CHAPTER IX
DOAN'S CROSSING
It was a nice open country between the Wichita and Pease rivers. Onreaching the latter, we found an easy stage of water for crossing,though there was every evidence that the river had been on a recentrise, the debris of a late freshet littering the cutbank, whilehigh-water mark could be easily noticed on the trees along the riverbottom. Summer had advanced until the June freshets were to beexpected, and for the next month we should be fortunate if our advancewas not checked by floods and falling weather. The fortunate stage ofthe Pease encouraged us, however, to hope that possibly Red River, twodays' drive ahead, would be fordable. The day on which we expected toreach it, Flood set out early to look up the ford which had then beenin use but a few years, and which in later days was known as Doan'sCrossing on Red River. Our foreman returned before noon and reported afavorable stage of water for the herd, and a new ferry that had beenestablished for wagons. With this good news, we were determined to putthat river behind us in as few hours as possible, for it was a commonoccurrence that a river which was fordable at night was the reverse bydaybreak. McCann was sent ahead with the wagon, but we held the saddlehorses with us to serve as leaders in taking the water at the ford.
The cattle were strung out in trailing manner nearly a mile, and onreaching the river near the middle of the afternoon, we took the waterwithout a halt or even a change of horses. This boundary river on thenorthern border of Texas was a terror to trail drovers, but on ourreaching it, it had shallowed down, the flow of water followingseveral small channels. One of these was swimming, with shallow barsintervening between the channels. But the majestic grandeur of theriver was apparent on every hand,--with its red, bluff banks, thesediment of its red waters marking the timber along its course, whilethe driftwood, lodged in trees and high on the banks, indicated whatmight be expected when she became sportive or angry. That she wasmerciless was evident, for although this crossing had been in use onlya year or two when we forded, yet five graves, one of which was lessthan ten days made, attested her disregard for human life. It cansafely be asserted that at this and lower trail crossings on RedRiver, the lives of more trail men were lost by drowning than on allother rivers together. Just as we were nearing the river, an unknownhorseman from the south overtook our herd. It was evident that hebelonged to some through herd and was looking out the crossing. Hemade himself useful by lending a hand while our herd was fording, andin a brief conversation with Flood, informed him that he was one ofthe hands with a "Running W" herd, gave the name of Bill Mann as theirforeman, the number of cattle they were driving, and reported the herdas due to reach the river the next morning. He wasted little time withus, but recrossed the river, returning to his herd, while we grazedout four or five miles and camped for the night.
I shall never forget the impression left in my mind of that firstmorning after we crossed Red River into the Indian lands. The countrywas as primitive as in the first day of its creation. The trail led upa divide between the Salt and North forks of Red River. To theeastward of the latter stream lay the reservation of the Apaches,Kiowas, and Comanches, the latter having been a terror to theinhabitants of western Texas. They were a warlike tribe, as therecords of the Texas Rangers and government troops will verify, buttheir last effective dressing down was given them in a fight at AdobeWalls by a party of buffalo hunters whom they hoped to surprise. As wewormed our way up this narrow divide, there was revealed to us apanorama of green-swarded plain and timber-fringed watercourse, withnot a visible evidence that it had ever been invaded by civilized man,save cattlemen with their herds. Antelope came up in bands andgratified their curiosity as to who these invaders might be, while oldsolitary buffalo bulls turned tail at our approach and lumbered awayto points of safety. Very few herds had ever passed over this route,but buffalo trails leading downstream, deep worn by generations oftravel, were to be seen by hundreds on every hand. We were not therefor a change of scenery or for our health, so we may have overlookedsome of the beauties of the landscape. But we had a keen eye for thethings of our craft. We could see almost back to the river, andseveral times that morning noticed clouds of dust on the horizon.Flood noticed them first. After some little time the dust clouds aroseclear and distinct, and we were satisfied that the "Running W" herdhad forded and were behind us, not more than ten or twelve miles away.
At dinner that noon, Flood said he had a notion to go back and payMann a visit. "Why, I've not seen 'Little-foot' Bill Mann," said ourforeman, as he helped himself to a third piece of "fried chicken"(bacon), "since we separated two years ago up at Ogalalla on thePlatte. I'd just like the best in the world to drop back and sleep inhis blankets one night and complain of his chuck. Then I'd like totell him how we had passed them, starting ten days' drive farthersouth. He must have been amongst those herds laying over on theBrazos."
"Why don't you go, then?" said Fox Quarternight. "Half the outfitcould hold the cattle now with the grass and water we're in atpresent."
"I'll go you one for luck," said our foreman. "Wrangler, rustle inyour horses the minute you're through eating. I'm going visiting."
We all knew what horse he would ride, and when he dropped his rope on"Alazanito," he had not only picked his own mount of twelve, but thetop horse of the entire _remuda_,--a chestnut sorrel, fifteen handsand an inch in height, that drew his first breath on the prairies ofTexas. No man who sat him once could ever forget him. Now, when thetrail is a lost occupation, and reverie and reminiscence carry themind back to that day, there are friends and faces that may heforgotten, but there are horses that never will be. There wereemergencies in which the horse was everything, his rider merely theaccessory. But together, man and horse, they were the force that madeit possible to move the millions of cattle which passed up and overthe various trails of the West.
When we had caught our horses for the afternoon, and Flood had saddledand was ready to start, he said to us, "You fellows just mosey alongup the trail. I'll not be gone long, but when I get back I shallexpect to find everything running smooth. An outfit that can't runitself without a boss ought to stay at home and do the milking. Solong, fellows!"
The country was well watered, and when rounded the cattle into the bedground that night, they were actually suffering from stomachs gorgedwith grass and water. They went down and to sleep like tired children;one man could have held them that night. We all felt good, and McCanngot up an extra spread for supper. We even had dried apples fordessert. McCann had talked the storekeeper at Doan's, where we got ourlast supplies, out of some extras as a _pelon_. Among them was a canof jam. He sprung this on us as a surprise. Bob Blades toyed with theempty can in mingled admiration and disgust over a picture on thepaper label. It was a supper scene, every figure wearing full dress."Now, that's General Grant," said he, pointing with his finger, "andthis is Tom Ochiltree. I can't quite make out this other duck, but Ireckon he's some big auger--a senator or governor, maybe. Them oldgirls have got their gall with them. That style of dress is what youcall _lo_ and _behold_. The whole passel ought to be ashamed. And theyseem to be enjoying themselves, too."
Though it was a lovely summer night, we had a fire, and supper over,the conversation ranged wide and free. As the wagon on the trail ishome, naturally the fire is the hearthstone, so we gathered andlounged around it.
"The only way to enjoy such a fine night as this," remarked Ash, "isto sit up smoking until you fall asleep with your boots on. Betweentoo much sleep and just enough, there's a happy medium which suitsme."
"Officer," inquired Wyatt Roundtree, trailing into the conversationvery innocently, "why is it that people who live up among thoseYankees always say 'be' the remainder of their lives?"
"What's the matter with the word?" countered Officer.
"Oh, nothing, I reckon, only it sounds a little odd, and there's atale to it."
"A story, you mean," said Officer, reprovingly.
"Well, I'll tell it to you," said Roundtree, "and then you can call itto suit yourself. It was out in N
ew Mexico where this happened. Therewas a fellow drifted into the ranch where I was working, dead broke.To make matters worse, he could do nothing; he wouldn't fit anywhere.Still, he was a nice fellow and we all liked him. Must have had a goodeducation, for he had good letters from people up North. He had workedin stores and had once clerked in a bank, at least the letters saidso. Well, we put up a job to get him a place in a little town out onthe railroad. You all know how clannish Kentuckians are. Let two meetwho never saw each other before, and inside of half an hour they'll bechewing tobacco from the same plug and trying to loan each othermoney."
"That's just like them," interposed Fox Quarternight.
"Well, there was an old man lived in this town, who was the genuineblend of bluegrass and Bourbon. If another Kentuckian came withintwenty miles of him, and he found it out, he'd hunt him up and they'dhold a two-handed reunion. We put up the job that this young manshould play that he was a Kentuckian, hoping that the old man wouldtake him to his bosom and give him something to do. So we took himinto town one day, coached and fully posted how to act and play hispart. We met the old man in front of his place of business, and, afterthe usual comment on the news over our way, weather, and other smalltalk, we were on the point of passing on, when one of our own crowdturned back and inquired, 'Uncle Henry, have you met the youngKentuckian who's in the country?'
"'No,' said the old man, brightening with interest, 'who is he andwhere is he?'
"'He's in town somewhere,' volunteered one of the boys. We pretendedto survey the street from where we stood, when one of the boys blurtedout, 'Yonder he stands now. That fellow in front of the drug storeover there, with the hard-boiled hat on.'
"The old man started for him, angling across the street, in disregardof sidewalks. We watched the meeting, thinking it was working allright. We were mistaken. We saw them shake hands, when the old manturned and walked away very haughtily. Something had gone wrong. Hetook the sidewalk on his return, and when he came near enough to us,we could see that he was angry and on the prod. When he came nearenough to speak, he said, 'You think you're smart, don't you? He's aKentuckian, is he? Hell's full of such Kentuckians!' And as he passedbeyond hearing he was muttering imprecations on us. The young fellowjoined us a minute later with the question, 'What kind of a crank isthat you ran me up against?'
"'He's as nice a man as there is in this country,' said one of thecrowd. 'What did you say to him?'
"'Nothing'; he came up to me, extended his hand, saying, "My youngfriend, I understand that you're from Kentucky." "I be, sir," Ireplied, when he looked me in the eye and said, "You're a G---- d----liar," and turned and walked away. Why, he must have wanted to insultme. And then we all knew why our little scheme had failed. There wasfood and raiment in it for him, but he would use that little word'be.'"
"Did any of you notice my saddle horse lie down just after we crossedthis last creek this afternoon?" inquired Rod Wheat.
"No; what made him lie down?" asked several of the boys.
"Oh, he just found a gopher hole and stuck his forefeet into it one ata time, and then tried to pull them both out at once, and when hecouldn't do it, he simply shut his eyes like a dying sheep and laydown."
"Then you've seen sheep die," said the horse wrangler.
"Of course I have; a sheep can die any time he makes up his mind to bysimply shutting both eyes--then he's a goner."
Quince Forrest, who had brought in his horse to go out with the secondwatch, he and Bob Blades having taken advantage of the foreman'sabsence to change places on guard for the night, had been listening tothe latter part of Wyatt's yarn very attentively. We all hoped that hewould mount and ride out to the herd, for though he was a goodstory-teller and meaty with personal experiences, where he thoughtthey would pass muster he was inclined to overcolor his statements. Weusually gave him respectful attention, but were frequently compelledto regard him as a cheerful, harmless liar. So when he showed nodisposition to go, we knew we were in for one from him.
"When I was boss bull-whacker," he began, "for a big army sutler atFort Concho, I used to make two round trips a month with my train. Itwas a hundred miles to wagon from the freight point where we got oursupplies. I had ten teams, six and seven yoke to the team, and trailwagons to each. I was furnished a night herder and a cook, saddlehorses for both night herder and myself. You hear me, it was a slam upfine layout. We could handle three or four tons to the team, and withthe whole train we could chamber two car loads of anything. One day wewere nearing the fort with a mixed cargo of freight, when a messengercame out and met us with an order from the sutler. He wanted us tomake the fort that night and unload. The mail buckboard had reportedus to the sutler as camped out back on a little creek about ten miles.We were always entitled to a day to unload and drive back to camp,which gave us good grass for the oxen, but under the orders the whipspopped merrily that afternoon, and when they all got well strung out,I rode in ahead, to see what was up. Well, it seems that fourcompanies of infantry from Fort McKavett, which were out for fieldpractice, were going to be brought into this post to be paid threemonths' wages. This, with the troops stationed at Concho, would turnloose quite a wad of money. The sutler called me into his office whenI reached the fort, and when he had produced a black bottle used forcutting the alkali in your drinking water, he said, 'Jack,'--he calledme Jack; my full name is John Quincy Forrest,--'Jack, can you make theround trip, and bring in two cars of bottled beer that will be on thetrack waiting for you, and get back by pay day, the 10th?'
"I figured the time in my mind; it was twelve days.
"'There's five extra in it for each man for the trip, and I'll make itright with you,' he added, as he noticed my hesitation, though I wasonly making a mental calculation.
"'Why, certainly, Captain,' I said. 'What's that fable about the jackrabbit and the land tarrapin?' He didn't know and I didn't either, soI said to illustrate the point: 'Put your freight on a bull train, andit always goes through on time. A race horse can't beat an ox on ahundred miles and repeat to a freight wagon.' Well, we unloaded beforenight, and it was pitch dark before we made camp. I explained thesituation to the men. We planned to go in empty in five days, whichwould give us seven to come back loaded. We made every camp on timelike clockwork. The fifth morning we were anxious to get a daybreakstart, so we could load at night. The night herder had his orders tobring in the oxen the first sign of day, and I called the cook an hourbefore light. When the oxen were brought in, the men were up and readyto go to yoking. But the nigh wheeler in Joe Jenk's team, a bigbrindle, muley ox, a regular pet steer, was missing. I saw him myself,Joe saw him, and the night herder swore he came in with the rest.Well, we looked high and low for that Mr. Ox, but he had vanished.While the men were eating their breakfast, I got on my horse and thenight herder and I scoured and circled that country for miles around,but no ox. The country was so bare and level that a jack rabbit neededto carry a fly for shade. I was worried, for we needed every ox andevery moment of time. I ordered Joe to tie his mate behind the trailwagon and pull out one ox shy.
"Well, fellows, that thing worried me powerful. Half the teamsters,good, honest, truthful men as ever popped a whip, swore they saw thatox when they came in. Well, it served a strong argument that a man canbe positive and yet be mistaken. We nooned ten miles from our nightcamp that day. Jerry Wilkens happened to mention it at dinner that hebelieved his trail needed greasing. 'Why,' said Jerry, 'you'd thinkthat I was loaded, the way my team kept their chains taut.' I noticedJoe get up from dinner before he had finished, as if an idea hadstruck him. He went over and opened the sheet in Jerry's trail wagon,and a smile spread over his countenance. 'Come here, fellows,' was allhe said.
"We ran over to the wagon and there"--
The boys turned their backs with indistinct mutterings of disgust.
"You all don't need to believe this if you don't want to, but therewas the missing ox, coiled up and sleeping like a bear in the wagon.He even had Jerry's roll of bedding for a pillow. You see, the wagons
heet was open in front, and he had hopped up on the trail tongue andcrept in there to steal a ride. Joe climbed into the wagon, and gavehim a few swift kicks in the short ribs, when he opened his eyes,yawned, got up, and jumped out."
Bull was rolling a cigarette before starting, while Fox's night horsewas hard to bridle, which hindered them. With this slight delay,Forrest turned his horse back and continued: "That same ox on the nexttrip, one night when we had the wagons parked into a corral, got awayfrom the herder, tip-toed over the men's beds in the gate, stood onhis hind legs long enough to eat four fifty-pound sacks of flour outof the rear end of a wagon, got down on his side, and wormed his wayunder the wagon back into the herd, without being detected or waking aman."
As they rode away to relieve the first guard, McCann said, "Isn't he amuzzle-loading daisy? If I loved a liar I'd hug that man to death."
The absence of our foreman made no difference. We all knew our placeson guard. Experience told us there would be no trouble that night.After Wyatt Roundtree and Moss Strayhorn had made down their bed andgot into it, Wyatt remarked,--
"Did you ever notice, old sidey, how hard this ground is?"
"Oh, yes," said Moss, as he turned over, hunting for a soft spot, "itis hard, but we'll forget all that when this trip ends. Brother, dear,just think of those long slings with red cherries floating around inthem that we'll be drinking, and picture us smoking cigars in a blaze.That thought alone ought to make a hard bed both soft and warm. Thento think we'll ride all the way home on the cars."
McCann banked his fire, and the first guard, Wheat, Stallings, andBorrowstone, rode in from the herd, all singing an old chorus that hadbeen composed, with little regard for music or sense, about a hotelwhere they had stopped the year before:--
"Sure it's one cent for coffee and two cents for bread, Three for a steak and five for a bed, Sea breeze from the gutter wafts a salt water smell, To the festive cowboy in the Southwestern hotel."