CHAPTER XVIII
THE NORTH PLATTE
It was now July. We had taken on new supplies at Ogalalla, and a weekafterwards the herd was snailing along the North Platte on its way tothe land of the Blackfeet. It was always hard to get a herd past asupply point. We had the same trouble when we passed Dodge. Our longhours in the saddle, coupled with the monotony of our work, made thesesupply points of such interest to us that they were like oases indesert lands to devotees on pilgrimage to some consecrated shrine. Wecould have spent a week in Ogalalla and enjoyed our visit everyblessed moment of the time. But now, a week later, most of theheadaches had disappeared and we had settled down to our daily work.
At Horse Creek, the last stream of water before entering Wyoming, alad who cut the trail at that point for some cattle companies, aftertrimming us up, rode along for half a day through their range, andtold us of an accident which happened about a week before. The horseof some peeler, working with one of Shanghai Pierce's herds, acted upone morning, and fell backward with him so that his gun accidentallydischarged. The outfit lay over a day and gave him as decent a burialas they could. We would find the new-made grave ahead on Squaw Creek,beyond the crossing, to the right hand side in a clump of cottonwoods.The next day, while watering the herd at this creek, we all rode overand looked at the grave. The outfit had fixed things up quite nicely.They had built a square pen of rough cottonwood logs around the grave,and had marked the head and foot with a big flat stone, edged up,heaping up quite a mound of stones to keep the animals away. In a treehis name was cut--sounded natural, too, though none of us knew him, asPierce always drove from the east coast country. There was nothingdifferent about this grave from the hundreds of others which madelandmarks on the Old Western Trail, except it was the latest.
That night around the camp-fire some of the boys were moved to telltheir experiences. This accident might happen to any of us, and itseemed rather short notice to a man enjoying life, even though hiscalling was rough.
"As for myself," said Rod Wheat, "I'm not going to fret. You can'tavoid it when it comes, and every now and then you miss it by a hair.I had an uncle who served four years in the Confederate army, wentthrough thirty engagements, was wounded half a dozen times, and camehome well and sound. Within a month after his return, a plough handlekicked him in the side and we buried him within a week."
"Oh, well," said Fox, commenting on the sudden call of the man whosegrave we had seen, "it won't make much difference to this fellow backhere when the horn toots and the graves give up their dead. He mightjust as well start from there as anywhere. I don't envy him none,though; but if I had any pity to offer now, it would be for a motheror sister who might wish that he slept nearer home."
This last remark carried our minds far away from their presentsurroundings to other graves which were not on the trail. There was along silence. We lay around the camp-fire and gazed into its depths,while its flickering light threw our shadows out beyond the circle.Our reverie was finally broken by Ash Borrowstone, who was by all oddsthe most impressionable and emotional one in the outfit, a man whoalways argued the moral side of every question, yet could not becredited with possessing an iota of moral stamina. Gloomy as we were,he added to our depression by relating a pathetic incident whichoccurred at a child's funeral, when Flood reproved him, saying,--
"Well, neither that one you mention, nor this one of Pierce's man isany of our funeral. We're on the trail with Lovell's cattle. Youshould keep nearer the earth."
There was a long silence after this reproof of the foreman. It wasevident there was a gloom settling over the outfit. Our thoughts wereranging wide. At last Rod Wheat spoke up and said that in order to getthe benefit of all the variations, the blues were not a bad thing tohave.
But the depression of our spirits was not so easily dismissed. Inorder to avoid listening to the gloomy tales that were being narratedaround the camp-fire, a number of us got up and went out as if to lookup the night horses on picket. The Rebel and I pulled our picket pinsand changed our horses to fresh grazing, and after lying down amongthe horses, out of hearing of the camp, for over an hour, returned tothe wagon expecting to retire. A number of the boys were making downtheir beds, as it was already late; but on our arrival at the fire oneof the boys had just concluded a story, as gloomy as the others whichhad preceded it.
"These stories you are all telling to-night," said Flood, "remind meof what Lige Link said to the book agent when he was shearing sheep.'I reckon,' said Lige, 'that book of yours has a heap sight morepoetry in it than there is in shearing sheep.' I wish I had gone onguard to-night, so I could have missed these stories."
At this juncture the first guard rode in, having been relieved, andJohn Officer, who had exchanged places on guard that night with MossStrayhorn, remarked that the cattle were uneasy.
"This outfit," said he, "didn't half water the herd to-day. One thirdof them hasn't bedded down yet, and they don't act as if they aim to,either. There's no excuse for it in a well-watered country like this.I'll leave the saddle on my horse, anyhow."
"Now that's the result," said our foreman, "of the hour we spentaround that grave to-day, when we ought to have been tending to ourjob. This outfit," he continued, when Officer returned from picketinghis horse, "have been trying to hold funeral services over that Pierceman's grave back there. You'd think so, anyway, from the tales they'vebeen telling. I hope you won't get the sniffles and tell any."
"This letting yourself get gloomy," said Officer, "reminds me of atime we once had at the 'J.H.' camp in the Cherokee Strip. It was nearChristmas, and the work was all done up. The boys had blowed in theirsummer's wages and were feeling glum all over. One or two of the boyswere lamenting that they hadn't gone home to see the old folks. Thisgloomy feeling kept spreading until they actually wouldn't speak toeach other. One of them would go out and sit on the wood pile forhours, all by himself, and make a new set of good resolutions. Anotherwould go out and sit on the ground, on the sunny side of the corrals,and dig holes in the frozen earth with his knife. They wouldn't cometo meals when the cook called them.
"Now, Miller, the foreman, didn't have any sympathy for them; in facthe delighted to see them in that condition. He hadn't any use for aman who wasn't dead tough under any condition. I've known him to camphis outfit on alkali water, so the men would get out in the morning,and every rascal beg leave to ride on the outside circle on themorning roundup.
"Well, three days before Christmas, just when things were lookinggloomiest, there drifted up from the Cheyenne country one of the oldtimers. None of them had seen him in four years, though he had workedon that range before, and with the exception of myself, they all knewhim. He was riding the chuckline all right, but Miller gave him awelcome, as he was the real thing. He had been working out in thePan-handle country, New Mexico, and the devil knows where, since hehad left that range. He was meaty with news and scarey stories. Theboys would sit around and listen to him yarn, and now and then a smilewould come on their faces. Miller was delighted with his guest. He hadshown no signs of letting up at eleven o'clock the first night, whenhe happened to mention where he was the Christmas before.
"'There was a little woman at the ranch,' said he, 'wife of the owner,and I was helping her get up dinner, as we had quite a number of folksat the ranch. She asked me to make the bear sign--doughnuts, shecalled them--and I did, though she had to show me how some little.Well, fellows, you ought to have seen them--just sweet enough, brownedto a turn, and enough to last a week. All the folks at dinner that daypraised them. Since then, I've had a chance to try my hand severaltimes, and you may not tumble to the diversity of all myaccomplishments, but I'm an artist on bear sign.'
"Miller arose, took him by the hand, and said, 'That's straight, now,is it?'
"'That's straight. Making bear sign is my long suit.'
"'Mouse,' said Miller to one of the boys, 'go out and bring in hissaddle from the stable and put it under my bed. Throw his horse in thebig pasture in the morning. He stays
here until spring; and the firstspear of green grass I see, his name goes on the pay roll. This outfitis shy on men who can make bear sign. Now, I was thinking that youcould spread down your blankets on the hearth, but you can sleep withme to-night. You go to work on this specialty of yours right afterbreakfast in the morning, and show us what you can do in that line.'
"They talked quite a while longer, and then turned in for the night.The next morning after breakfast was over, he got the needed articlestogether and went to work. But there was a surprise in store for him.There was nearly a dozen men lying around, all able eaters. By teno'clock he began to turn them out as he said he could. When theregular cook had to have the stove to get dinner, the taste which wehad had made us ravenous for more. Dinner over, he went at them againin earnest. A boy riding towards the railroad with an important letterdropped in, and as he claimed he could only stop for a moment, westood aside until he had had a taste, though he filled himself like apoisoned pup. After eating a solid hour, he filled his pockets androde away. One of our regular men called after him, 'Don't tellanybody what we got.'
"We didn't get any supper that night. Not a man could have eaten abite. Miller made him knock off along in the shank of the evening, ashe had done enough for any one day. The next morning after breakfasthe fell to at the bear sign once more. Miller rolled a barrel of flourinto the kitchen from the storehouse, and told him to fly at them.'About how many do you think you'll want?' asked our bear sign man.
"'That big tub full won't be any too many,' answered Miller. 'Some ofthese fellows haven't had any of this kind of truck since they werelittle boys. If this gets out, I look for men from other camps.'
"The fellow fell to his work like a thoroughbred, which he surely was.About ten o'clock two men rode up from a camp to the north, which theboy had passed the day before with the letter. They never went nearthe dug-out, but straight to the kitchen. That movement showed thatthey were on to the racket. An hour later old Tom Cave rode in, hishorse all in a lather, all the way from Garretson's camp, twenty-fivemiles to the east. The old sinner said that he had been on thefrontier some little time, and that there were the best bear sign hehad tasted in forty years. He refused to take a stool and sit downlike civilized folks, but stood up by the tub and picked out the oneswhich were a pale brown.
"After dinner our man threw off his overshirt, unbuttoned his redundershirt and turned it in until you could see the hair on hisbreast. Rolling up his sleeves, he flew at his job once more. He wasgetting his work reduced to a science by this time. He rolled hisdough, cut his dough, and turned out the fine brown bear sign to thesatisfaction of all.
"His capacity, however, was limited. About two o'clock Doc Langfordand two of his peelers were seen riding up. When he came into thekitchen, Doc swore by all that was good and holy that he hadn't heardthat our artist had come back to that country. But any one that wasnoticing could see him edge around to the tub. It was easy to see thathe was lying. This luck of ours was circulating faster than a secretamongst women. Our man, though, stood at his post like the boy on theburning deck. When night came on, he hadn't covered the bottom of thetub. When he knocked off, Doc Langford and his men gobbled up what wasleft. We gave them a mean look as they rode off, but they came backthe next day, five strong. Our regular men around camp didn't like it,the way things were going. They tried to act polite to"--
"Calling bear sign doughnuts," interrupted Quince Forrest, "reminds mewhat"--
"Will you kindly hobble your lip," said Officer; "I have the floor atpresent. As I was saying, they tried to act polite to company thatway, but we hadn't got a smell the second day. Our man showed no signsof fatigue, and told several good stories that night. He was tough.The next day was Christmas, but he had no respect for a holiday, andmade up a large batch of dough before breakfast. It was a good thinghe did, for early that morning 'Original' John Smith and four of hispeelers rode in from the west, their horses all covered with frost.They must have started at daybreak--it was a good twenty-two mileride. They wanted us to believe that they had simply come over tospend Christmas with us. Company that way, you can't say anything. Butthe easy manner in which they gravitated around that tub--not evenwaiting to be invited--told a different tale. They were not nearlysatisfied by noon.
"Then who should come drifting in as we were sitting down to dinner,but Billy Dunlap and Jim Hale from Quinlin's camp, thirty miles southon the Cimarron. Dunlap always holed up like a bear in the winter, andseveral of the boys spilled their coffee at sight of him. He put up athin excuse just like the rest. Any one could see through it. Butthere it was again--he was company. Lots of us had eaten at his campand complained of his chuck; therefore, we were nice to him. Millercalled our man out behind the kitchen and told him to knock off if hewanted to. But he wouldn't do it. He was clean strain--I'm nottalking. Dunlap ate hardly any dinner, we noticed, and the very firstbatch of bear sign turned out, he loads up a tin plate and goes outand sits behind the storehouse in the sun, all alone in his glory. Hesatisfied himself out of the tub after that.
"He and Hale stayed all night, and Dunlap kept every one awake withthe nightmare. Yes, kept fighting the demons all night. The nextmorning Miller told him that he was surprised that an old gray-hairedman like him didn't know when he had enough, but must gorge himselflike some silly kid. Miller told him that he was welcome to stay aweek if he wanted to, but he would have to sleep in the stable. It wascruel to the horses, but the men were entitled to a little sleep, atleast in the winter. Miller tempered his remarks with all kindness,and Dunlap acted as if he was sorry, and as good as admitted that hisyears were telling on him. That day our man filled his tub. He wassimply an artist on bear sign."
"Calling bear sign doughnuts," cut in Quince Forrest again, as soon ashe saw an opening, "reminds me what the little boy said who went"--
But there came a rumbling of many hoofs from the bed ground. "There'shell for you," said half a dozen men in a chorus, and every man incamp ran for his horse but the cook, and he climbed into the wagon.The roar of the running cattle was like approaching thunder, but theflash from the six-shooters of the men on guard indicated they werequartering by camp, heading out towards the hills. Horses became soexcited they were difficult to bridle. There was plenty of earnest andsincere swearing done that night. All the fine sentiment andmelancholy of the hour previous vanished in a moment, as the men threwthemselves into their saddles, riding deep, for it was uncertainfooting to horses.
Within two minutes from the time the herd left the bed ground,fourteen of us rode on their left point and across their front, firingour six-shooters in their faces. By the time the herd had covered ascant mile, we had thrown them into a mill. They had run so compactlythat there were no stragglers, so we loosened out and gave them room;but it was a long time before they relaxed any, but continued goinground and round like a water wheel or an endless chain. The foremanordered three men on the heaviest horses to split them. The men rodeout a short distance to get the required momentum, wheeled theirhorses, and, wedge-shaped, struck this sea of cattle and entered, butit instantly closed in their wake as though it had been water. For anhour they rode through the herd, back and forth, now from thisquarter, now from that, and finally the mill was broken. Aftermidnight, as luck would have it, heavy dark clouds banked in thenorthwest, and lightning flashed, and before a single animal had laindown, a drizzling rain set in. That settled it; it was an all-nightjob now. We drifted about hither and yon. Horses, men, and cattleturned their backs to the wind and rain and waited for morning. Wewere so familiar with the signs of coming day that we turned themloose half an hour before dawn, leaving herders, and rode for camp.
As we groped our way in that dark hour before dawn, hungry, drenched,and bedraggled, there was nothing gleeful about us, while Bob Bladesexpressed his disgust over our occupation. "If ever I get home again,"said he, and the tones of his voice were an able second to hisremarks, "you all can go up the trail that want to, but here's onechicken that won't. There isn't a cowman in T
exas who has money enoughto hire me again."
"Ah, hell, now," said Bull, "you oughtn't to let a little rain ruffleyour feathers that way. Cheer up, sonny; you may be rich some day yetand walk on brussels and velvet."