wranglers were able to turn them back in the direction they were supposed to be going. The stampede had at last come to an end, brought under control by the courage and will of the young men who had been pushing the herd.

  With the herd once more under control, Andy and Pearlie came riding back to where Smoke was standing.

  “Dooley! Dooley!” Andy shouted anxiously as he rode up. He leaped from his saddle and knelt on the ground beside his friend. “Dooley,” he repeated, then shook his head as tears began streaming down his cheeks.

  Smoke reached down to put his hand on Andy’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” Smoke said.

  “Me’n Dooley was together from the time we come into the army at Jefferson Barracks back in St. Louis,” Andy explained. “We mucked stalls together, walked guard together, put up with sergeants that was the scum of the earth, and fought the Indians in a dozen or more campaigns, all with nary a scratch between us. And now this.”

  Cal came back then, leading Dooley’s horse.

  “Get him on the horse,” Smoke said. “We’ll bury him tonight.”

  Cal nodded, then got down and reached for Dooley.

  “I’ll put ’im up,” Andy said. “He was my friend.”

  “He was a friend to us all,” Cal said.

  Andy nodded, then stepped back to allow Cal to help him. They put Dooley belly-down across his saddle.

  Within another hour, the herd caught the scent of water as they approached the Eagle River. They began running again, not stampeding, but moving toward the water at a gait that brought them quickly to the water’s edge.

  The lead cows moved out into the river and for a moment, Smoke was afraid that the cows coming up from behind would push the front ranks into deep water where they would drown. Fortunately, the herd had approached the river where a huge sandbar formed a natural ford, and the cattle were able to spread out enough that all could drink their fill. Although they had only come twenty miles today, it had been an unusually rapid twenty miles, so rapid in fact that they had overtaken, then outpaced the chuck wagon. Smoke called a halt to the drive, declaring that they would spend the next twenty-four hours right there.

  Ordinarily, arriving at water after such a long, dry spell would be cause for a celebration. But though everyone was thankful for the water, no one felt like celebrating.

  As Cal came riding toward the chuck wagon, Sally recognized him by the way he sat his horse, even before she could make out his features. She smiled at him.

  “I saw the herd go by,” she said. “I expect they’ve all drunk their fill by now.”

  “Yes’m, I reckon so,” Cal said. Something in the tone of his voice alerted Sally.

  “Cal, what is it? What’s wrong?” Sally asked. She felt a quick stab of fear go through her.

  “We had an accident,” Cal said.


  “Oh, my God, no!” Sally gasped. “It’s not Smoke?”

  “No, no, Miz Sally!” Cal shouted quickly, holding up his hand. “It ain’t Smoke, he’s fine. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. It was Dooley.”

  “Dooley,” Sally said with a sigh, thankful that it wasn’t Smoke.

  “Yes’m. It was Dooley—and—the thing is, he got hisself kilt.”

  “Oh!” Sally said, feeling guilty now over her sense of relief in learning that it had been Dooley and not Smoke.

  “Smoke sent me out to tell you, and to ride into camp with you.”

  “Thanks,” Sally said. “I appreciate the company.”

  After supper that night, they buried Dooley on top of a small hill that overlooked the Eagle River. Andy asked if he could say a few words.

  “Of course you can,” Smoke replied.

  Andy stood over the mound of fresh dirt, holding his hat in his hands as he spoke.

  “Me’n Dooley was friends,” Andy said. “Now, ever’body has friends, but if you ain’t never been in the army, then you don’t know how important army friends is.

  “You see, most of us in the army is a long ways from home, so Dooley was more’n a friend; he was my brother. Like the song says, we rode forty miles a day on beans and hay. Mosquitoes was worse than Indians, boredom was worse than fear, loneliness was worse than brutal sergeants. But we managed to come through it all, because we was friends.”

  Andy paused for a moment and looked at the bowed heads around him. “You was all good friends to the two of us, and I reckon I’ll get through this all right because of friends like you. I thank you for letting me speak these words.”

  One by one the others came by to shake Andy’s hand, and say a word or two of comfort to him. Sally embraced him, then all went to spread their bedrolls. Smoke let everyone sleep through the night, secure in the knowledge that the herd was not likely to wander away from water.

  Over the next two days it turned cold, and by nightfall of the thirteenth day out, it was so cold that a constant fog of vapor hung over the herd and issued from the noses and mouths of horses and men alike. The campfire that night was as welcome for its heat as it was for the fact that it cooked their supper meal and furnished the light.

  Smoke and Sally slept in the chuck wagon. The others spread out a canvas from the side of the wagon and, building the fire up for maximum warmth, spread their rolls out under the canvas.

  During the night, unnoticed by Smoke, Sally, or the sleeping cowboys, huge, white flakes began drifting down from the sky. The snowfall was heavy, continuous, and silent.

  Smoke and his cowboys slept peacefully, warm in their bedrolls, completely unaware of the silent snowfall. While they were sleeping, the world around them was changing. There was no grass, no dirt, no rocks. Even the trees and shrubbery had become unidentifiable lumps. The entire world had become one all-encompassing pall of white.

  Because she had to prepare breakfast, Sally was always the first to awaken. When she opened the back flap of the wagon and looked outside, she was greeted by such a white, featureless landscape that, for a moment, she thought she might still be asleep. Then, with a gasp, she realized what she was seeing.

  “No!” she said aloud.

  “What is it, Sal?” Smoke’s question was mumbled from the warmth of his blankets.

  “Smoke, look at this.”

  There was a such a sense of dread and foreboding in Sally’s voice that Smoke roused himself from the blankets, then crawled to the back of the wagon to look outside.

  “Oh, damn,” Smoke said.

  “What will we do, Smoke?”

  “We keep going,” Smoke said.

  “How? We have three thousand head of cattle, and snow that is at least two feet deep. How are we going to move?” Sally asked.

  “I haven’t figured that part out yet,” Smoke said. “But we are going to move. We’ve got no choice. It’s either move, or stay here and lose the entire herd.”

  After Smoke was dressed, he jumped down from the chuck wagon, then crawled up under the canvas to talk to the others. They were all awake and squatting on their heels, looking out at the snow.

  “Mornin’, boys,” Smoke said.

  “Damn, Smoke, I thought the whole reason for takin’ the herd up to Wyoming was so we wouldn’t have to go through this,” Pearlie said.

  “Yeah, it was. But you know what they say. Man proposes, God disposes,” Smoke replied. “I reckon this is just His way of testing us.”

  “Some test,” Pearlie said.

  “What are we goin’ to do?” Andy asked.

  “We’re goin’ on,” Smoke said.

  “What do you mean we’re goin’ on?” LeRoy asked. He pointed to the snow-covered terrain. “In case you ain’t noticed, there’s more’n two feet of snow out there.”

  Smoke stared at him. “I’m goin’ on,” Smoke said. “You can go on with me, or you can turn around and go back.”

  “Then I’m goin’ back,” LeRoy said.

  “Go back to what?” Hank asked. “We don’t have anything to go back to.”

  “I don’t care whether we have anything to go back to or not,” LeRoy said. “Anything is better’n this.”

  Hank shook his head. “You can go back if you want to, LeRoy, but I’m stayin’.”

  “Come on, Hank, stayin’ to do what?” LeRoy asked. “You know damn well we can’t drive cows through two feet of snow. Not if we got behind each and every one of them and pushed.”

  Hank pointed to Smoke. “This man got us out of jail and I gave my word that I would go to Wyoming with him,” Hank said. “And I aim to keep that word. As long as he is willin’ to keep goin’, then I’m staying with him.”

  “Hank?” LeRoy said, questioning, without actually forming a question.

  “I’ll see you when I get back.”

  “If you get back,” LeRoy said. He sighed, then looked over at Billy. “Billy, you got more sense than this, don’t you?”

  “Tell all the painted ladies back in Big Rock I said hello, will you?” Billy asked.

  “And tell my mom I’m doin’ fine,” Jules added.

  LeRoy looked over at Andy. “What about you?” he asked.

  “Dooley died tryin’ to get these cows up to Wyoming,” Andy answered. “Seems to me like iffen I’d stop now, well, I’d sort of be lettin’ him down. No, sir, I reckon I’ll be stayin’ with Mr. Jensen and the others.”

  “LeRoy, if you’re goin’, get all your good-byes said and be goin’,” Smoke said. “We’ve got work today.”

  “Damnit! Damnit, damnit, damnit!” LeRoy said, hitting his hand into his fist. “I ain’t goin’.”

  “What do you mean you ain’t goin’?” Pearlie asked. “Why not?”

  “’Cause I reckon when you get right down to it, I’m as crazy as all the rest of you,” LeRoy said, laughing as he spoke.

  The others laughed as well.

  “I figured you were too good a man to just pull up and leave a job undone,” Smoke said. “I’m glad to have you with us.”

  “But what I want to know now is, how the hell are we going to do this?” LeRoy asked. “How are we going to get out of here?”

  “We’re goin’ to ride out,” Smoke said.

  “That’s easy enough to say. A horse will break trail in snow. A cow won’t.”

  Smoke smiled broadly and held up a finger. “Then we’ll break a trail for them,” he said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  All that day the silence of the white-covered scene was broken by the sound of sawing and the shouts of men as they went about their labors, cutting limbs from the trees, then tying them into place. By nightfall they were ready, but because it was too dark to proceed, they made plans to get under way the next morning.

  Exhausted and cold, the men built a big fire, then huddled under the tarp to take advantage of what warmth the fire put out. Pearlie was the one who noticed it first.

  “I’ll be damn!” he said, smiling broadly. �
��I’ll be damn!”

  “What is it?” Mike asked.

  “Can’t you smell it?”

  Several of the men sniffed the air. “I can’t smell nothin’ but cold,” Andy said.

  “That’s ’cause you ain’t never smelt Miz Sally’s apple pie before. Nor ate none of it either.”

  Cal nodded. “He’s right!” he said. “I smell it too.”

  Soon, the rich aroma of cinnamon and apple permeated the entire area and everyone could smell it.

  Supper was biscuits and a satisfying stew, but everybody’s thoughts were of the apple pies Sally had made. After supper, she brought them out, three of them, which she carved into very generous portions for everyone.

  “I thought that, after a day like today, a big piece of apple pie and a hot cup of coffee might lift everyone’s spirits,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jules said as he took a huge bite of his pie. “You thought right.”

  The men’s spirits were lifted and as they ate their pie and drank their coffee, they exchanged stories. Sally and the men laughed at a story Andy told about how he and Dooley had put one over on the same sergeant Mike had gotten into a fight with.

  “Say, Jules, where’d you learn to play baseball like that?” LeRoy asked. “You were purt’ near as good as them boys in them white pajamas.”

  The others laughed at LeRoy’s reference to the uniforms of the St. Louis Unions.

  “Pretty near as good? He was a lot better’n any of ’em,” Cal said.

  “Yeah,” Andy said. “Where did you learn to play like that?”

  “I don’t know,” Jules said. “Seems like from the first time I ever saw the game, I could play. I think it would be great to play ball and get paid for it like them boys was.”

  “But you have too much honor,” Smoke said.

  “Honor? What do you mean he has too much honor?” Pearlie asked. “I mean, yeah, I think he’s got honor and all, but what does that have to do with playing baseball?”

  “It don’t have nothin’ to do with it really,” Jules said self-consciously,

  “That’s not what Sheriff Carson says,” Smoke said.