by Andy Adams
CHAPTER III
THE START
On the morning of April 1, 1882, our Circle Dot herd started on itslong tramp to the Blackfoot Agency in Montana. With six men on eachside, and the herd strung out for three quarters of a mile, it couldonly be compared to some mythical serpent or Chinese dragon, as itmoved forward on its sinuous, snail-like course. Two riders, known aspoint men, rode out and well back from the lead cattle, and by ridingforward and closing in as occasion required, directed the course ofthe herd. The main body of the herd trailed along behind the leaderslike an army in loose marching order, guarded by outriders, known asswing men, who rode well out from the advancing column, warding offrange cattle and seeing that none of the herd wandered away or droppedout. There was no driving to do; the cattle moved of their own freewill as in ordinary travel. Flood seldom gave orders; but, as a numberof us had never worked on the trail before, at breakfast on themorning of our start he gave in substance these general directions:--
"Boys, the secret of trailing cattle is never to let your herd knowthat they are under restraint. Let everything that is done be donevoluntarily by the cattle. From the moment you let them off the bedground in the morning until they are bedded at night, never let a cowtake a step, except in the direction of its destination. In thismanner you can loaf away the day, and cover from fifteen to twentymiles, and the herd in the mean time will enjoy all the freedom of anopen range. Of course, it's long, tiresome hours to the men; but thecondition of the herd and saddle stock demands sacrifices on our part,if any have to be made. And I want to caution you younger boys aboutyour horses; there is such a thing as having ten horses in yourstring, and at the same time being afoot. You are all well mounted,and on the condition of the _remuda_ depends the success and safety ofthe herd. Accidents will happen to horses, but don't let it be yourfault; keep your saddle blankets dry and clean, for no better word canbe spoken of a man than that he is careful of his horses. Ordinarily aman might get along with six or eight horses, but in such emergenciesas we are liable to meet, we have not a horse to spare, and a manafoot is useless."
And as all of us younger boys learned afterward, there was plenty ofgood, solid, horse-sense in Flood's advice; for before the trip endedthere were men in our outfit who were as good as afoot, while othershad their original mounts, every one fit for the saddle. Flood hadinsisted on a good mount of horses, and Lovell was cowman enough toknow that what the mule is to the army the cow-horse is to the herd.
The first and second day out there was no incident worth mentioning.We traveled slowly, hardly making an average day's drive. The thirdmorning Flood left us, to look out a crossing on the Arroyo Colorado.On coming down to receive the herd, we had crossed this sluggish bayouabout thirty-six miles north of Brownsville. It was adeceptive-looking stream, being over fifty feet deep and between bluffbanks. We ferried our wagon and saddle horses over, swimming the looseones. But the herd was keeping near the coast line for the sake ofopen country, and it was a question if there was a ford for the wagonas near the coast as our course was carrying us. The murmurings of theGulf had often reached our ears the day before, and herds had beenknown, in former years, to cross from the mainland over to PadreIsland, the intervening Laguna Madre being fordable.
We were nooning when Flood returned with the news that it would beimpossible to cross our wagon at any point on the bayou, and that wewould have to ford around the mouth of the stream. Where the fresh andsalt water met in the laguna, there had formed a delta, or shallowbar; and by following its contour we would not have over twelve tofourteen inches of water, though the half circle was nearly two milesin length. As we would barely have time to cross that day, the herdwas at once started, veering for the mouth of the Arroyo Colorado. Onreaching it, about the middle of the afternoon, the foreman led theway, having crossed in the morning and learned the ford. The wagonfollowed, the saddle horses came next, while the herd brought up therear. It proved good footing on the sandbar, but the water in thelaguna was too salty for the cattle, though the loose horses lay downand wallowed in it. We were about an hour in crossing, and on reachingthe mainland met a vaquero, who directed us to a large fresh-waterlake a few miles inland, where we camped for the night.
It proved an ideal camp, with wood, water, and grass in abundance, andvery little range stock to annoy us. We had watered the herd justbefore noon, and before throwing them upon the bed ground for thenight, watered them a second time. We had a splendid camp-fire thatnight, of dry live oak logs, and after supper was over and the firstguard had taken the herd, smoking and story telling were the order ofthe evening. The camp-fire is to all outdoor life what the eveningfireside is to domestic life. After the labors of the day are over,the men gather around the fire, and the social hour of the day isspent in yarning. The stories told may run from the sublime to theridiculous, from a true incident to a base fabrication, or from atouching bit of pathos to the most vulgar vulgarity.
"Have I ever told this outfit my experience with the vigilantes when Iwas a kid?" inquired Bull Durham. There was a general negativeresponse, and he proceeded. "Well, our folks were living on the Frioat the time, and there was a man in our neighborhood who had an outfitof four men out beyond Nueces Canon hunting wild cattle for theirhides. It was necessary to take them out supplies about every sooften, and on one trip he begged my folks to let me go along forcompany. I was a slim slip of a colt about fourteen at the time, andas this man was a friend of ours, my folks consented to let me goalong. We each had a good saddle horse, and two pack mules withprovisions and ammunition for the hunting camp. The first night wemade camp, a boy overtook us with the news that the brother of mycompanion had been accidentally killed by a horse, and of course hewould have to return. Well, we were twenty miles on our way, and as itwould take some little time to go back and return with the loadedmules, I volunteered, like a fool kid, to go on and take the packsthrough.
"The only question was, could I pack and unpack. I had helped him atthis work, double-handed, but now that I was to try it alone, heshowed me what he called a squaw hitch, with which you can lash a packsingle-handed. After putting me through it once or twice, andsatisfying himself that I could do the packing, he consented to let mego on, he and the messenger returning home during the night. The nextmorning I packed without any trouble and started on my way. It wouldtake me two days yet, poking along with heavy packs, to reach thehunters. Well, I hadn't made over eight or ten miles the firstmorning, when, as I rounded a turn in the trail, a man stepped outfrom behind a rock, threw a gun in my face, and ordered me to hold upmy hands. Then another appeared from the opposite side with his gunleveled on me. Inside of half a minute a dozen men galloped up fromevery quarter, all armed to the teeth. The man on leaving had given mehis gun for company, one of these old smoke-pole, cap-and-ballsix-shooters, but I must have forgotten what guns were for, for Ielevated my little hands nicely. The leader of the party questioned meas to who I was, and what I was doing there, and what I had in thosepacks. That once, at least, I told the truth. Every mother's son ofthem was cursing and cross-questioning me in the same breath. Theyordered me off my horse, took my gun, and proceeded to verify my taleby unpacking the mules. So much ammunition aroused their suspicions,but my story was as good as it was true, and they never shook me fromthe truth of it. I soon learned that robbery was not their motive, andthe leader explained the situation.
"A vigilance committee had been in force in that county for some time,trying to rid the country of lawless characters. But lawlessness gotinto the saddle, and had bench warrants issued and served on everymember of this vigilance committee. As the vigilantes numbered severalhundred, there was no jail large enough to hold such a number, so theywere released on parole for appearance at court. When court met, everyman served with a capias"--
"Hold on! hold your horses just a minute," interrupted Quince Forrest,"I want to get that word. I want to make a memorandum of it, for I maywant to use it myself sometime. Capias? Now I have it; go ahead."
"Wh
en court met, every man served with a bench warrant from the judgepresiding was present, and as soon as court was called to order, asquad of men arose in the court room, and the next moment the judgefell riddled with lead. Then the factions scattered to fight it out,and I was passing through the county while matters were active.
"They confiscated my gun and all the ammunition in the packs, buthelped me to repack and started me on my way. A happy thought struckone of the men to give me a letter, which would carry me throughwithout further trouble, but the leader stopped him, saying, 'Let theboy alone. Your letter would hang him as sure as hell's hot, before hewent ten miles farther.' I declined the letter. Even then I didn'thave sense enough to turn back, and inside of two hours I was roundedup by the other faction. I had learned my story perfectly by thistime, but those packs had to come off again for everything to beexamined. There was nothing in them now but flour and salt and suchthings--nothing that they might consider suspicious. One fellow inthis second party took a fancy to my horse, and offered to help hangme on general principles, but kinder counsels prevailed. They alsohelped me to repack, and I started on once more. Before I reached mydestination the following evening, I was held up seven differenttimes. I got so used to it that I was happily disappointed everyshelter I passed, if some man did not step out and throw a gun in myface.
"I had trouble to convince the cattle hunters of my experiences, butthe absence of any ammunition, which they needed worst, at last ledthem to give credit to my tale. I was expected home within a week, asI was to go down on the Nueces on a cow hunt which was making up, andI only rested one day at the hunters' camp. On their advice, I took adifferent route on my way home, leaving the mules behind me. I neversaw a man the next day returning, and was feeling quite gala on mygood fortune. When evening came on, I sighted a little ranch housesome distance off the trail, and concluded to ride to it and stayovernight. As I approached, I saw that some one lived there, as therewere chickens and dogs about, but not a person in sight. I dismountedand knocked on the door, when, without a word, the door was thrownwide open and a half dozen guns were poked into my face. I was orderedinto the house and given a chance to tell my story again. Whether mystory was true or not, they took no chances on me, but kept me allnight. One of the men took my horse to the stable and cared for him,and I was well fed and given a place to sleep, but not a man offered aword of explanation, from which I took it they did not belong to thevigilance faction. When it came time to go to bed, one man said to me,'Now, sonny, don't make any attempt to get away, and don't move out ofyour bed without warning us, for you'll be shot as sure as you do. Wewon't harm a hair on your head if you're telling us the truth; only doas you're told, for we'll watch you.'
"By this time I had learned to obey orders while in that county, andgot a fair night's sleep, though there were men going and coming allnight. The next morning I was given my breakfast; my horse, wellcuffed and saddled, was brought to the door, and with this partingadvice I was given permission to go: 'Son, if you've told us thetruth, don't look back when you ride away. You'll be watched for thefirst ten miles after leaving here, and if you've lied to us it willgo hard with you. Now, remember, don't look back, for these are timeswhen no one cares to be identified.' I never questioned that man'sadvice; it was 'die dog or eat the hatchet' with me. I mounted myhorse, waved the usual parting courtesies, and rode away. As I turnedinto the trail about a quarter mile from the house, I noticed two menride out from behind the stable and follow me. I remembered the storyabout Lot's wife looking back, though it was lead and not miraclesthat I was afraid of that morning.
"For the first hour I could hear the men talking and the hoofbeats oftheir horses, as they rode along always the same distance behind me.After about two hours of this one-sided joke, as I rode over a littlehill, I looked out of the corner of my eye back at my escort, stillabout a quarter of a mile behind me. One of them noticed me and raisedhis gun, but I instantly changed my view, and the moment the hill hidme, put spurs to my horse, so that when they reached the brow of thehill, I was half a mile in the lead, burning the earth like a canneddog. They threw lead close around me, but my horse lengthened thedistance between us for the next five miles, when they droppedentirely out of sight. By noon I came into the old stage road, and bythe middle of the afternoon reached home after over sixty miles in thesaddle without a halt."
Just at the conclusion of Bull's story, Flood rode in from the herd,and after picketing his horse, joined the circle. In reply to aninquiry from one of the boys as to how the cattle were resting, hereplied,--
"This herd is breaking into trail life nicely. If we'll just becareful with them now for the first month, and no bad storms strike usin the night, we may never have a run the entire trip. That last drinkof water they had this evening gave them a night-cap that'll last themuntil morning. No, there's no danger of any trouble to-night."
For fully an hour after the return of our foreman, we lounged aroundthe fire, during which there was a full and free discussion ofstampedes. But finally, Flood, suiting the action to the word byarising, suggested that all hands hunt their blankets and turn in forthe night. A quiet wink from Bull to several of the boys held us forthe time being, and innocently turning to Forrest, Durham inquired,--
"Where was--when was--was it you that was telling some one about a runyou were in last summer? I never heard you tell it. Where was it?"
"You mean on the Cimarron last year when we mixed two herds," saidQuince, who had taken the bait like a bass and was now fully embarkedon a yarn. "We were in rather close quarters, herds ahead and behindus, when one night here came a cow herd like a cyclone and swept rightthrough our camp. We tumbled out of our blankets and ran for ourhorses, but before we could bridle"--
Bull had given us the wink, and every man in the outfit fell back, andthe snoring that checked the storyteller was like a chorus of rip sawsrunning through pine knots. Forrest took in the situation at a glance,and as he arose to leave, looked back and remarked,--
"You must all think that's smart."
Before he was out of hearing, Durham said to the rest of us,--
"A few doses like that will cure him of sucking eggs and acting smart,interrupting folks."
