by Andy Adams
CHAPTER XX
A MOONLIGHT DRIVE
The two herds were held together a second night, but after they hadgrazed a few hours the next morning, the cattle were thrown together,and the work of cutting out ours commenced. With a double outfit ofmen available, about twenty men were turned into the herd to do thecutting, the remainder holding the main herd and looking after thecut. The morning was cool, every one worked with a vim, and in abouttwo hours the herds were again separated and ready for the finaltrimming. Campbell did not expect to move out until he couldcommunicate with the head office of the company, and would go up toFort Laramie for that purpose during the day, hoping to be able to geta message over the military wire. When his outfit had finishedretrimming our herd, and we had looked over his cattle for the lasttime, the two outfits bade each other farewell, and our herd startedon its journey.
The unfortunate accident at the ford had depressed our feelings tosuch an extent that there was an entire absence of hilarity by theway. This morning the farewell songs generally used in parting with ariver which had defied us were omitted. The herd trailed out like animmense serpent, and was guided and controlled by our men as if bymutes. Long before the noon hour, we passed out of sight of FortyIslands, and in the next few days, with the change of scene, the gloomgradually lifted. We were bearing almost due north, and passingthrough a delightful country. To our left ran a range of mountains,while on the other hand sloped off the apparently limitless plain. Thescarcity of water was beginning to be felt, for the streams which hadnot a source in the mountains on our left had dried up weeks beforeour arrival. There was a gradual change of air noticeable too, for wewere rapidly gaining altitude, the heat of summer being now confinedto a few hours at noonday, while the nights were almost too cool forour comfort.
When about three days out from the North Platte, the mountainsdisappeared on our left, while on the other hand appeared arugged-looking country, which we knew must be the approaches of theBlack Hills. Another day's drive brought us into the main stage roadconnecting the railroad on the south with the mining camps whichnestled somewhere in those rocky hills to our right. The stage roadfollowed the trail some ten or fifteen miles before we parted companywith it on a dry fork of the Big Cheyenne River. There was a roadhouse and stage stand where these two thoroughfares separated, the oneto the mining camp of Deadwood, while ours of the Montana cattle trailbore off for the Powder River to the northwest. At this stage stand welearned that some twenty herds had already passed by to the northernranges, and that after passing the next fork of the Big Cheyenne weshould find no water until we struck the Powder River,--a stretch ofeighty miles. The keeper of the road house, a genial host, informed usthat this drouthy stretch in our front was something unusual, thisbeing one of the dryest summers that he had experienced since thediscovery of gold in the Black Hills.
Here was a new situation to be met, an eighty-mile dry drive; and withour experience of a few months before at Indian Lakes fresh in ourmemories, we set our house in order for the undertaking before us. Itwas yet fifteen miles to the next and last water from the stage stand.There were several dry forks of the Cheyenne beyond, but as they hadtheir source in the tablelands of Wyoming, we could not hope for waterin their dry bottoms. The situation was serious, with only thisencouragement: other herds had crossed this arid belt since thestreams had dried up, and our Circle Dots could walk with any herdthat ever left Texas. The wisdom of mounting us well for just such anemergency reflected the good cow sense of our employer; and we felteasy in regard to our mounts, though there was not a horse or a mantoo many. In summing up the situation, Flood said, "We've got thisadvantage over the Indian Lake drive: there is a good moon, and thedays are cool. We'll make twenty-five miles a day covering thisstretch, as this herd has never been put to a test yet to see how farthey could walk in a day. They'll have to do their sleeping at noon;at least cut it into two shifts, and if we get any sleep we'll have todo the same. Let her come as she will; every day's drive is a daynearer the Blackfoot agency."
We made a dry camp that night on the divide between the road house andthe last water, and the next forenoon reached the South Fork of theBig Cheyenne. The water was not even running in it, but there wereseveral long pools, and we held the cattle around them for over anhour, until every hoof had been thoroughly watered. McCann had filledevery keg and canteen in advance of the arrival of the herd, and Floodhad exercised sufficient caution, in view of what lay before us, tobuy an extra keg and a bull's-eye lantern at the road house. Afterwatering, we trailed out some four or five miles and camped for noon,but the herd were allowed to graze forward until they lay down fortheir noonday rest. As the herd passed opposite the wagon, we cut afat two-year-old stray heifer and killed her for beef, for the innerman must be fortified for the journey before us. After a two hours'siesta, we threw the herd on the trail and started on our way. Thewagon and saddle horses were held in our immediate rear, for there wasno telling when or where we would make our next halt of anyconsequence. We trailed and grazed the herd alternately until nearevening, when the wagon was sent on ahead about three miles to getsupper, while half the outfit went along to change mounts and catch uphorses for those remaining behind with the herd. A half hour beforethe usual bedding time, the relieved men returned and took the grazingherd, and the others rode in to the wagon for supper and a change ofmounts. While we shifted our saddles, we smelled the savory odor offresh beef frying.
"Listen to that good old beef talking, will you?" said Joe Stallings,as he was bridling his horse. "McCann, I'll take my _carne fresco_ atrifle rare to-night, garnished with a sprig of parsley and a wee bitof lemon."
Before we had finished supper, Honeyman had rehooked the mules to thewagon, while the _remuda_ was at hand to follow. Before we left thewagon, a full moon was rising on the eastern horizon, and as we werestarting out Flood gave us these general directions: "I'm going totake the lead with the cook's lantern, and one of you rear men takethe new bull's-eye. We'll throw the herd on the trail; and between thelead and rear light, you swing men want to ride well outside, and youpoint men want to hold the lead cattle so the rear will never be morethan a half a mile behind. I'll admit that this is somewhat of anexperiment with me, but I don't see any good reason why she won'twork. After the moon gets another hour high we can see a quarter of amile, and the cattle are so well trail broke they'll never try toscatter. If it works all right, we'll never bed them short ofmidnight, and that will put us ten miles farther. Let's ride, lads."
By the time the herd was eased back on the trail, our eveningcamp-fire had been passed, while the cattle led out as if walking on awager. After the first mile on the trail, the men on the point werecompelled to ride in the lead if we were to hold them within thedesired half mile. The men on the other side, or the swing, weregradually widening, until the herd must have reached fully a mile inlength; yet we swing riders were never out of sight of each other, andit would have been impossible for any cattle to leave the herdunnoticed. In that moonlight the trail was as plain as day, and afteran hour, Flood turned his lantern over to one of the point men, androde back around the herd to the rear. From my position that firstnight near the middle of the swing, the lanterns both rear and forwardbeing always in sight, I was as much at sea as any one as to thelength of the herd, knowing the deceitfulness of distance of campfiresand other lights by night. The foreman appealed to me as he rode downthe column, to know the length of the herd, but I could give him nomore than a simple guess. I could assure him, however, that the cattlehad made no effort to drop out and leave the trail. But a short timeafter he passed me I noticed a horseman galloping up the column on theopposite side of the herd, and knew it must be the foreman. Within ashort time, some one in the lead wig-wagged his lantern; it wasanswered by the light in the rear, and the next minute the old rearsong,--
"Ip-e-la-ago, go 'long little doggie, You 'll make a beef-steer by-and-by,"--
reached us riders in the swing, and we knew the rear guard of cattlewa
s being pushed forward. The distance between the swing men graduallynarrowed in our lead, from which we could tell the leaders were beingheld in, until several times cattle grazed out from the herd, due tothe checking in front. At this juncture Flood galloped around the herda second time, and as he passed us riding along our side, I appealedto him to let them go in front, as it now required constant riding tokeep the cattle from leaving the trail to graze. When he passed up theopposite side, I could distinctly hear the men on that flank making asimilar appeal, and shortly afterwards the herd loosened out and westruck our old gait for several hours.
Trailing by moonlight was a novelty to all of us, and in the stillnessof those splendid July nights we could hear the point men chattingacross the lead in front, while well in the rear, the rattling of ourheavily loaded wagon and the whistling of the horse wrangler to hischarges reached our ears. The swing men were scattered so far apartthere was no chance for conversation amongst us, but every once in awhile a song would be started, and as it surged up and down the line,every voice, good, bad, and indifferent, joined in. Singing issupposed to have a soothing effect on cattle, though I will vouch forthe fact that none of our Circle Dots stopped that night to listen toour vocal efforts. The herd was traveling so nicely that our foremanhardly noticed the passing hours, but along about midnight the singingceased, and we were nodding in our saddles and wondering if they inthe lead were never going to throw off the trail, when a greatwig-wagging occurred in front, and presently we overtook The Rebel,holding the lantern and turning the herd out of the trail. It was thenafter midnight, and within another half hour we had the cattle beddeddown within a few hundred yards of the trail. One-hour guards was theorder of the night, and as soon as our wagon and saddle horses cameup, we stretched ropes and caught out our night horses. These weeither tied to the wagon wheels or picketed near at hand, and then wesought our blankets for a few hours' sleep. It was half past three inthe morning when our guard was called, and before the hour passed, thefirst signs of day were visible in the east. But even before our watchhad ended, Flood and the last guard came to our relief, and we pushedthe sleeping cattle off the bed ground and started them grazingforward.
Cattle will not graze freely in a heavy dew or too early in themorning, and before the sun was high enough to dry the grass, we hadput several miles behind us. When the sun was about an hour high, theremainder of the outfit overtook us, and shortly afterward the wagonand saddle horses passed on up the trail, from which it was evidentthat "breakfast would be served in the dining car ahead," as thetraveled Priest aptly put it. After the sun was well up, the cattlegrazed freely for several hours; but when we sighted the _remuda_ andour commissary some two miles in our lead, Flood ordered the herdlined up for a count. The Rebel was always a reliable counter, and heand the foreman now rode forward and selected the crossing of a drywash for the counting. On receiving their signal to come on, weallowed the herd to graze slowly forward, but gradually pointed theminto an immense "V," and as the point of the herd crossed the dryarroyo, we compelled them to pass in a narrow file between the twocounters, when they again spread out fan-like and continued theirfeeding.
The count confirmed the success of our driving by night, and on itscompletion all but two men rode to the wagon for breakfast. By thetime the morning meal was disposed of, the herd had come up parallelwith the wagon but a mile to the westward, and as fast as fresh mountscould be saddled, we rode away in small squads to relieve the herdersand to turn the cattle into the trail. It was but a little after eighto'clock in the morning when the herd was again trailing out on thePowder River trail, and we had already put over thirty miles of thedry drive behind us, while so far neither horses nor cattle had beenput to any extra exertion. The wagon followed as usual, and for overthree hours we held the trail without a break, when sighting a dividein our front, the foreman went back and sent the wagon around the herdwith instructions to make the noon camp well up on the divide. Wethrew the herd off the trail, within a mile of this stopping place,and allowed them to graze, while two thirds of the outfit gallopedaway to the wagon.
We allowed the cattle to lie down and rest to their completesatisfaction until the middle of the afternoon; meanwhile all hands,with the exception of two men on herd, also lay down and slept in theshade of the wagon. When the cattle had had several hours' sleep, thewant of water made them restless, and they began to rise and grazeaway. Then all hands were aroused and we threw them upon the trail.The heat of the day was already over, and until the twilight of theevening, we trailed a three-mile clip, and again threw the herd off tograze. By our traveling and grazing gaits, we could form anapproximate idea as to the distance we had covered, and the consensusof opinion of all was that we had already killed over half thedistance. The herd was beginning to show the want of water by evening,but amongst our saddle horses the lack of water was more noticeable,as a horse subsisting on grass alone weakens easily; and riding themmade them all the more gaunt. When we caught up our mounts thatevening, we had used eight horses to the man since we had left theSouth Fork, and another one would be required at midnight, or wheneverwe halted.
We made our drive the second night with more confidence than the onebefore, but there were times when the train of cattle must have beennearly two miles in length, yet there was never a halt as long as theman with the lead light could see the one in the rear. We bedded theherd about midnight; and at the first break of day, the fourth guardwith the foreman joined us on our watch and we started the cattleagain. There was a light dew the second night, and the cattle,hungered by their night walk, went to grazing at once on the dampgrass, which would allay their thirst slightly. We allowed them toscatter over several thousand acres, for we were anxious to graze themwell before the sun absorbed the moisture, but at the same time everystep they took was one less to the coveted Powder River.
When we had grazed the herd forward several miles, and the sun wasnearly an hour high, the wagon failed to come up, which caused ourforeman some slight uneasiness. Nearly another hour passed, and stillthe wagon did not come up nor did the outfit put in an appearance.Soon afterwards, however, Moss Strayhorn overtook us, and reportedthat over forty of our saddle horses were missing, while the workmules had been overtaken nearly five miles back on the trail. Onaccount of my ability as a trailer, Flood at once dispatched me toassist Honeyman in recovering the missing horses, instructing some oneelse to take the _remuda_, and the wagon and horses to follow up theherd. By the time I arrived, most of the boys at camp had secured achange of horses, and I caught up my _grulla_, that I was saving forthe last hard ride, for the horse hunt which confronted us. McCann,having no fire built, gave Honeyman and myself an impromptu breakfastand two canteens of water; but before we let the wagon get away, werustled a couple of cans of tomatoes and buried them in a cache nearthe camp-ground, where we would have no trouble in finding them on ourreturn. As the wagon pulled out, we mounted our horses and rode backdown the trail.
Billy Honeyman understood horses, and at once volunteered the beliefthat we would have a long ride overtaking the missing saddle stock.The absent horses, he said, were principally the ones which had beenunder saddle the day before, and as we both knew, a tired, thirstyhorse will go miles for water. He recalled, also, that while we wereasleep at noon the day before, twenty miles back on the trail, thehorses had found quite a patch of wild sorrel plant, and were foolishover leaving it. Both of us being satisfied that this would hold themfor several hours at least, we struck a free gait for it. After wepassed the point where the mules had been overtaken, the trail of thehorses was distinct enough for us to follow in an easy canter. We sawfrequent signs that they left the trail, no doubt to graze, but onlyfor short distances, when they would enter it again, and keep it formiles. Shortly before noon, as we gained the divide above our nooncamp of the day before, there about two miles distant we saw ourmissing horses, feeding over an alkali flat on which grew wild sorreland other species of sour plants. We rounded them up, and finding nonemissing, we first secu
red a change of mounts. The only two horses ofmy mount in this portion of the _remuda_ had both been under saddlethe afternoon and night before, and were as gaunt as rails, andHoneyman had one unused horse of his mount in the hand. So when,taking down our ropes, we halted the horses and began riding slowlyaround them, forcing them into a compact body, I had my eye on a brownhorse of Flood's that had not had a saddle on in a week, and toldBilly to fasten to him if he got a chance. This was in violation ofall custom, but if the foreman kicked, I had a good excuse to offer.
Honeyman was left-handed and threw a rope splendidly; and as wecircled around the horses on opposite sides, on a signal from him wewhirled our lariats and made casts simultaneously. The wranglerfastened to the brown I wanted, and my loop settled around the neck ofhis unridden horse. As the band broke away from our swinging ropes, anumber of them ran afoul of my rope; but I gave the rowel to my_grulla_, and we shook them off. When I returned to Honeyman, and wehad exchanged horses and were shifting our saddles, I complimented himon the long throw he had made in catching the brown, and incidentallymentioned that I had read of vaqueros in California who used asixty-five foot lariat. "Hell," said Billy, in ridicule of the idea,"there wasn't a man ever born who could throw a sixty-five foot ropeits full length--without he threw it down a well."
The sun was straight overhead when we started back to overtake theherd. We struck into a little better than a five-mile gait on thereturn trip, and about two o'clock sighted a band of saddle horses anda wagon camped perhaps a mile forward and to the side of the trail. Oncoming near enough, we saw at a glance it was a cow outfit, and afterdriving our loose horses a good push beyond their camp, turned androde back to their wagon.
"We 'll give them a chance to ask us to eat," said Billy to me, "andif they don't, why, they'll miss a hell of a good chance to entertainhungry men."
But the foreman with the stranger wagon proved to be a Bee CountyTexan, and our doubts did him an injustice, for, although dinner wasover, he invited us to dismount and ordered his cook to set outsomething to eat. They had met our wagon, and McCann had insisted ontheir taking a quarter of our beef, so we fared well. The outfit wasfrom a ranch near Miles City, Montana, and were going down to receivea herd of cattle at Cheyenne, Wyoming. The cattle had been bought atOgalalla for delivery at the former point, and this wagon was goingdown with their ranch outfit to take the herd on its arrival. They hadbrought along about seventy-five saddle horses from the ranch, thoughin buying the herd they had taken its _remuda_ of over a hundredsaddle horses. The foreman informed us that they had met our cattleabout the middle of the forenoon, nearly twenty-five miles out fromPowder River. After we had satisfied the inner man, we lost no timegetting off, as we could see a long ride ahead of us; but we hadoccasion as we rode away to go through their _remuda_ to cut out a fewof our horses which had mixed, and I found I knew over a dozen oftheir horses by the ranch brands, while Honeyman also recognized quitea few. Though we felt a pride in our mounts, we had to admit thattheirs were better; for the effect of climate had transformed horsesthat we had once ridden on ranches in southern Texas. It does seemincredible, but it is a fact nevertheless, that a horse, havingreached the years of maturity in a southern climate, will grow half ahand taller and carry two hundred pounds more flesh, when he hasundergone the rigors of several northern winters.
We halted at our night camp to change horses and to unearth our cachedtomatoes, and again set out. By then it was so late in the day thatthe sun had lost its force, and on this last leg in overtaking theherd we increased our gait steadily until the sun was scarcely an hourhigh, and yet we never sighted a dust-cloud in our front. Aboutsundown we called a few minutes' halt, and after eating our tomatoesand drinking the last of our water, again pushed on. Twilight hadfaded into dusk before we reached a divide which we had had in sightfor several hours, and which we had hoped to gain in time to sight thetimber on Powder River before dark. But as we put mile after milebehind us, that divide seemed to move away like a mirage, and theevening star had been shining for an hour before we finally reachedit, and sighted, instead of Powder's timber, the campfire of ouroutfit about five miles ahead. We fired several shots on seeing thelight, in the hope that they might hear us in camp and wait; otherwisewe knew they would start the herd with the rising of the moon.
When we finally reached camp, about nine o'clock at night, everythingwas in readiness to start, the moon having risen sufficiently. Ourshooting, however, had been heard, and horses for a change were tiedto the wagon wheels, while the remainder of the _remuda_ was underherd in charge of Rod Wheat. The runaways were thrown into the horseherd while we bolted our suppers. Meantime McCann informed us thatFlood had ridden that afternoon to the Powder River, in order to getthe lay of the land. He had found it to be ten or twelve miles distantfrom the present camp, and the water in the river barely knee deep toa saddle horse. Beyond it was a fine valley. Before we started, Floodrode in from the herd, and said to Honeyman, "I'm going to send thehorses and wagon ahead to-night, and you and McCann want to camp onthis side of the river, under the hill and just a few hundred yardsbelow the ford. Throw your saddle horses across the river, and build afire before you go to sleep, so we will have a beacon light to pilotus in, in case the cattle break into a run on scenting the water. Theherd will get in a little after midnight, and after crossing, we'llturn her loose just for luck."
It did me good to hear the foreman say the herd was to be turnedloose, for I had been in the saddle since three that morning, hadridden over eighty miles, and had now ten more in sight, whileHoneyman would complete the day with over a hundred to his credit. Welet the _remuda_ take the lead in pulling out, so that the wagon mulescould be spurred to their utmost in keeping up with the loose horses.Once they were clear of the herd, we let the cattle into the trail.They had refused to bed down, for they were uneasy with thirst, butthe cool weather had saved them any serious suffering. We all feltgala as the herd strung out on the trail. Before we halted again therewould be water for our dumb brutes and rest for ourselves. There waslots of singing that night. "There's One more River to cross," and"Roll, Powder, roll," were wafted out on the night air to the coyotesthat howled on our flanks, or to the prairie dogs as they peeped fromtheir burrows at this weird caravan of the night, and the lights whichflickered in our front and rear must have been real Jack-o'-lanternsor Will-o'-the-wisps to these occupants of the plain. Before we hadcovered half the distance, the herd was strung-out over two miles, andas Flood rode back to the rear every half hour or so, he showed noinclination to check the lead and give the sore-footed rear guard achance to close up the column; but about an hour before midnight wesaw a light low down in our front, which gradually increased until thetreetops were distinctly visible, and we knew that our wagon hadreached the river. On sighting this beacon, the long yell went up anddown the column, and the herd walked as only long-legged, thirstyTexas cattle can walk when they scent water. Flood called all theswing men to the rear, and we threw out a half-circle skirmish linecovering a mile in width, so far back that only an occasional glimmerof the lead light could be seen. The trail struck the Powder on anangle, and when within a mile of the river, the swing cattle left thedeep-trodden paths and started for the nearest water.
The left flank of our skirmish line encountered the cattle as theyreached the river, and prevented them from drifting up the stream. Thepoint men abandoned the leaders when within a few hundred yards of theriver. Then the rear guard of cripples and sore-footed cattle came up,and the two flanks of horsemen pushed them all across the river untilthey met, when we turned and galloped into camp, making the nighthideous with our yelling. The longest dry drive of the trip had beensuccessfully made, and we all felt jubilant. We stripped bridles andsaddles from our tired horses, and unrolling our beds, were soon lostin well-earned sleep.
The stars may have twinkled overhead, and sundry voices of the nightmay have whispered to us as we lay down to sleep, but we were tootired for poetry or sentiment that night.
