 CHAPTER X of THE LOG OF A CALBOY by ANDY ADAMS. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. No man's land. Flood overtook us the next morning, and as a number of us gathered round him to hear the news, told us of a letter that man had got at Dones, stating that the first herd to pass camp supply had been harassed by Indians. The running W. People, man's employers, had a representative at Dodge who was authority for the statement. Flood had read the letter, which intimated that an appeal would be made to the government to send troops from either camp supply or Fort Sill to give trail herds a safe escort in passing the western border of this Indian reservation. The letter therefore admonished man if he thought the Indians would give any trouble to go up to the south side of the Red River as far as the panhandle of Texas and then turn north to the government trail at Fort Elliot. I told man, said our foreman, that before I'd take one step backwards or go off on a wild goose chase through that panhandle country, I'd go back home and start over next year on the Chisholm Trail. It's the easiest thing in the world for some big auger to sit in a hotel somewhere and direct the management of a herd. I don't look for no soldiers to furnish an escort. It would take the government six months to get a move on her, even in an emergency. I left Billy Mann in a quandary. He doesn't know what to do. The big auger at Dodge is troubling him. But if he don't act on his advice and loses cattle as the result, well, he'll never boss any more herds for King and Kennedy. So boys, if we're ever to see the Blackfoot Agency, there's but one course for us to take, and that's straight ahead. As old Oliver Loving, the first Texas cowman that ever drove a herd used to say, never borrow trouble or cross a river before you reach it. So when the cattle are through grazing, let them hit the trail north. It's entirely too late for us to veer away from any Indians. We were following the regular trail, which had been slightly used for a year or two, though none of our outfit had ever been over it, when late on the third afternoon, about forty miles out from Dones, about a hundred mounted bucks and squaws sighted our herd and crossed the North Fork from their encampment. They did not ride direct to the herd, but came into the trail nearly a mile above the cattle, so it was some little time from our first sighting of them before we met. We did not check to herd or turn out of the trail, but when the lead came within a few hundred yards of the Indians, one buck, evidently the chief of the band, rode forward a few rods and held up one hand, as if commanding a halt. At the sight of this gauntly bedecked apparition, the cattle turned out of the trail, and the flood and I rode up to the chief, extending our hands in friendly greeting. The chief could not speak a word of English, but he made signs with his hands. When I turned loose on him in Spanish, however, he instantly turned his horse and signed back to his band. Two young bucks rode forward and greeted flood and myself in good Spanish. On thus opening up an intelligent conversation, I called Fox Quarter Knight, who spoke Spanish, and he rode up from his position of the third man in the swing and joined in the council. The two young Indians, through whom we carried on the conversation, were Apaches, no doubt renegades of that tribe, and while we understood each other in Spanish, they spoke in a heavy guttural peculiar to the Indian. Flood opened the powwow by demanding to know the meaning of this visit. When the question had been properly interpreted to the chief, the latter dropped his blanket from his shoulders and dismounted it from his horse. He was a fine specimen of the plains Indian, fully six feet in height, perfectly proportioned, and in years well past middle life. He looked every inch a chief, and was a natural born orator. There was a certain easy grace to his gestures, only to be seen in people who used a sign language, and often, when he was speaking to the Apache interpreters, I could anticipate his requests before they were translated to us, although I did not know a word of Comanche. Before the powwow had progressed far, it was evident that begging was its object. In his prelude, the chief laid claim to all the country in sight as the hunting grounds of the Comanche tribe, and intimation that we were intruders. He spoke of the great slaughter of the buffalo by the white hide-hunters, and the consequent hunger and poverty amongst his people. He dwelt on the fact that he had ever counseled peace with the whites, until now his band numbered but a few squaws and papuces, the younger men having deserted him for other chiefs of the tribe who advocated war on the frail faces. When he had fully stayed at his position, he offered to allow us to pass through his country in consideration of ten thieves. On receiving this proposition, all of us dismounted, including the two Apaches, the latter seeding themselves in their own fashion, while we whites lounged on the ground in truly American laziness, rolling cigarettes. In dealing with people who know not the value of time, the civilized man is taken at a disadvantage, and unless he can show an equal composure in wasting time, results will be against him. Flood had had years of experience in dealing with Mexicans in the land of Maniana, where all maxims regarding the value of time are religiously discarded. So in dealing with this Indian chief, he showed no desire to hasten matters, and carefully avoided all references to the demand for thieves. His first question, instead, was to know the distance to Fort Sill and Fort Elliot. The next was how many days it would take for Calvary to reach him. He then had us narrate the fact that when the first herd of cattle passed through the country less than a month before, some bad Indians had shown a very unfriendly spirit. They had taken many of the cattle, and had killed and eaten them, and now the great white man's chief at Washington was very much displeased. If another single ox were taken and killed by bad Indians, he would send his soldiers from the forts to protect the cattle, even though their owners drove the herds through the reservation of the Indians over the grass where their ponies grazed. He had informed the chief that our entire herd was intended by the great white man's chief at Washington as a present to the black-feet Indians who lived in Montana because they were good Indians, and welcomed priests and teachers amongst them to teach them the ways of the white man. At our foreman's request, we informed the chief that he was under no obligation to give him even a single beef for any privilege of passing through his country, but as the squaws and little papooses were hungry, he would give him two beaves. The old chief seemed not the least disconcerted, but begged for five beaves. As many of the squaws were in the encampment across the North Fork, those present not being quite half of his village. It was now getting late in the day, and the band seemed to be getting tired of the parleying, a number of squaws having already set out on their return to the village. After some further talk, Flood agreed to add another beef, on condition that it be taken to the encampment before being killed. This was accepted, and at once the entire band set up a chattering in view of the coming feast. The cattle had in the meantime grazed off nearly a mile, the outfit, however, holding them under a close herd during the powwowing. All the bucks in the band, numbering about forty, now joined us, and we rode away to the herd. I noticed, by the way, that quite a number of the younger braves had arms, and no doubt they would have made a display of force had Flood's diplomacy been of a more warlike character. While drifting the herd back to the trail, we cut out a big lame steer and two stray cows for the Indians, who now left us and followed the beaves which were being driven to their village. Flood had instructed quarter-night and me to invite the two Apaches to our camp for the night, on the promise of sugar, coffee, and tobacco. They consulted with the old chief, and gaining his consent came with us. We extended the hospitality of our wagon to our guests, and when supper was over, promised them an extra beef if they would give us particulars of the trail until it crossed the North Fork, after that river turned west towards the Panhandle. It was evident that they were familiar with the country, for one of them accepted our offer, and with his finger sketched a rude map on the ground where there had formally been a campfire. He outlined the two rivers between which we were then encamped, and traced the trail until it crossed the North Fork, or beyond the Indian Reservation. We discussed the outline of the trail in detail for an hour, asking hundreds of unimportant questions, but occasionally getting in a leading one, always resulting in the information wanted. We learned that the big summer encampment of the Comanches in Kiowa was one day's ride for a pony, or two days with cattle up the trail, at the point where the divide between salt and North Fork narrows to about ten miles in width. We leached out of them very cautiously the information that the encampment was a large one, and that all herds this year had given up cattle, some as many as twenty-five had. Having secured the information we wanted, Flood gave to each Apache a package of Arbuckle coffee, a small sack of sugar, and both smoking and chewing tobacco. Quarter-night informed them that as the cattle were bedded for the night they had better remain until morning, when he would pick them out a nice fat beef. On their consenting, Fox stripped the wagon sheet off the wagon and made them a good bed, in which, with their body blankets, they were as comfortable as any of us. Neither of them was armed, so we felt no fear of them, and after they had laid down on their couch, Flood called quarter-night and me, and we strolled out into the darkness and reviewed the information. We agreed that the topography of the country they had given was most likely correct, else we could verify much of it by maps in our possession. Another thing on which we agreed was that there was some means of communication between this small and seemingly peaceable band and the main encampment of the tribe, and that more than likely our approach would be known in the large encampment before sunrise. In spite of the good opinion we entertained of our guests. We were also satisfied that they had lied to us when they denied they had been in the large camp since the trail herds began the pass. This was the last question we had asked, and the artful manner in which they had parried it showed our guests to be no mean diplomats themselves. Our camp was a stir by daybreak, and after breakfast, as we were catching our amounts for the day, one of the Apaches offered to take a certain pinto horse in our remuda in lieu of the promised beef, but Flood declined the offer. Upon overtaking the herd after breakfast, quarter night cut out a fat two-year-old stray heifer, and he and I assisted our guests to drive their beef several miles toward their village. Finally bidding them farewell, we returned to the herd, when the outfit informed us that Flood and the rebel had ridden on ahead to look out a crossing on the Salt Fork. From this move it was evident that if a passable ford could be found, our foreman intended to abandon the established route and avoid the big Indian encampment. On the return of Priest and Flood about noon, they reported having found an easy ford of the Salt Fork, which from the indication of their old trails centering from every quarter at this crossing must have been used by Buffalo for generations. After dinner we put our wagon in the lead, and following close at hand with the cattle, turned off the trail about a mile above our noon camp, and struck to the westward for the crossing. This we reached and crossed early that evening, camping out nearly five miles to the west of the river. Rain was always to be dreaded in trail work, and when betting down the herd that night we had one of the heaviest downpours which we had experienced since leaving the Rio Grande. We lasted several hours, but we stood it uncomplainingly, for this fortunate drenching had obliterated every trace left by our wagon and herd since abandoning the trail, as well as the sign left at the old Buffalo crossing on the Salt Fork. The rain ceased about ten o'clock when the cattle bedded down easily, and the second guard took them for their watch. Wood was too scarce to afford a fire, and while our slickers had partially protected us from the rain, many of us went the bed in wet clothing that night. After another half-days' drive to the west, we turned northward, and traveled in that direction through a nice country, more or less broken with small hills, but well-watered. On the morning of the first day after turning north, honeymen reported a number of our saddle horses had strayed from camp. This gave flood some little uneasiness, and a number of us got on our night horses without loss of time and turned out to look up the missing saddle-stock. The rebel and I set out together to the southward, while others of the outfit set off to other points of the compass. I was always a good trailer, was in fact acknowledged to be one of the best, with the exception of my brother, Zack, on the San Antonio River where we grew up as boys. In circling about that morning I struck the trail of about twenty horses, the missing number, and at once signaled to priest who was about a mile distant to join me. The ground was fortunately fresh from the recent rain and left an easy trail. We galloped along it easily for some little distance when the trail suddenly turned, and we could see that the horses had been running, having evidently received a sudden scare. On following up the trail nearly a mile, we noticed where they had quieted down, and had evidently grazed for several hours, but in looking up the trail by which they had left these parts, priest made the discovery of signs of cattle. We located the trail of the horses soon, and we were again surprised that they had been running as before, though the trail was much fresher, having possibly been made about dawn. We ran the trail out until it passed over a slight divide, when there before us stood the missing horses. They never noticed us, but were standing at attention, cautiously sniffing the early morning air on which was born to them the scent of something they feared. On reaching them their fears seemed not the least appeased, and my partner and I had our curiosity sufficiently aroused to ride forward to the cause of their alarm. As we rounded the spur of a hill, there in plain view grazed a band of about twenty buffalo. We were almost as excited as the horses over the discovery. By dropping back and keeping the hill between us and them, then dismounting and leaving our horses, we thought we could reach the apex of the hill. But it was a small elevation, and from its summit we secured a splendid view of the animals, now less than three hundred yards distance. Flattening ourselves out, we spent several minutes watching the shaggy animals as they grazed leisurely forward, while several calves and a bunch gambled about their mothers. A buffalo calf, I had always heard, made delicious veal, and as we had had no fresh meat since we had started, I proposed a priest that we get one. He suggested trying our ropes, for if we could get even with an effective six-shooter range a rope was much the surest. Certainly such cumbersome, awkward-looking animals, he said, could be no match for our Texas horses. We accordingly dropped back off the hill to our saddle-stock. When priests said that if he only had a certain horse of his out of the band we had been trailing, he would promise me buffalo veal if he had to follow them to the panhandle. It took us but a few minutes to return to our horses, round them in, and secure the particular horse he wanted. I was riding my nigger boy, my regular night horse, and as only one of my mount was in this bunch, a good horse but sluggish, I concluded to give my black a trial, not depending on his speed so much as his staying qualities. It took but a minute for the rebel to shift his saddle from one horse to another, and when he started around to the south while I turned to the north, so has to approach the buffalo simultaneously. I came inside of the band first, my partner having a farther ride to make, but had only a few moments to wait, before I noticed the quarry take alarm, and the next instant priest dashed out from behind a spur of the hill and was after them. I followed suit. They turned westward, and when the rebel and I came together on the angle of their course, we were several hundred yards in their rear. My bunkie had the best horse in speed by all odds, and was soon crowding the band so close that they began to scatter, and though I had passed several old bulls and cows, it was all I could do to keep in sight of the calves. After the chase had continued over a mile, the staying quality of my horse began to shine, but while I was nearing the lead, the rebel tied to the largest calf in the bunch. The calf he had on his rope was a beauty, and on overtaking him I reigned in my horse, for to have killed a second one would have been sheer waste. Priest wanted me to shoot the calf, but I refused, so he shifted the rope to the pommel of my saddle and, dismounting, dropped the calf at the first shot. We skinned him, cut off his head, and after disemboweling him, lashed the carcass across my saddle. Then both of us mounted Priest's horse and started on our return. Unreaching the horse-stock, we succeeded in catching a sleepy old horse belonging to Rod Wheat's mount, and I rode him, bridal-less and bareback, to camp. We received an ovation on our arrival, the recovery of the saddle-horses being a secondary matter compared to the Buffalo Veal. So it was Buffalo that had scared our horses, was it, and ran them out of camp, said McCann, as he helped to unlash the calf. Well, it's an ill wind that blows nobody good. There was no particular loss of time, for the herd had grazed away on our course several miles. And after changing our mounts, we overtook the herd with the news that not only the horses had been found, but that there was fresh meat in camp, and Buffalo Veal at that. The other men out horse-hunting, seeing the cattle strung out in the traveling shape, soon returned to their places, decide the trailing herd. We held a due northward course, which we figured Autocarius passed and at least thirty miles to the westward of the big Indian encampment. The worst thing with which we had now to contend was the weather. It having rained more or less during the past day and night, and ever since we had crossed the salt fork. The weather had thrown the outfit into such a gloomy mood that they would scarcely speak to or answer each other. This gloomy feeling had been growing on us for several days, and it was even believed secretly that our foreman didn't know where he was, that the outfit was drifting and as good as lost. Not noon of the third day, the weather continuing wet with cold nights and with no abatement of the general gloom, our men on point noticed smoke arising directly ahead of our course in a little valley through which ran a nice stream of water. When Flood's attention was directed to the smoke, he rode forward to ascertain the cause, and return worse baffled than I ever saw him. It was an Indian camp, and had evidently been abandoned only that morning, for the fires were still smoldering. Ordering the wagon to camp on the creek and the cattle to graze forward till noon, Flood returned to the Indian camp, taking two of the boys and myself with him. It had not been a permanent camp, yet showed evidence of having been occupied several days at least, and had contained nearly a hundred leantous, wiki-ups, and teepees, all together too large an encampment to suit our tastes. The foreman had us hunt up the trail leaving, and once we had found it, all four of us ran it out five or six miles, when, from the freshness of it, fearing that we might be seen, we turned back. The Indians had many ponies and possibly some cattle, though the sign of the latter were hard to distinguish from buffalo. Before quitting their trail, we concluded that they were from one of the reservations, and were heading to their old stamping grounds, the panhandle country, peaceable probably, but, whether peaceable or not, we had no desire to meet with them. We lost little time then in returning to the herd, and making late and early drives until we were out of that section. But one cannot foresee impending trouble on the cattle trail any more than elsewhere, and although we camped that night a long distance to the north of the abandoned Indian camp, the next morning we came near having a stampede. It happened just at dawn. Flood had called the cook an hour before daybreak, and he had started out with honeymoon to drive in the remuda, which had scattered badly the morning before. They had the horses rounded up and were driving them towards camp, when, about half a mile from the wagon, four old buffalo bulls ran quartering past the horses. This was tinder among stubble, and in their panic the horses outstripped the wranglers and came thundering for camp. Luckily we had been called to breakfast, and those of us who could see what was up ran and secured our night horses. Before half of the horses were thus secured, however, 130 loose saddle stock dashed through camp, and every horse on picket went with them, saddles and all, and dragging the picket ropes. Then the cattle jumped from the bed ground and were off like a shot. The fourth guard who had them in charge with them. Just for the time being, it was an open question, which way to ride? Are saddle horses going in one direction and the herd in another? Priest was an early riser, and it hustled me out early, so fortunately we reached our horses, though over half the outfit in camp could only look on and curse their luck at being left afoot. The rebel was first in the saddle and turned after the horses, but I rode for the herd. The cattle were not badly scared, and as the morning grew clearer, five of us quieted them down before they had run more than a short mile. The horses, however, gave us a long, hard run, and since the horse has a splendid memory, the effects of this scare were noticeable for nearly a month after. Honey-minute once urged our foreman to hobble at night, but Flood knew the importance of keeping the remuda strong and refused. But his decision was forced. For just as it was growing dusk that evening, we heard the horses running, and all hands had to turn out to surround them and bring them into camp. We hobbled every horse and sidelined at certain leaders for fully a week following. One scare or another seemed to hold our saddle stock in constant terror. During this week, we turned out our night horses, and taking the worst of the leaders in their stead, tied them solidly to wagon-wheels all night, not being willing to trust to pick at ropes. They would even run from a mounted man during the twilight of evening or early dawn, or from any object not distinguishable in uncertain light. But the wrangler now never went near them until after sunrise, and their nervousness gradually subsided. Trouble never comes at singly, however, and when we struck the salt fork we found it raging and impassable, nearly from bank to bank. But get across, we must. The swimming of it was nothing, but it was necessary to get our wagon over, and there came the rub. We swam the cattle in twenty minutes' time, but it took us a full half-day to get the wagon over. The river was at least a hundred yards wide, three quarters of which was swimming to a horse. But we hunted up and down the river, until we found an eddy where the banks had a gradual approach to deep water, and started to raft the wagon over, a thing none of the outfit had ever done, though we had often heard of it around campfires in Texas. The first thing was to get the necessary timber to make the raft. We scouted along the salt fork for a mile either way before we found sufficient dry, dead cotton wood to form our raft. Then we set about cutting it. But we had only one axe, and were the poorest set of axmen that were ever called upon to perform a similar task. When we cut a tree it looked as though a beaver had nought it down. On horseback the Texan shines at the head of his class, but in any occupation which must be performed on foot he is never a competitor. There was scarcely a man in our outfit who could not swing a rope and tie down a steer in a given space of time, but when it came to swing in an axe to cut logs for the raft, our luster faded. Cutting these logs, said Joe Stallings, as he mopped the sweat from his brow, reminds me of what the Tennessee girl who married a Texan wrote home to her sister. Texas, she wrote, is a good place for men and dogs, but it's hell on women and oxen. Dragging the logs up to the place selected for the Ford was an easy manner. They were light, but we did it with ropes from the pommels of our saddles. Two to four horses being sufficient to handle any of the trees. When everything was ready we ran the wagon out in two foot water and built the raft under it. We had cut the dry logs from 18 to 20 feet long and now ran a tear of these under the wagon between the wheels. These we lashed securely to the axle and even lashed one large log on the underside of the hub on the outside of the wheel. Then we cross-timbered under these, lashing everything securely to this outside guard log. Before we had finished the cross-timbering, it was necessary to take an anchor rope ashore for fear our wagon would float away. By the time we had succeeded in getting 25 dry cottonwood logs under our wagon, it was afloat. Half a dozen of us then swam the river on our horses, taking across the heaviest rope we had for a tow line. We threw the wagon tongue back and lashed it, making it fast to the wagon with one end of the tow rope, fastened our lariots to the other. With the remainder of our unused rope, we took a guy line from the wagon and snubbed it to a tree on the south bank. Everything being in readiness, the word was given, and as those on the south bank eased away, those on horseback on the other side gave the rowl to their horses and our commissary floated across. The wagon floated so easily that McCann was ordered on the raft to trim the weight when it struck the current. The current carried it slightly downstream, and when it lodged on the other side, those on the south bank fastened lariots to the guy rope, and with them pulling from that side and us from ours, it was soon brought opposite the landing and hauled into shallow water. Once the raft timber was unlashed and removed, the tongue was lowered. And from the pommel of six saddles, the wagon was set high and dry on the north bank. There now only remained to bring up the cattle and swim them, which was an easy task and soon accomplished. After putting the salt fork behind us, our spirits were again dampened, for it rained all the latter part of the night and until noon the next day. It was with considerable difficulty that McCann could keep his fire from drowning out while he was getting breakfast, and several of the outfit refused to eat at all. Flood knew it was useless to rally the boys, for a wet hungry man is not to be jollied or reasoned with. Five days had now elapsed since we turned off the established trail, and half the time rain had been falling. Besides, our doubt as to where we were had been growing, so before we started that morning, Bull Durham, very good naturally, asked Flood if he had any idea where he was. No, I haven't. No more than you have, replied our foreman. But this much I do know, or will just as soon as the sun comes out. I know north from south. We have been traveling north by a little west, and if we hold that course, we're bound to strike the north fork, and within a day or two afterwards, we will come into the government trail running from Fort Elliot to Camp Supply, which will lead us into our own trail. Or if we were certain that we had cleared the Indian Reservation, we could bear to our right and in time would re-enter the trail that way. I can't help the weather boys, and as long as I have chuck, I'd as leaf be lost as found. If there was any recovery in the feeling of the outfit after this talk of floods, it was not noticeable. And it is safe to say that two-thirds of the boys we leave, we were in the panhandle of Texas. One man's opinion is as good as another's in a strange country, and while there wasn't a man in the outfit who cared to suggest it, I know the majority of us would have endorsed turning northeast. But the fates smiled on us at last. About middle of the forenoon, on the following day, we cut an Indian trail about three days old, probably 50 horses. A number of us followed the trail several miles on its westward course, and among other things discovered that they had been driving a small bunch of cattle, evidently making for the sandhills which we could see about 20 miles to our left. How they had come by the cattle was a mystery. Perhaps by forced levy, perhaps from a stampede. One thing was certain, the trail must have contributed them. For there were none but trail cattle in the country. This was reassuring, and gave some hint of guidance. We were all tickled, therefore, after nooning that day, and on starting the herd in the afternoon, to hear our foremen give orders to point the herd a little east of north. The next few days we made long drives. Our saddle horses recovered from their scare, and the outfit fast regained its spirits. On the morning of the tenth day after leaving the trail, we loitered up a long slope to a divide in our lead from which we sighted timber to the north. This was supposed from its size to be the north fork. Our route lay up this divide some distance, and before we left it, someone in the rear sighted a dust cloud to the right and far behind us. As dust would hardly rise on a still morning without a cause, we turned the herd off the divide and pushed on, for we suspected Indians. Blood and priest hung back on the divide, watching the dust signals, and after the herd had left them several miles in the rear, they turned and rode towards it, a move which the outfit could hardly make out. It was nearly noon when we saw them returning in a long slope, and when they came in sight of the herd, priest waved his hat in the air and gave the long yell. When he explained that there was a herd of cattle on the trail in the rear and, to our right, the yell went around the herd, and was re-echoed by our wrangler and cook in the rear. The spirits of the outfit instantly rose. We halted the herd and camped for noon, and McCann set out his best in celebrating the occasion. It was the most enjoyable meal we had had in the past ten days. After a good noonday rest we set out, and having entered the trail during the afternoon, crossed the north fork late that evening. As we were going into camp we noticed a horseman coming up the trail, who turned out to be smiling Nate Straw, whom we had left on the Colorado River. "'Well, girls,' said Nate, dismounting. "'I didn't know who you were, but I just thought I'd ride ahead and overtake whoever it was and stay all night. Indians? Yes. I wouldn't drive on a trail that hadn't any excitement on it. I gave the last at big encampment ten strays and won them all back and four ponies besides on a horse-race. "'Oh, yes, got some running stock with us. How soon we'll supper be ready, cosy. Get up something extra, for you've got company.'" CHAPTER XI OF THE LOG OF A CALBOY By Andy Adams A boggy ford. That night we learned from Straw our location on the trail. We were far above the Indian Reservation, and instead of having been astray our foreman had held a due northward course and we were probably as far on the trail as if we had followed the regular route. So in spite of all our good maxims we had been borrowing trouble. We were never over thirty miles to the westward of what was then the new western cattle trail. We concluded that the running W. Herd had turned back, and Straw brought the report that some Herd had recrossed the Red River the day before his arrival, giving for reasons the wet season and the danger of getting water-bound. About noon of the second day after leaving the north fork of Red River we crossed the Washeeta, a deep stream, the slippery banks of which gave every indication of a recent rise. We had no trouble in crossing either wagon or herd, it being hardly a check in our onward course. The abandonment of the regular trail the past ten days had been a noticeable benefit to our herd, for the cattle had had an abundance of fresh country to graze over, as well as plenty of rest. But now that we were back on the trail we gave them their freedom and frequently covered twenty miles a day until we reached the south Canadian, which proved to be the most elusive stream we had yet encountered. It also showed, like the Washeeta, every evidence of having been on a recent rampage. On our arrival there was no volume of water to interfere, but it had a quick sand-bottom that would bog a saddle-blanket. Our foreman had been on ahead and examined the regular crossing, and when he returned, freely expressed his opinion that we would be unable to trail the herd across, but might hope to affect it by cutting it into small bunches. When we came, therefore, within three miles of the river, we turned off the trail to a nearby creek and thoroughly watered the herd. This was contrary to our practice, for we usually wanted the herd thirsty when reaching a large river. But any cow-broot that halted in fording the Canadian that day was doomed to sink into quick sand, from which escape was doubtful. We held the wagon and saddle-horses in the rear, and when we were half a mile away from the trail-ford, cut off about two hundred head of the leaders and started for the crossing, leaving only the horse wrangler and one man with the herd. On reaching the river we gave them an extra push, and the cattle plunged into the muddy water. Before the cattle had advanced fifty feet, instinct earned them of the treacherous footing, and the leaders tried to turn back, but by that time we had the entire bunch in the water and were urging them forward. They had halted but a moment and begun milling, when several heavy steers sank. Then we gave way and allowed the rest to come back. We did not realize fully the treachery of this river until we saw that twenty cattle were caught in the merciless grip of the quick sand. They sank slowly to the level of their bodies, which gave sufficient resistance to support their weight. But they were hopelessly bogged. We allowed the free cattle to return to the herd, and immediately turned our attention to those that were bogged, some of whom were nearly submerged by water. We dispatched some of the boys to the wagon for our heavy corral ropes and a bundle of horse hobbles, and the remainder of us, stripped to the belt, waited out and surveyed the situation at close quarters. We were all experienced in handling bogged cattle, though this quick sand was the most deceptive that I at least had ever witnessed. The bottom of the river as we waded through it was solid under our feet, and as long as we kept moving it felt so. But the moment we stopped we sank as in a quagmire. The pull of this quick sand was so strong that four of us were unable to lift a steer's tail out, once it was embedded in the sand. And when we had released the tail by borrowing around it to arm's length and freed it, it would sink of its own weight within a minute's time until it would have to be burrowed out again. To avoid this we had to coil up the tails and tie them with a soft rope hobble. Fortunately, none of the cattle were over 40 feet from the bank, and when our heavy rope arrived we divided into two gangs and began the work of rescue. We first took a heavy rope from the animal's horns to solid footing on the river bank, and tied to this five or six of our lariates. Meanwhile others rolled a steer over as far as possible and began burrowing with her hands down alongside a fore and hind leg simultaneously, until they could pass a small rope around the pastern above the hoof, or better yet, through the cloven in the hoof. When the leg could be readily lifted by two men, we could not stop burrowing, however, for a moment, or the space would fill and solidify. Once the leg was freed, we doubled it back short and securely tied it with a hobble, and when the fore and hind leg were thus secured, we turned the animal over on that side and released the other legs in a similar manner. Then we hastened out of the water and into our saddles and wrapped the loose end of our ropes to the pommels, having already tied the lariates to the heavy corral rope from the animal's horns. When the word was given, we took a good swinging start, and unless something gave way, there was one steer less in that bog. After we had landed the animal high and dry on the bank, it was but a minute's work to free the rope and untie the hobbles. Then it was advisable to get into the saddle with little loss of time and give him a wide berth, for he generally arose angry and sullen. It was dark before we got the last of the bogged cattle out and retraced our way to camp from the first river on the trip that had turned us. But we were not the least discouraged, for we felt certain there was a ford that had a bottom somewhere within a few miles, and we could hunt it up on the morrow. The next one, however, we would try before we put the cattle in. There was no question that the treacherous condition of the river was due to the recent freshet, which had brought down new deposits of sediment, and it agitated the old, even to changing the channel of the river, so that it had not as yet had sufficient time to settle and solidify. The next morning after breakfast, Flood and two or three of the boys set out up the river while an equal number of us started, under the leadership of the rebel, from the river on a similar errand, to prospect for a crossing. Our party scouted for about five miles, and the only safe footing we could find was a swift narrow channel between the bank and an island in the river, while beyond the island was a much wider channel, with water deep enough in several places to swim our saddle horses. The footing seemed quite secure to our horses, but the cattle were much heavier, and if an animal ever bogged in the river, there was enough water to drown him before help could be rendered. We stopped our horses a number of times, however, to try the footing, and in none of our experiments was there any indication of quicksand, so we counted the crossing safe. On return, we found the herd already in motion, headed up the river where our foreman had located a crossing. As it was then useless to make any mention of the island crossing, which we had located, at least until a trial had been given to the upper ford, we said nothing. When we came within a half a mile of the new ford, we held up the herd, and allowed them the graze, and brought up the remuda, and crossed and recrossed them, without bogging a single horse. Encouraged at this, we cut off about a hundred head of heavy lead cattle, and started for the ford. We had a good push on them when we struck the water, for there were ten riders around them, and flood was in the lead. We called to him several times that the cattle were bogging, but he never halted until he pulled out on the opposite bank, leaving twelve of the heaviest steers in the quicksand. Well in all my experience in trail works at flood, as he gazed back at the dozen animals struggling in the quicksand, I never saw as deceptive a bottom in any river. We used to fear the Simerun and Platt, but the old South Canadian is the gal that can lay it over them both. Still, there any use crying over spilt milk. We haven't got men enough to hold two herds. So surround them, boys, and we'll recross them if we leave twenty-four more in the river. Take them back a good quarter, fellows, and bring them up on a run, and I'll take the lead when they strike the water, and give them no show to halt until they get across. As the little bunch of cattle had already grazed out nearly a quarter, we rounded them into a compact body and started for the river to recross them. The nearer we came to the river the faster we went till we struck the water, in several places where there were channels. We could neither force the cattle nor ride ourselves faster than a walk on account of the depth of the water, but when we struck the shallows, which were the really dangerous places, we forced the cattle with horse and court. Near the middle of the river, in shoal water, Rod Wheat was courting up the cattle when a big, done steer, trying to get out of his reach, sank in the quicksand, and Rod's horse stumbled across the animal and was thrown. He floundered in attempting to rise, and his hind feet sank to the haunches. His ineffectual struggles caused him to sink farther to the flanks in the loblolly, which the trampling of the cattle had caused, and their horse and steer lay side by side, like two in a bed. Wheat loosened the cinches of the saddle on either side, and stripping the bridle off brought up the rear, carrying saddle, bridle, and blankets on his back. The river was at least three hundred yards wide, and when we got to the farther bank, our horses were so exhausted that we dismounted and let them blow. The survey showed we had left a total of fifteen cattle and the horse in the quicksand. But we congratulated ourself that we had bogged down only three head in recrossing. Getting these cattle out was a much harder task than the twenty had gave us the day before. For many of these were bogged more than a hundred yards from the bank. But no time was to be lost. The wagon was brought up in a hurry. Fresh horses were caught, and we stripped for the fray. While McCann got dinner, we got out the horse, even saving the cinches that were abandoned in freeing him of the saddle. During the afternoon we were compelled to adopt the new method of procedure. For with the limited amount of rope at hand we could only use one rope for drawing the cattle out to solid footing. After they were freed from the quagmire. But we had four good mules to our chuck wagon, and instead of dragging the cattle ashore from the pommel of saddles, we tied one end of the rope to the hind axle and used the mules in snaking the cattle out. This worked splendidly. But every time we freed a steer, we had to drive the wagon well out of reach. For fear he might charge the wagon and team. But with three crews working in the water, tying up tails and legs, the work progressed more rapidly than it had done the day before. And two hours before sunset the last animal had been freed. We had several exciting incidents during the operation. For several steers showed fight, and when released, went on the prod for the first thing in sight. The herd was grazing nearly a mile away during the afternoon, and as fast as a steer was pulled out, someone would take a horse and give the freed animal a start for the herd. One big black steer turned on Flood, who generally attended to this, and gave him a spirited chase. In getting out of the angry steer's way, he passed near the wagon, when the maddened beef turned from Flood and charged the commissary. McCann was riding the nigh wheel mule, and when he saw the steer coming, he poured the whip into the mules and circled around like a battery in field practice, trying to get out of the way. Flood made several attempts to cut off the steer from the wagon, but he followed it like a mover's dog. Until a number of us, fearing our mules would be gored, ran out of the water, mounted our horses, and joined in the chase. When we came up with the circus, our foreman called to us to rope the beef, and Fox Quarterknight, getting in the first cast, caught him by the two front feet and threw him heavily. Before he could rise, several of us had dismounted and were sitting on him, like buzzards on carrion. McCann then drove the team around behind a sand dune, out of sight. We released the beef, and he was glad to return to the herd, quite sobered by the throwing. Another incident occurred near the middle of the afternoon. For some cause or other, the hind leg of a steer, after having been tied up, became loosened. No one noticed this, but when, after several successful trials, during which Barney McCann exhausted a large vocabulary of profanity, the mule team was unable to move the steer. Six of us fastened our lariots to the main rope, and dragged the beef ashore with great accla. But when one of the boys dismounted to unloosen the hobbles and rope, a sight met our eyes that sent a sickening sensation through us. For the steer had left one hind leg in the river, neatly disjointed at the knee. Then we knew why the mules had failed to move him. Having previously supposed his size was a difficulty, for he was one of the largest steers in the herd. No doubt the steer's leg had been unjointed in swinging him around. But it had taken six extra horses to sever the ligaments and skin, while the merciless quicksands of the Canadian held the limb. The friendly shot ended the steer's suffering, and before we finished our work for the day, a flight of buzzers were circling around in anticipation of the coming feast. Another day had been lost, and still the South Canadian defied us. We drifted the cattle back to the previous night's camp, using the same bed-ground for our herd. It was then that the rebel broached the subject of a crossing at the island, which we had examined that morning, and offered to show it to our foreman by daybreak. We put two extra horses unpick it that night. And the next morning, before the sun was half an hour high, the foreman and the rebel had returned from the island down the river with word that we were to give the ford a trial, though we could not cross the wagon there. Accordingly, we grazed the herd down the river and came opposite the island near the middle of the forenoon. As usual, we cut off about one hundred of the lead cattle, the leaders naturally being the heaviest, and started them into the water. We reached the island and scaled the farther bank without a single animal losing his footing. We brought up a second bunch of double and a third of triple the number of the first and crossed them with safety. But as yet, the Canadian was dallying with us. As we crossed each successive bunch, the tramping of the cattle increasingly agitated the sands, and when we had the herd about half over, we bogged our first steer on the farther landing. As the water was so shallow that drowning was out of the question, we went back and trailed in the remainder of the herd, knowing the bog steer would be there when we were ready for him. The island was about two hundred yards long by twenty wide, lying up and down the river, and in leaving it for the farther bank, we always pushed off at the upper end. But now, in trailing the remainder of the cattle over, we attempted to force them into the water at the lower end, as the footing at that point of this middle ground had not, as yet, been trampled up as had the upper end. Everything worked nicely until the rear guard of the last five or six hundred congested on the island. The outfit being scattered on both sides of the river, as well as in the middle, leave in a scarcity of men at all points. When the final rear guard had reached the river, the cattle were striking out for the farther shore from every quarter of the island at their own sweet will, stopping the drink and loitering on the farther side, for there was no one to hustle them out. All were over at last, and we were on the point of congratulating ourselves, for although the herd had scattered badly, we had less than a dozen bogged cattle and those near the shore, when suddenly up the river over a mile there began a rapid shooting. Satisfied that it was by our own men, we separated, and circling right and left began to throw the herd together. Some of us rode up the river bank and soon located the trouble. We had not ridden a quarter of a mile before we passed a number of our herd bogged. These haven't re-entered the river for their noonday drink, and on coming up with the men who had done the shooting, we found them throwing the herd out of the water. They reported that a large number of cattle were bogged further up the river. All hands rounded in the herd and drifting them out nearly a mile from the river, left them under two herders, when the remainder of us returned to the bogged cattle. There were by actual count, including those down at the crossing, over eighty bogged cattle that required our attention, extending over a space of a mile or more above the island ford. The outlook was anything but pleasing. Flood was almost speechless over the situation, for it might have been guarded against. But realizing the task before us, we recross the river for dinner, well knowing that the inner man needed fortifying for the work before us. No sooner had we disposed of the meal, and secured a change of mounts all around, than we sent two men to relieve the men on herd. When they were off, Flood divided up our forces for the afternoon work. It will never do, said he, to get separated from our commissary. So priest, you take the wagon and remuda, and go back up to the regular crossing, and get our wagon over somehow. There will be the cook and the wrangler beside yourself, and you may have two other men. You'll have to lighten your load, and don't attempt to cross those mules hitched to the wagon. Rely on your saddle horses for getting the wagon over. Forrest, you and Bull, with the two men on herd, take the cattle to the nearest creek, and water them well. After watering, drift them back, so they will be within a mile of these bogged cattle. Then leave two men with them, and return to the river. I'll take the remainder of the outfit, and begin at the ford, and work up the river. Get the ropes and hobbles, boys, and come on. John Officer and I were left with the rebel to get the wagon across. And while waiting for the men on herd to get in, we hooked up the mules. Honeyman had the remuda in hand to start the minute our herders returned. Their change of mounts being already tied to the wagon wheels. The need of haste was very imperative, for the river might rise without an hour's notice, and a two-foot rise would drown every hoof in the river, as well as cut us off from our wagon. The South Canadian has its source in the staked plains and the mountains of New Mexico. And fresh it's there would cause a rise here. Local conditions never affecting a river of such width. Several of us had seen these plains rivers when the mountain was sportive and dallying with the plain, under a clear sky, and without any warning of falling weather, rise with a rush of water like a tidal wave or the stream from a broken dam. So when our men from the herd galloped in, we stripped their saddles from tired horses and cinched them to fresh ones while they, that there might be no loss of time, bolted their dinners. It took us less than an hour to reach the ford where we unloaded the wagon of everything but the chuck box, which was ironed fast. We had an extra saddle in the wagon and McCann was mounted on a good horse for he could ride as well as cook. Priest and I rode the river selecting a route and on our return all five of us tied our larytes to the tongue and sides of the wagon. We took a running start until we struck the farther bank. We gave the wagon no time to sink but pulled it out of the river with a shout, our horses flanks heaving. Then recrossing the river, we lashed all the bedding to four gentle saddle horses and led them over. But to get our provisions across was no easy matter for we were heavily loaded having taken on supply at Dones sufficient to last us until we reached Dodge, a good month's journey, yet over it must go. And we kept the string of horsemen crossing and recrossing for an hour, carrying everything from pots and pans to axle grease as well as the staples of life. When we had gotten the contents of the wagon finally over and reloaded, there remained nothing but crossing the saddle stock. The wagon mules had been turned loose, harnessed why we were crossing the wagon and other effects and when we drove the remuda into the river, one of the wheel mules turned back and in spite of every man reached the bank again. Part of the boys hurried the others across but McCann and I turned back after our wheeler. We caught him without any trouble but our attempt to lead him across failed. In spite of all the profanity addressed personally to him, he proved a credit to his sire and we lost ground in trying to force him into the river. The boys across the river watched a few minutes when all recrossed to our assistance. Times too valuable to monkey with a mule today said priest as he rode up. Skin off at harness. It was off at once and we blindfolded and backed him up to the river bank. Then taking a rope around his four legs, we threw him, hog-tied him and rolled him into the water. With a rope around his four legs and through the ring in the bridal bit, we asked no further favors but snicked him ignominiously over to the farther side and reharnessed him into the team. The afternoon was more than half spent when we reached the first bogged cattle and by the time the wagon overtook us, we had several tied up and ready for the mule team to give us a lift. The herd had been watered in the meantime and was grazing about in sight of the river and as we occasionally drifted freed animal out to the herd, we saw others being turned in down the river. About an hour before sunset, Flood rode up to us and reported having cleared the island forward while a middle outfit under forest was working down towards it. During the twilight hours of evening, the wagon and saddle horses moved out to the herd and made ready to camp but we remained until dark and with but three horses released a number of light cows. We were the last outfit to reach the wagon and as honeymoon had tied up our night horses, there was nothing for us to do but eat and go to bed to which we required no coaxing before we all knew that early morning would find us once more working with bogged cattle. The night passed without incident and the next morning in the division of the forces, priest was again allowed the wagon to do the snaking out with but only four men counting McCann. The remainder of the outfit was divided into several gangs working near enough each other to lend a hand in case an extra horse was needed on a pole. The third animal we struck in the river that morning was a black steer that had showed fight the day before. Knowing his temper would not be improved by soaking in the quicksand overnight, we changed our tactics. While we were tying up the steer's tail and legs, McCann secreted his team at a safe distance. Then he took a lariat, lashed the tongue of the wagon to a cottonwood tree and jacking up a hind wheel, used it as a windlass. When all was ready, we tied the loose end of our cable rope to his spoke and allowing the rope to coil on the hub, manned the windlass and drew him ashore. When the steer was freed, McCann having no horse at hand climbed into the wagon, while the rest of us sought safety in our saddles and gave him a wide berth. When he came to his feet, he was sullen with rage and refused to move out of his tracks. Priest rode out and baited him at a distance and McCann, from a safe position, attempted to give him a scare. When he savagely charged the wagon, McCann reached down and secured a handful of flour, dashed it into his eyes, which made him back away and kneeling, he fell to cutting the sand with his horns. Rising, he charged the wagon a second time and catching the wagon sheet with his horns, tore two slits in it like slashes of a razor. By this time, the rebel ventured a little nearer and attracted the steer's attention. He started for priest who gave court to his horse and for the first quarter mile had a close race. The steer, however, weakened by the severe treatment he had been subjected to, fell to the rear and gave up the chase and continued on his way to the herd. After this incident, we worked down the river until the outfits met. We finished the work before noon, having lost three full days by the quick sands of the Canadian. As we pulled into the trail that afternoon near the first divide and looked back to take a parting glance at the river, we saw a dust cloud across the Canadian, which we knew must be the Allison herd under Nate's straw. Quince Forrest, noticing at the same time as I did, rode forward and said to me, well, oh, Nate will get it in the neck this time if that girl dallys with him as she did with us. I don't wish him any bad luck, but I do hope he'll bog enough cattle to keep his hand in practice. It will be just about his luck, though, to find it settled and solid enough to cross. And the next morning we saw his signal in the sky about the same distance behind us and knew he had fought it without any serious trouble. End of Chapter 11, Chapter 12 of The Log of a Cowboy by Andy Adams. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The North Fork. There was never very much love lost between government soldiers and our tribe, so we swept past Camp Supply in contempt a few days later and crossed the North Fork of the Canadian to camp for the night. Flood and McCann went into the post as our supply of flour and navy beans was running rather low. And our foreman had hopes that he might be able to get enough of these staples from the settler to last until he reached Dodge. He also hoped to receive some word from Lovell. The rest of us had no lack of occupation as a result of a chance find of mine that morning. Honeyman had stood my guard the night before and in return I had got up when he was called to help rustle the horses. We had every horse under hand before the sun peeped over the eastern horizon. And when returning to camp with the remuda as I rode through a bunch of sumac bush I found a wild turkey's nest with 16 fresh eggs in it. Honeyman rode up when I dismounted and putting them in my hat handing them up to Billy until I could mount for they were beauties and as precious to us as gold. There was an egg for each man in the outfit and won over and McCann threw a heap of swagger into the inquiry. Gentlemen, how will you have your eggs this morning? Just as though it was an everyday affair. They were issued to us fried and I naturally felt the odd egg by Wright's ought to fall to me but the opposing majority was formidable, 14 to one so I yielded. A number of ways was suggested to allot the odd egg but the gambling fever in us being rabid raffling or playing cards for it seemed to be the proper caper. Raffling had few advocates. It reflects on a man's raising, said Quince Forrest contemptuously to suggest the idea of raffling when we've got cards and all night to play for that egg. The very idea of raffling for it. I'd like to see myself pulling straws or drawing numbers from a hat like some giggling girl at a church fair. Poker is a science. The highest court in Texas has said so and I want some little show for my interest in that speckled egg. What have I spent 20 years learning the game for? Will some of you tell me? Why it lets me out if you raffle it. The argument remain unanswered and the play for it gave interest to that night. As soon as supper was over and the first guard had taken the herd the poker game opened. Each man being given 10 beans for chips. We had only one deck of cards so one game was all that could be run at a time but there were six players and when one was frozen out another sat in and took his place. As wood was plentiful we had a good fire and this with the aid of the cook's lantern gave an abundance of light. We unrolled a bed to serve as a table and sat down on it in Indian fashion and as fast as one seat was vacated there was a man ready to fill it before we were impatient for our turns in the game. The talk turned on an accident which had happened that afternoon. While we were crossing the North Fork of the Canadian Bob Blaze attempted to ride out of the river below the crossing when his horse bogged it down. He instantly dismounted and his horse after floundering around scrambled out and up the bank but with a broken leg. Our foreman had ridden up and ordered the horse unsaddled and shot to put him out of his suffering. While waiting our turns the accident to the horse was referred to several times and finally Blaze, who was sitting in the game turned to us who were lounging around the fire and asked, did you all notice that look he gave me as I was unsinching the saddle? If he had been human he might have told me what that look meant. Good thing he was a horse and couldn't realize. From then on the yarning and conversation was strictly horse. It's always a mystery to me, said Billy Honeyman, how a Mexican or Indian knows so much more about a horse than any of us. I have seen them trail a horse across a country for miles, riding in a long lope and not a trace or sign visible to me. I was helping a horseman once to drive a herd of horses to San Antonio from the lower Rio Grande country. We were driving them to market and as there were no railroads south then we had taken along saddle horses to ride home after disposing of the herd. We always took favored horses which we didn't wish to sell, generally to a piece for that purpose. This time when we were at least 100 miles from the ranch the Mexican who had brought along a pet horse to ride home thought he wouldn't hobble his pet one night. Fancying the animal wouldn't leave the others. Well, next morning his pet was missing. We scoured the country around and the trail we had come over for 10 miles but no horse. As the country was all open we felt positive he would go back to the ranch. Two days later and about 40 miles higher up the road the Mexican was riding in the lead of the herd when suddenly he reigned in his horse throwing him back on his haunches and waved for some of us to come to him never taking his eyes off what he saw in the road. The owner was riding on one point of the herd and I on the other. We hurried around to him and both rode up at the same time when the Vicarro blurted out. There's my horse's track. What horse asked the owner? My own, the horse we lost two days ago, replied the Mexican. How do you know it's your horse's track from the thousands of others that fill the road? Demanded his employer. Don Tomas said the Aztec lifting his hat. How do I know your step or voice from a thousand others? We laughed at him. He had been a peon and that made him respect our opinions. At least he avoided differing with us. But as we drove on that afternoon we could see him in the lead watching for that horse's track. Several times he turned in his saddle and looked back, pointed to some track in the road and lifted his hat to us. At camp that night we tried to draw him out but he was silent. But when we were nearing San Antonio we overtook a number of wagons loaded with wool lying over as it was Sunday. And there among their horses and mules was our Mexican's missing horse. The owner of the wagons explained how he came to have the horse. The animal had come to his camp one morning back about 20 miles from where we had lost him while he was feeding grain to his workstock and being a pet insisted on being fed. Since then I have always had a lot of respect for Greaser's opinion regarding a horse. Turkey eggs is too rich for my blood, said Bob Lades, rising from the game. I don't care a continental who wins the egg now. For whenever I get three queens pat beat by a four card draw I have misgivings about that deal. An old quince thinks he can stack cards. He couldn't stack hay. Speaking about Mexicans and Indians, said Wyatt Roundtree. I've got more use for a good horse than I have for either of those grades of humanity. I had a little experience over east of here on the cut from the Chisholm Trail a few years ago that gave me all the engine I want for some time to come. A band of renegade Cheyennes had hung along the trail for several years, scaring or begging passing herds into giving them a beef. Of course, all the cattle herds had more or less strays among them. So it was easier to cut out one of these than to argue the matter. There were plenty of herds on the trail then. So this band of Indians got bolder than bandits. In the year I'm speaking of, I went up with a herd of horses belonging to a Texas man who was in charge with us. When we came along with our horses, only six men all told, the chief of the band called running bull sheep got on the bluff bigger than a wolf and demanded six horses. Well, the Texan wasn't looking for any particular engine that day to give six of his own deer horses to. So he just drove on, paying no attention to Mr. Bull's sheep. About half a mile further up the trail, the chief overtook us with all his bucks and they were an ugly looking lot. Well, this time he held up four fingers, meaning that four horses would be acceptable. But the Texan wasn't recognizing the Indian levy of taxation that year. When he refused them, the Indians never parleyed a moment, but set up a key ye and began circling round the herd on their ponies, Bull's sheep in the lead. As the chief passed the owner, his horse on a run, he gave a special shrill key ye, whipped a short carbine out of its scabbard and shot twice into the rear of the herd. Never for a moment considering the consequences, the Texan brought a sick shooter into action. It was a long, purdy shot and Mr. Bull's sheep threw his hands in the air and came off his horse backwards, hard hit. The shooting in the rear of the horses gave them such a scare that we never checked them short of a mile. While the other Indians were holding a little powwow over their chief, we were making good time in the other direction, considering that we had over 800 loose horses. Fortunately, our wagon and saddle horses had gone ahead that morning, but in the run we overtook them. As soon as we checked the herd from its scare, we turned them up the trail, stretched ropes from the wheels of the wagon, ran the saddle horses in and changed mouse just a little quicker than I ever saw it done before or since. The cook had a saddle in the wagon, so we caught him up a horse, clapped leather on him and tied him behind the wagon in case of an emergency. And you can bet we changed to our best horses. When we overtook the herd, we were at least a mile and a half from where the shooting occurred. And there was no Indian in sight, but we felt they hadn't given it up. We hadn't too long to wait, though we would have waited willingly before we heard their yells and saw the dust rising in clouds behind us. We quit the herd and wagon right there and rode for a swell of ground ahead that would give us a rear view of the scenery. The first view we caught of them was not very encouraging. They were riding after us like fiends and kicking up a dust like a windstorm. We had nothing but six shooters, no good for long range. The owner of the horses admitted that it was useless to try to save the herd now. And if our scalps were worth saving, it was high time to make ourselves scarce. Canton Mint was a government post about 25 miles away, so we rode for it. Our horses were good Spanish stock and the Indians' little bench-legged ponies were no match for them. But not satisfied with the wagon and herd falling into their hands, they followed us until we were within sight of the post. As hard luck would have it, the cavalry stationed at this post were off on some escort duty and the infantry was useless in this case. When the cavalry returned a few days later, they tried to round up those Indians and the Indian agent used his influence, but the horses were so divided up and scattered that they were never recovered. And did the man lose his horses entirely, asked Flood, who had anteed up his last bean and joined us? He did. There was, I remember, a tin horn lawyer up about Dodge who thought he could recover their value as these were agency Indians and the government owed them money. But all I got for three months wages, do me, was the horse I got away on. McCann had been frozen out during Round Tree's yarn and had joined the crowd of storytellers on the other side of the fire. Forest was feeling quite gala and took a special delight in taunting the vanquished as they dropped out. Is McCann there, inquired he, well-knowing he was? I just wanted to ask, would it be any trouble to poach that egg from my breakfast and serve it with a bit of toast? I'm feeling a little bit dainty. You'll poach it for me, won't you, please? McCann never moved the muscle, as he replied. Will you please go to hell? The storytelling continued for some time and while Fox Quarter-Night was regaling us with the history of a little black mayor that a neighbor of theirs in Kentucky owned, a dispute arose in the card game regarding the rules of discard and draw. I'm too old a girl, said the rebel angrily to forest, to allow a pullet like you to teach me this game. When it's my deal, I'll discard just when I please and it's none of your business so long as I keep within the rules of the game, which sounded final and the game continued. Quarter-Night picked up the broken thread of his narrative and the first warning we had of the lateness of the hour was Bull Durham calling to us from the game. One of you fellows can have my place just as soon as we play this jackpot. I've got to saddle my horse and get ready for our guard. Oh, I'm on velvet anyhow and before this game ends, I'll make old quince curl his tail. I've got him going south now. It took me only a few minutes to lose my chance at the turkey egg and I sought my blankets. At one a.m. when our guard was called, the beans were almost equally divided among priests, stallings, and Durham. And in view of the fact that forest, whom we all wanted to see beaten, had met defeat, they agreed to cut the cards for the egg, stallings winning. We mounted our horses and rode out into the night and the second guard rode back to our camp singing. Two little niggers upstairs in the bed, one turned to the other, the other and said, how about that shortening bread? How about that shortening bread? End of chapter 12. Chapter 13 of The Log of a Cowboy by Andy Adams. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Dodge. At camp supply, Flood received a letter from Lovell requesting him to come on into Dodge ahead of the cattle. So after the first night's camp above the simmering, Flood caught up a favorite horse, informed the outfit that he was going to quit us for a few days, and designated Quince Forest as a Segundo during his absence. You have wide open country from here into Dodge, said he, when ready to start, and I'll make inquiry for you daily from men coming in or from the buckboard which carries the mail to supply. I'll try to meet you at Mulberry Creek, which is about 10 miles south of Dodge. I'll make that town tonight, and you ought to make the Mulberry in two days. You will see the smoke of passing trains to the north of the Arkansas from the first divide south of Mulberry. When you reach that creek in case I don't meet you, hold the herd there, and three or four of you can come into town, but I'm almost certain to meet you, he called back as he rode away. Priest said Quince, when our foreman had gone, I reckon you didn't handle your herd to suit the old man when he left us that time at Buffalo Gap, but I think he used rare judgment this time in selecting a Segundo. The only thing that frets me is, I'm afraid he'll meet us before we reach the Mulberry, and that won't give me a chance to go in ahead like a sure enough foreman. Fact is, I have business there. I deposited a few months wages at the Long Branch gambling house last year when I was in Dodge, and failed to take a receipt. I just want to drop in and make inquiry if they gave me credit, and if the account is drawing interest. I think it's all right, for the man I deposited it with was a clever fellow and asked me to have a drink with him just as I was leaving. Still, I'd like to step in and see him again. Early in the afternoon of the second day after our foreman left us, we sighted the smoke of passing trains, though they were at least 15 miles distant, and long before we reached the Mulberry, a livery rig came down the trail to meet us. To force chagrin, flood all dressed up, and with a white collar on, was a driver, while on the back seat sat Don Lovell and another cowman by the name of McNalta. Every rascal of us gave old man Don the glad hand as they drove around the herd, while he, liberal and delighted as a bridegroom, passed out the cigars by the handful. The cattle were looking fine, which put the old man in high spirits, and he inquired of each of us if our health was good, and if flood had fed us well. They loitered around the herd the rest of the evening until we threw off the trail to graze and camp for the night, when Lovell declared his intention of staying all night with the outfit. While we were catching horses during the evening, Lovell came up to me where I was saddling my night horse, and recognizing me gave me news of my brother Bob. I had a letter yesterday from him, he said, written from Red Fork, which is just north of the Simmeran River, over on the Chisholm route. He reports everything going along nicely, and I'm expecting him to show up here within a week. His herd are all beef steers, and contracted for delivery at the Crow Indian Agency. He's not driving as fast as flood, but we've got to have our beef for that delivery in better condition, as they have a new agent there this year, and he may be one of those knowing fellows. Sorry you couldn't see your brother, but if you have any word to send him, I'll deliver it. I thanked him for the interest he had taken in me, and assured him that I had no news for Robert, but took advantage of the opportunity to inquire if our middle brother, Zach Quirt, was on the trail with any of his herds. Lovell knew him, but felt positive he was not with any of his outfits. We had an easy night with the cattle. Lovell insisted on standing a guard, so he took Rod Wheat's horse and stood the first watch, and after returning to the wagon, he and McNalta, to our great interest, argued the merits of the different trails until near midnight. McNalta had two herds coming in on the Chisholm Trail, while Lovell had two herds on the Western and only one on the Chisholm. The next morning, Forest, who was again in charge, received orders to cross the Arkansas River shortly afternoon, and then let half the outfit come in the town. The old trail crossed the river about a mile above the present town of Dodge City, Kansas, so when we changed horses at noon, the first and second guards caught up their top horses, ransacked their war bags, and donned their best togery. We crossed the river about one o'clock in order to give the boys a good holiday, the stage of water making the river easily affordable. McCann, after dinner was over, drove down on the south side for the benefit of a bridge which spanned the river opposite the town. It was the first bridge he had been able to take advantage of in over a thousand miles of travel, and today he spurned the cattle ford, as though he had never crossed that one. Once safely over the river, and with the understanding that the herd would camp for the night about six miles north on Duck Creek, six of our men quit us and rode for the town in a long gallop. Before the rig left us in the morning, McNalta, who was thoroughly familiar with Dodge, and an older man than Lovell, in a friendly and fatherly spirit, seeing that many of us were youngsters, had given us an earnest talk and plenty of good advice. I've been in Dodge every summer since 77, said the old cowmen, and I can give you boys some points. Dodge's one town where the average bad man of the West not only finds his equal, but finds himself badly handicapped. The Buffalo hunters and rangemen have protested against the iron rule of Dodge's peace officers, and nearly every protest has cost human life. Don't ever get the impression that you can ride your horses into a saloon or shoot out the lights in Dodge. It may go somewhere else, but it don't go there. So I want to warn you to behave yourselves. You can wear your six shooters in town, but you'd better leave them at the first place you stop, hotel, livery, or business house. And when you leave town, call for your pistols, but don't ride out shooting, omit that. Most cowboys think it's an infringement on their rights to give up shooting in town, and if it is, it stands for your six shooters are no match for Winchester's and Buckshot, and Dodge's officers are as game a set of men has ever faced danger. Nearly a generation has passed since McNalta, the Texas cattle-drover, gave our outfit this advice one June morning on the Mulberry, and in setting down this record, I have only to scan the roster of the peace officials of Dodge City to admit its correctness. Among the names that graced the official roster during the brief span of the trail days were the brothers Ed, Jim, and Bat Masterson, Wyatt Earp, Jack Bridges, Doc Holliday, Charles Bassett, William Tillman, Shotgun Collins, Joshua Webb, Mayor A.B. Webster, and mysterious Dave Mather. The puppets of no romance ever written can compare with these officers in fearlessness, and let it be understood, there were plenty to protest against their rule almost daily during the rain season, some equally fearless individual defied them. Throw up your hands and surrender, said an officer to a Texas cowboy who had spurred an excitable horse until it was rearing and plunging in the street, leveling meanwhile a double-barreled Shotgun at the horseman. Not to you, you white-livered S of a B, was the instant reply accompanied by a shot. The officer staggered back mortally wounded but recovered himself and the next instant the cowboy reeled from his saddle, a load of buckshot through his breast. After the boys left us for town, the remainder of us belonging to the third and fourth guard grazed the cattle forward leisurely during the afternoon. Through cattle herds were in sight up and down the river on either side and on crossing the Mulberry the day before. We learned that several herds were holding out as far south as that stream. While McNalta had reported over 40 herds as having already passed northward on the trail. Dodge was the meeting point for buyers from every quarter. Often herds would sell at Dodge whose destination for delivery was beyond the Yellowstone in Montana. Herds frequently changed owners when the buyer never saw the cattle. A yearling was a yearling and a two-year-old was a two-year-old and the sellers word that they were as good or better than the string I sold you last year was sufficient. Cattle were classified as northern, central and southern animals and except in the case of severe drought in the preceding years, were pretty nearly uniform in size throughout each section. The prairie section of the state left its indelible imprint on the cattle bread in the open country, while the coast as well as the piney woods and blackjack sections did the same, thus making classification easy. McCann overtook us early in the evening and being an obliging fellow was induced by forest to stand the first guard with honeyman so as to make up the proper number of watches, though with only two men on guard at a time, for it was hardly possible that any of the others would return before daybreak. There was much to be seen in Dodge and as losing a night's sleep on duty was considered nothing, in hilarious recreation sleep would be entirely forgotten. McCann had not forgotten us but had smuggled out a quart bottle to cut the alkali in our drinking water. But a quart amongst eight of us was not dangerous so the night passed without incident though we felt a growing impatience to get into town. As we expected about sunrise the next morning our men off on holiday rode into camp having never closed an eye during the entire night. They brought word from Flood that the herd would only graze over to Saulog Creek that day so as to let the remainder of us have a day and night in town. Lovell would only advance half a month's wages, $25 to the man. It was ample for any personal needs though we had nearly three months wages due, no one protested, for the old man was generally right in his decisions. According to their report the boys had had a hog killing time, old man Don having been out with them all night. It seems that McNalta stood in well with a class of practical jokers which included the officials of the town and whenever there was anything on the tapas he always got the word for himself and friends. During breakfast Fox Quarter Night told this incident of the evening. Some professor, a professor in the occult sciences I think he called himself, had written to the mayor to know what kind of point Dodge would be for a lecture. The lecture was to be free, but he also intimated that he had a card or two on the side of his sleeve by which he expected to graft on the sum of the coin of the realm from the wayfaring men as well as the citizen. The mayor turned the letter over to Bat Masterson, the city marshal, who answered it and invited the professor to come assuring him that he was deeply interested in the occult sciences personally and would take pleasure in securing him a haul and a date besides announcing his coming through the papers. Well he was billed to deliver his lecture last night. Those old longhorns McNalta and Lovell got us in with a crowd and while they didn't know exactly what was coming they assured us that we couldn't afford to miss it. Well at the appointed hour in the evening the haul was packed, not over half being able to find seats. It is safe to say there were over 500 men present as it was announced for men only. Every gambler in town was there with a fair sprinkling of cowmen in our tribe. At the appointed hour Masterson as chairman wrapped for order and in a neat little speech announced the object of the meeting. Bat mentioned the lack of interest in the West in the higher arts and sciences and bespoke our careful attention to the subject under consideration for the evening. He said he felt it hardly necessary to urge the importance of good order. But if anyone had come out of idle curiosity or bent on mischief as chairman of the meeting and peace officer of the city he would certainly brook no interruptions. After a few other appropriate remarks he introduced a speaker as Dr. J. Graves Brown, the noted scientist. The professor was an oily-tongued fellow and let off on the prelude to this lecture while the audience was quiet as mice and grave as owls. After he had spoken about five minutes and was getting warmed up to his subject he made an assertion which sounded a little fishy and someone back in the audience blurted out, that's a damned lie. The speaker halted in his discourse and looked at Masterson, who arose and drawing two sick shooters, looked the audience over as if trying to locate the offender. Laying the guns down on the table he informed the meeting that another interruption would cost the offender his life if he had to follow him to the real grand or the British possessions. He then asked the professor, as there would be no further interruptions to proceed with his lecture. The professor hesitated about going on. When Masterson assured him that it was evident that his audience with the exception of one skulking coyote was deeply interested in the subject, but that no one man could interfere with the freedom of speech and dodge as long as it was a free country and he was city-martial. After this little talk the speaker braced up and launched out again on his lecture. When he was once more under good headway he had the occasion to relate an exhibition which he had witnessed while studying his profession in India. The incident related was a trifle rank for anyone to swallow raw. When the same party who had interrupted before sang out that's another damned lie. Masterson came to his feet like a flash, a gun in each hand saying, stand up you measly skunk so I can see you. Half a dozen men rose in different parts of the house and cut loose at him. As they did so the lights went out and the room filled with smoke. Masterson was blazing away with his two guns which so lighted up the rostrum that we could see the professor crouching under the table. Of course they were using blank cartridges but the audience raised at the long yell and poured out through the windows and doors and the lecture was over. A couple of police came in later so McNaltas said, escorted the professor to his room in the hotel and quietly advised him that Dodge was hardly capable of appreciating anything so advanced as a lecture on the occult sciences. Breakfast over, honeymoon ran in the remuda and we caught the best horses in our mounts on which to pay our respects to Dodge. Forced detail rod wheat to wrangle the horses for we intended to take honeymoon with us. As it was only about six miles over to the saw log Quince advised that they graze along Duck Creek until after dinner and then graze over to the former stream during the afternoon. Before leaving we rode over and looked out the trail after it left Duck for it was quite possible that we might return during the night and we requested McCann to hang out the lantern elevated on the end of the wagon tongue as a beacon. After taking our bearings we reigned southward over the divide to Dodge. The very first thing I do said Quince for us as we rode leisurely along after I get a shave and haircut and buy what few tricks I need is to hunt up that gambler in the long branch and ask him to take a drink with me. I took the parting one on him then I'll simply set in and win back every dollar I lost there last year. There's something in this northern air that I breathe in this morning that tells me that this is my lucky day. You other kids had better let the games alone and save your money to buy red silk handkerchiefs and soda water and such harmless gym cracks. The fact that the rebel was 10 years a senior never entered his mind as he gave us his fatherly advice. Though to be sure the majority of us were his juniors in years. On reaching Dodge we rode up to the right house where Flood met us and directed our cavalcade across the railroad to a livery stable the proprietor of which was a friend of Lovell's. We unsaddled and turned our horses into a large corral and while we're in the office of the livery surrendering our artillery Flood came in and handed each of us $25 in gold warning us that when that was gone no more would be advanced. On receipt of the money we scattered like partridges before a gunner. Within an hour or two we began to return to the stables by ones and twos and we're stowing in our saddle pockets our purchases which ran from needles and thread to 45 cartridges and every mother's son reflecting the art of the barber. While John Officer had his blonde mustache blackened, waxed and curled like a French dancing master. If some of you boys will hold him, said Moss Strayhorn commenting on Officer's appearance, I'd like to take a good smell of him just to see if he took oil up there where the end of his neck aired over. As Officer already had several drinks comfortably stowed away under his belt and stood up strong six feet two none of us volunteered. After packing away our plunder we sauntered round town drinking moderately and visiting the various saloons and gambling houses. I clung to my bunkie, the rebel during the rounds for I had learned to like him and had confidence he would lead me into no indiscretion. At the long branch we found Quince Forest and Wyatt Roundtree play in the Farrow Bank the former keeping cases. They never recognized us but were answering a great many questions asked by the dealer and look out regarding the possible volume of the cattle drive that year. Down at another gambling house the rebel met Ben Thompson, a Farrow dealer not on duty and an old Calvary comrade and the two cronied around for over an hour like long lost brothers pledging anew their friendship over several sociable glasses in which I was always included. There was no telling how long this reunion would have lasted but happily for my sake, Lovell who had been asleep all the morning started out to round us up for dinner with him at the right house which was at that day a famous hostelery patronized almost exclusively by Texas Cowman and cattle buyers. We made the rounds of the gambling houses looking for our crowd. We ran across three of the boys piking at a monte game who came with us reluctantly then guided by Lovell we started for the long branch where we felt certain we would find Forest and Roundtree if they had any money left. Forest was broke which made him ready to come and Roundtree though quite a winner out of deference to our employers wishes cashed in and joined us. Old man Don could hardly do enough for us and before we could reach the right house had lined us up against three different bars and while I had confidence in my navigable capacity I found they were coming just a little too fast and free. See and I had scarcely drunk anything in three months but branch water. As we lined up at the right house far for the final before dinner the rebel who was standing next to me entered a waiver and took a cigar which I understood to be a hint and I did likewise. We had a splendid dinner. Our outfit with McNalta occupied a 10-chair table while on the opposite side of the room was another large table occupied principally by drovers who are waiting for their herds to arrive. Among those at the latter table whom I now remember was Uncle Henry Stevens Jesse Ellison, Lum Slaughter, John Blocker, Ike Pryor, Dun Houston, and last but not least Colonel Shanghai Pierce. The latter was possibly the most widely known Kalman between the real grand and the British possessions. He stood six feet four in his stockings and was gaunt and raw boned and the possessor of a voice which even at ordinary conversation could be distinctly heard across the street. No, I'll not ship any more cattle to your town, said Pierce to a cattle solicitor during the dinner. His voice in righteous indignation resounding like a foghorn through the dining room until you adjust your yardage charges. Listen, I can go right up into the heart of your city and get a room for myself with a nice clean bed in it, plenty of soap, water, and towels and I can occupy that room for 24 hours for two bits. And your stockyards away out in the suburbs wants to charge me 20 cents a head and let my steers stand out in the weather. After dinner, all the boys with the exception of Priest and myself returned to the gambling houses as the lancest to work overtime. Before leaving the hotel, Forrest affected the loan of 10 from Roundtree and the two returned to the long branch while the others as eagerly sought out a Monte game. But I was fascinated with the conversation of these old cowmen and sat around for several hours listening to their yarns and cattle talk. I was selling a thousand beef steers one time to some Yankee army contractors. Pierce was narrating to a circle of listeners and I got the idea that they were not up to snuff in receiving cattle out on the prairie. I was holding a herd of about 3,000 and they had agreed to take a running cut which showed that they had the receiving agent fixed. Well, my foremen and I were counting the cattle as they came between us but the steers were wild, long-legged coasters and came through between us like scared wolves. I had lost the count several times but guessed at them and started over. The cattle still coming like a whirlwind and when I thought about 900 had passed us I cut them off and sang out. Here they come and there they go just an even thousand by Gatlins. What do you make it, Bill? Just an even thousand, Colonel, replied my foremen. Of course the contractors were counting at the same time and I suppose they didn't like to admit they couldn't count a thousand cattle where anybody else could and never asked for a recount but accepted and paid for them. They had hired an outfit and held the cattle outside that night but the next day when they cut them in the car lots and shipped them they were a hundred and eighteen short. They wanted to come back on me to make them good but shucks I wasn't responsible if their Jim Crow outfit lost the cattle. Along early in the evening Flood advised his boys to return to the herd with him but all the crowd wanted to stay in town and see the sights. Lovell interceded on our behalf and promised to see that we left town in good time to be in camp before the herd was ready to move the next morning. On this assurance Flood saddled up and started for the saw log having ample time to make the ride before dark. By this time most of the boys had worn off the wire edge for gambling and were comparing notes. Three of them were broke but Quince Forest had turned to tables and was over a clean hundred winner for the day. Those who had no money fortunately had good credit with those of us who had. For there was yet much to be seen and in Dodge in eighty-two it took money to see the elephant. There were several variety theaters a number of dance halls and other resorts which like the wicked flourished best under darkness. After supper just about dusk we went over to the stable caught our horses, saddled them and tied them up for the night. We fully expected to leave town by ten o'clock for it was a good twelve mile ride to the saw log. In making the rounds of the variety theaters and dance halls we hung together. Lovell excused himself early in the evening and at parting we assured him that the outfit would leave for camp before midnight. We were enjoying ourselves immensely over at the Lone Star Dance Hall when an incident occurred in which we entirely neglected the good advice of McNalta and had the sensation of hearing lead whistle and cry around our ears before we got away from town. Quince Forrest was spending his winnings as well as drinking freely and at the end of the quadrill gave vent to his hilarity in an old-fashioned Comanche yell. The bouncer of the dance hall of course had his eye on our crowd and at the end of a change took Quince to task. He was a surly brute and instead of couching his requests in appropriate language threatened to throw him out of the house. Forrest stood like one absent-minded and took the abuse for physically he was no match for the bouncer who was armed moreover and wore an officer's star. I was dancing in the same set with a red-headed freckle-faced girl who clutched my arm and wished to know if my friend was armed. I assured her that he was not or we would have had notice of it before the bouncer's invective was ended. At the conclusion of the dance Quince and the rebel passed out giving the rest of us the word to remain as though nothing was wrong. In the course of a half an hour priests returned and asked us to take our leave one at a time without attracting any attention and meet at the stable. I remained until the last and noticed the rebel and the bouncer taking a drink together at the bar the former apparently in a most amiable mood. We passed out together shortly afterwards and found the other boys mounted and awaiting our return it being now about midnight. It took but a moment to secure our guns and once in the saddle we rode through the town in the direction of the herd. On the outskirts of town we halted. I'm going back to that dance-hall set forest and have one round at least with that whore-herder. No man who walks this old earth can insult me as he did not if he has a hundred stars on him. If any of you don't want to go along ride right on the camp but I'd like to have you all go and when I take his measure it will be the signal to the rest of you to put out the lights. All that's going. Come on. There were no dissenters to the program. I saw at a glance that my bunkie was heart and soul in the play and took my cue and kept my mouth shut. We circled round the town to a vacant lot within a block of the rear of the dance-hall. Honeyman was left to hold the horses. Then, taking off our belts and hanging them on the pommels of our saddles, we secreted our six shooters inside the waistbands of our trousers. The hall was still crowded with the revelers when we entered, a few at a time. Forest and priest be in the last to arrive. Forest had changed hats with the rebel who always were a black one and as the bouncer circulated around Quince stepped squarely in front of him. There was no waste of words but a gun barrel flashed in the lamplight and the bouncer, struck with a six shooter, fell like a beef. Before the bewildered expectators could raise a hand, five six shooters were turned into the ceiling. The lights went out at the first fire and amidst the rush of men and the screaming of women, we reached the outside and within a minute were in our saddles. All would have gone well had we returned by the same route and avoided the town. But after crossing the railroad tracks, anger and pride having not been properly satisfied, we must ride through the town. On entering the main street leading north and opposite the bridge on the river, somebody of our party in the rear turned his gun loose into the air. The rebel and I were riding in the lead and at the clattering of hoofs and shooting behind us our horses started on the run. The shooting by this time having become general. At the second street crossing I noticed a rope of fire belching from a Winchester in the doorway of a store building. There was no doubt in my mind but we were the object of the manipulator of that carving and as we reached the next cross street a man kneeling in the shadow of a building opened fire on us with a six shooter. Priest reigned in his horse and not having wasted cartridges in the open air shooting returned the compliment until he emptied his gun. By this time every officer in the town was throwing lead after us some of which carried a little too close for comfort. When there was no longer any shooting on our flanks we turned into a cross street and soon left the lead behind us. At the outskirts of town we slowed up our horses and took it leisurely for a mile or so when Quince Forrest halted us and said I'm going to drop out here and see if anyone follows us. I want to be alone so that if any officers try to follow us I can have it out with them. And there was no time to lose in parleying and as he had a good horse we rode away and left him. On reaching camp we secured a few hours sleep but the next morning to our surprise Forrest failed to appear. We explained the situation to Flood who said that if he did not show up by noon he would go back and look for him. We all felt positive that he would not dare go back to town and if he was lost as soon as the sun arose he would be able to get his bearings. While we were nooning about seven miles north of the saw log someone noticed a buggy coming up the trail. As it came nearer we saw that there were two other occupants of the rig besides the driver. When it drew up old Quince still wearing the rebels hat stepped out of the rig, dragged out his saddle from under the seat and invited his companions to dinner. They both declined when Forrest, taking out his purse handed a twenty dollar gold piece to the driver with an oath. He then asked the other man what he owed him but the latter very haughtily declined any recompense and the conveyance drove away. I suppose you fellows don't know what all this means, said Quince as he filled a plate and sat down in the shade of the wagon. Well, that horse of mine got a bullet plugged into him last night as we were leaving town and before I could get him to Duck Creek he died on me. I carried my saddling blankets until daylight when I hid in a draw and waited for something to turn up. I thought some of you would come back and look for me some time for I knew you wouldn't understand it when all of a sudden here comes this livery rig along with that drummer going out the jet more, I believe he said. I explained what I wanted but he decided that his business was more important than mine and refused me. I referred the matter to Judge Colt and the judge decided that it was more important that I overtake this herd. I'd have made him take pay too only he acted so mean about it. After dinner, faring a rest, Forest took a horse and rode on ahead to the Solomon River. We were a glum outfit that afternoon but after a good night's rest we were again as fresh as daisies. When McCann started to get breakfast he hung his coat on the end of the wagon rod while he went for a bucket of water. During his absence John Officer was noticed slipping something into Barney's coat pocket and after breakfast when our cook went to his coat for his tobacco he unearthed a lady's cambered handkerchief nicely embroidered and a silver-mounted garter. He looked at the articles a moment and grasping the situation at a glance ran his eye over the outfit for the culprit but there was not a word or a smile. He walked over and threw the articles into the fire remarking good whiskey and bad women will be the ruin of you varmints yet. End of Chapter 13