CHAPTER TWO: THE TRAIL HERD
Day after day the trail herd plodded slowly to the north, following thebuffalo trails that would lead to water, and the crude map of one whohad taken a herd north and had returned with a tale of vast plains andno rivals. Always through the day the dust cloud hung over the backs ofthe cattle, settled into the clothes of those who followed, grimed thepink aprons of Buddy and his small sister Dulcie so that they were nolonger pink. Whenever a stream was reached, mother searched patientlyfor clear water and an untrampled bit of bank where she might do thefamily washing, leaving Ezra to mind the children. But even so the crustand the wear and tear of travel remained to harass her fastidious soul.
Buddy remembered that drive as he could not remember the comfortableranch house of his earlier babyhood. To him afterward it seemed thatlife began with the great herd of cattle. He came to know just how lowthe sun must slide from the top of the sky before the "point" wouldspread out with noses to the ground, pausing wherever a mouthful ofgrass was to be found. When these leaders of the herd stopped, thecattle would scatter and begin feeding. If there was water they wouldcrowd the banks of the stream or pool, pushing and prodding one anotherwith their great, sharp horns. Later, when the sun was gone and duskcrept out of nowhere, the cowboys would ride slowly around the herd,pushing it quietly into a smaller compass. Then, if Buddy were not toosleepy, he would watch the cattle lie down to chew their cuds in deep,sighing content until they slept. It reminded Buddy vaguely of whenmother popped corn in a wire popper, a long time ago-before they alllived in a wagon and went with the herd. First one and two-then therewould be three, four, five, as many as Buddy could count-then the wholeherd would be lying down.
Buddy loved the camp-fires. The cowboys would sit around the one wherehis father and mother sat--mother with Dulcie in her arms--and theywould smoke and tell stories, until mother told him it was time littleboys were in bed. Buddy always wanted to know what they said after hehad climbed into the big wagon where mother had made a bed, but he neverfound out. He could remember lying there listening sometimes to theniggers singing at their own campfire within call, Ezra always singingthe loudest,--just as a bull always could be heard above the bellowingof the herd.
All his life, Ezra's singing and the monotonous bellowing of a herdreminded Buddy of one mysteriously terrible time when there weren'tany rivers or any ponds or anything along the trail, and they had to becareful of the water and save it, and he and Dulcie were not askedto wash their faces. I think that miracle helped to fix the incidentindelibly in Buddy's mind; that, and the bellowing of the cattle. Itseemed a month to Buddy, but as he grew older he learned that it wasthree days they went without water.
The first day he did not remember especially, except that mother hadtalked about clean aprons that night, and failed to produce any. Thesecond he recalled quite clearly. Father came to the wagons sometime inthe night to see if mother was asleep. Their murmured talk wakened Buddyand he heard father say:
"We'll hold 'em, all right, Lassie. And there's water ahead. It's markedon the trail map. Don't you worry--I'll stay up and help the boys. Thecattle are uneasy--but we'll hold 'em."
The third day Buddy never forgot. That was the day when mother forgotthat Q stands for Quagga, and permitted Buddy to call it P, just forfun, because it looked so much like P. And when he said "W is water ",mother made a funny sound and said right out loud, "Oh God, please!" andtold Buddy to creep back and play with Sister--when Sister was asleep,and there were still x, y and z to say, let alone that mysteriousAnd-so-forth which seemed to mean so much and so little and never wascalled upon to help spell a word. Never since he began to have lessonshad mother omitted a single letter or cut the study hour down theteeniest little bit.
Buddy was afraid of something, but he could not think what it was thatfrightened him. He began to think seriously about water, and to listenuneasily to the constant lowing of the herd. The increased shoutingof the niggers driving the lagging ones held a sudden significance. Itoccurred to him that the niggers had their hands full, and that they hadnever driven so big a "Drag." It was hotter than ever, too, and they hadtwice stopped to yoke in fresh oxen. Ezra had boasted all along thatole Bawley would keep his end up till they got clah to Wyoming. But oleBawley had stopped, and stopped, and at last had to be taken out of theyoke. Buddy began to wish they would hurry up and find a river.
None of the cowboys would take him on the saddle and let him ride, thatday. They looked harassed--Buddy called it cross--when they rode up tothe wagon to give their horses a few mouthfuls of water from the barrel.Step-and-a-Half couldn't spare any more, they told mother. He haddeclared at noon that he needed every drop he had for the cooking, andthere would be no washing of dishes whatever. Later, mother had studieda map and afterwards had sat for a long while staring out over the backsof the cattle, her face white. Buddy thought perhaps mother was sick.
That day lasted hours and hours longer than any other day that Buddycould remember. His father looked cross, too, when he rode back to them.Once it was to look at the map which mother had studied. They talkedtogether afterwards, and Buddy heard his father say that she must notworry; the cattle had good bottom, and could stand thirst better than apoor herd, and another dry camp would not really hurt anyone.
He had uncovered the water barrel and looked in, and had ridden straightover to the chuck-wagon, his horse walking alongside the high seat whereStep-and-a-Half sat perched listlessly with a long-lashed oxwhip in hishand. Father had talked for a few minutes, and had ridden back scowling.
"That old scoundrel has got two ten-gallon kegs that haven't beentouched!" he told mother. "Yo' all mustn't water any more horses out ofyour barrel Send the boys to Step-and-a-Half. Yo' all keep what you'vegot. The horses have got to have water--to-night it's going to be hellto hold the herd, and if anybody goes thirsty it'll be the men, not thehorses But yo' all send them to the other wagon, Lassie Mind, now! Not adrop to anyone."
After father rode away, Buddy crept up and put his two short arms aroundmother. "Don't cry. I don't have to drink any water," he soothed her. Hewaited a minute and added optimistically, "Dere's a BI--IG wiver comin'pitty soon. Oxes smells water a hunerd miles. Ezra says so. An' las'night Crumpy was snuffin' an' snuffin'. I saw 'im do it. He smelt a BIGwiver. THAT bi-ig!" He spread his short arms as wide apart as they wouldreach, and smiled tremulously.
Mother squeezed Buddy so hard that he grunted.
"Dear little man, of course there is. WE don't mind, do we? I-wasfeeling sorry for the poor cattle."
"De're firsty," Buddy stated solemnly, his eyes big. "De're bawlin' fera drink of water. I guess de're AWFUL firsty. Dere's a big wiver comin'now Crumpy smelt a big wiver."
Buddy's mother stared across the arid plain parched into greaterbarrenness by the heat that had been unremitting for the past week.Buddy's faith in the big river she could not share. Somehow they haddrifted off the trail marked on the map drawn by George Williams.
Williams had warned them to carry as much water as possible in barrels,as a precaution against suffering if they failed to strike water eachnight. He had told them that water was scarce, but that his cowboyscouts and the deep-worn buffalo trails had been able to bring himthrough with water at every camp save two or three. The Staked Plains,he said, would be the hardest drive. And this was the Staked Plains--andit was hard driving!
Buddy did not know all that until afterwards, when he heard father talkof the drive north. But he would have remembered that day and the nightthat followed, even though he had never heard a word about it.The bawling of the herd became a doleful chant of misery. Even thephlegmatic oxen that drew the wagons bawled and slavered while theystrained forward, twisting their heads under the heavy yokes. Theystopped oftener than usual to rest, and when Buddy was permitted to walkwith the perspiring Ezra by the leaders, he wondered why the oxen's eyeswere red, like Dulcie's when she had one of her crying spells.
At night the cowboys did not tie their horses and sit down while t
heyate, but stood by their mounts and bolted food hurriedly, one eye alwayson the restless cattle, that walked around and around, and would neithereat nor lie down, but lowed incessantly. Once a few animals came closeenough to smell the water in a bucket where Frank Davis was wateringhis sweat-streaked horse, and Step-and-a-Half's wagon was almost upsetbefore the maddened cattle could be driven back to the main herd.
"No use camping," Bob Birnie told the boys gathered aroundStep-and-a-Half's Dutch ovens. "The cattle won't stand. We'll wearourselves and them out trying to hold 'em-they may as well be huntingwater as running in circles. Step-and-a-Half, keep your cooked grubhandy for the boys, and yo' all pack up and pull out. We'll turn thecattle loose and follow. If there's any water in this damned countrythey'll find it."
Years afterwards, Buddy learned that his father had sent men out tohunt water, and that they had not found any. He was ten when this wasdiscussed around a spring roundup fire, and he had studied the matterfor a few minutes and then had spoken boldly his mind.
"You oughta kept your horses as thirsty as the cattle was, and I betthey'd a' found that water," he criticized, and was sent to bed for histactlessness. Bob Birnie himself had thought of that afterwards, and hadexcused the oversight by saying that he had depended on the map, and hadnot foreseen a three-day dry drive.
However that may be, that night was a night of panicky desperation.Ezra walked beside the oxen and shouted and swung his lash, and theoxen strained forward bellowing so that not even Dulcie could sleep,but whimpered fretfully in her mother's arms. Buddy sat up wide-eyed andwatched for the big river, and tried not to be a 'fraid-cat and cry likeDulcie.
It was long past starry midnight when a little wind puffed out of thedarkness and the oxen threw up their heads and sniffed, and put a newnote into their "M-baw-aw-aw-mm!" They swung sharply so that the windblew straight into the front of the wagon, which lurched forward with anew impetus.
"Glo-ory t' Gawd, Missy! dey smells watah, sho 's yo' bawn!" sobbed Ezraas he broke into a trot beside the wheelers. "'Tain't fur--lookit dat-ahhuhd a-goin' it! No 'm, Missy, DEY ain't woah out--dey smellin' watahan' dey'm gittin' TO it! 'Tain't fur, Missy."
Buddy clung to the back of the seat and stared round-eyed into thegloom. He never forgot that lumpy shadow which was the herd, travelingfast in dust that obscured the nearest stars. The shadow humped hereand there as the cattle crowded forward at a shuffling half trot, theclick--awash of their shambling feet treading close on one another. Therapping tattoo of wide-spread horns clashing against wide-spread hornsfilled him with a formless terror, so that he let go the seat to clutchat mother's dress. He was not afraid of cattle-they were as much apart of his world as were Ezra and the wagon and the camp-fires-but hetrembled with the dread which no man could name for him.
These were not the normal, everyday sounds of the herd. The herd hadsomehow changed from plodding animals to one overwhelming purpose thatwould sweep away anything that came in its path. Two thousand parchedthroats and dust-dry tongues-and suddenly the smell of water that wouldgo gurgling down two thousand eager gullets, and every interveningsecond a cursed delay against which the cattle surged blindly. It wasthe mob spirit, when the mob was fighting for its very existence.
Over the bellowing of the cattle a yelling cowboy now and then madehimself heard. The four oxen straining under their yokes broke intoa lumbering gallop lest they be outdistanced by the herd, and Dulciescreamed when the wagon lurched across a dry wash and almost upset,while Ezra plied the ox-whip and yelled frantically at first one ox andthen another, inventing names for the new ones. Buddy drew in his breathand held it until the wagon rolled on four wheels instead of two, but hedid not scream.
Still the big river did not come. It seemed to Buddy that the cattlewould never stop running. Tangled in the terror was Ezra's shoutingas he ran alongside the wagon and called to Missy that it was "Dat oleCrumpy actin' the fool", and that the wagon wouldn't upset. "No'm, dey'sjest in a hurry to git dere fool haids sunk to de eyes in dat watah. Deyain't aimin' to run away--no'm, dish yer ain't no stampede!"
Perhaps Buddy dozed. The next thing he remembered, day was breaking,with the sun all red, seen through the dust. The herd was still going,but now it was running and somehow the yoked oxen were keeping closebehind, lumbering along with heads held low and the sweat reeking fromtheir spent bodies. Buddy heard dimly his mother's sharp command toEzra:
"Stand back, Ezra! We're not going to be caught in that terrible trap.They're piling over the bank ahead of us. Get away from the leaders. Iam going to shoot."
Buddy crawled up a little higher on the blankets behind the seat, andsaw mother steady herself and aim the rifle straight at Crumpy. Therewas the familiar, deafening roar, the acrid smell of black powder smoke,and Crumpy went down loosely, his nose rooting the trampled ground fora space before the gun belched black smoke again and Crumpy's yoke-matepitched forward. The wagon stopped so abruptly that Buddy sprawledhelplessly on his back like an overturned beetle.
He saw mother stand looking down at the wheelers, that backed andtwisted their necks under their yokes. Her lips were set firmlytogether, and her eyes were bright with purple hollows beneath. She heldthe rifle for a moment, then set the butt of it on the "jockey box" justin front of the dashboard. The wheelers, helpless between the weight ofthe wagon behind and the dead oxen in front, might twist their necks offbut they could do no damage.
"Unyoke the wheelers, Ezra, and let the poor creatures have their chanceat the water," she cried sharply, and Ezra, dodging the horns of thefrantic brutes, made shift to obey.
Fairly on the bank of the sluggish stream with its flood-worn channeland its treacherous patches of quicksand, the wagon thus halted by thesheer nerve and quick-thinking of mother became a very small island in atroubled sea of weltering backs and tossing horns and staring eyeballs.Riders shouted and lashed unavailingly with their quirts, trying tohold back the full bulk of the herd until the foremost had slakedtheir thirst and gone on. But the herd was crazy for the water, andthe foremost were plunged headlong into the soft mud where they mired,trampled under the hoofs of those who came crowding from behind.
Someone shouted, close to the wagon yet down the bank at the edge of thewater. The words were indistinguishable, but a warning was in the voice.On the echo of that cry, a man screamed twice.
"Ezra!" cried mother fiercely. "It's Frank Davis--they've got him down,somehow. Climb over the backs of the cattle--There's no other way--andGET HIM!"
"Yas'm, Missy!" Ezra called back, and then Buddy saw him go over theherd, scrambling, jumping from back to back.
Buddy remembered that always, and the funeral they had later in the day,when the herd was again just trail-weary cattle feeding hungrily on thescanty grass. Down at the edge of the creek the carcasses of many deadanimals lay half-buried in the mud. Up on a little knoll where a fewstunted trees grew, the negroes dug a long, deep hole. Mother's eyeswere often filled with tears that day, and the cowboys scarcely talkedat all when they gathered at the chuckwagon.
After a while they all went to the hole which the negroes had dug, andthere was a long Something wrapped up in canvas. Mother wore her bestdress which was black, and father and all the boys had shaved theirfaces and looked very sober. The negroes stood back in a group bythemselves, and every few minutes Buddy saw them draw their tatteredshirtsleeves across their faces. And father--Buddy looked once and sawtwo tears running down father's cheeks. Buddy was shocked into a stonycalm. He had never dreamed that fathers ever cried.
Mother read out of her Bible, and all the boys held their hats in frontof them, with their hands clasped, and looked at the ground while sheread. Then mother sang. She sang, "We shall meet beyond the river",which Buddy thought was a very queer song, because they were all therebut Frank Davis; then she sang "Nearer, My God, to Thee." Buddy sangtoo, piping the notes accurately, with a vague pronunciation of thewords and a feeling that somehow he was helping mother.
After that they put the long, canvas-wrapped Som
ething down in the hole,and mother said "Our Father Who Art in Heaven ", with Buddy repeating ituncertainly after her and pausing to say "TRETHpatheth" very carefully.Then mother picked up Dulcie in her arms, took Buddy by the hand andwalked slowly back to the wagon, and would not let him turn to see whatthe boys were doing.
It was from that day that Buddy missed Frank Davis, who had mysteriouslygone to Heaven, according to mother. Buddy's interest in Heaven wasextremely keen for a time, and he asked questions which not even mothercould answer. Then his memory of Frank Davis blurred. But never hismemory of that terrible time when the Tomahawk outfit lost five hundredcattle in the dry drive and the stampede for water.