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  CHAPTER IV. MINGLING WITH THE EXODUS

  By noon the herd had grazed out five miles on its way. The boys wereso anxious to get off that on my return the camp was deserted with theexception of the cook and the horse-wrangler, none even returning fordinner. Before leaving I had lunched at Los Lobos with its owner, and onreaching the wagon, Levering and I assisted the cook to harness inand start the commissary. The general course of the Nueces River wassoutheast by northwest, and as our route lay on the latter angle, theherd would follow up the valley for the first day. Once outside theboundaries of our camp of the past week, the grass matted the groundwith its rank young growth. As far as the eye could see, the mesas,clothed in the verdure of spring, rolled in long swells away to thedivides. Along the river and in the first bottom, the timber andmesquite thickets were in leaf and blossom, while on the outlyingprairies the only objects which dotted this sea of green were rangecattle and an occasional band of horses.

  The start was made on the 27th of March. By easy drives and withina week, we crossed the "Sunset" Railway, about thirty miles to thewestward of the ranch in Medina. On reaching the divide between theLeona and Frio rivers, we sighted our first herd of trail cattle,heading northward. We learned that some six herds had already passedupward on the main Frio, while a number of others were reported ashaving taken the east fork of that river. The latter stream almostparalleled the line between Medina and Uvalde counties, and as weexpected some word from headquarters, we crossed over to the east fork.When westward of and opposite the ranch, Runt Pickett was sent in forany necessary orders that might be waiting. By leaving us early in theevening he could reach headquarters that night and overtake us beforenoon the next day. We grazed leisurely forward the next morning, killingas much time as possible, and Pickett overtook us before the wagon hadeven gone into camp for dinner. Lovell had not stopped on his returnfrom the west, but had left with the depot agent at the home station aletter for the ranch. From its contents we learned that the other twoBuford herds had started from Uvalde, Sponsilier in the lead, one on the24th and the other the following day. Local rumors were encouraging inregard to grass and water to the westward, and the intimation wasclear that if favorable reports continued, the two Uvalde herds wouldintersect an old trail running from the head of Nueces Canon to theLlano River. Should they follow this route there was little hope oftheir coming into the main western trail before reaching the ColoradoRiver. Sponsilier was a daring fellow, and if there was a possiblechance to get through beyond the borders of any settlement, he wascertain to risk it.

  The letter contained no personal advice. Years of experience in trailmatters had taught my employer that explicit orders were often harmful.The emergencies to be met were of such a varied nature that the bestmethod was to trust to an outfit worming its way out of any situationwhich confronted it. From the information disclosed, it was evidentthat the other Buford herds were then somewhere to the northwest, andpossibly over a hundred miles distant. Thus freed from any restraint,we held a due northward course for several days, or until we encounteredsome rocky country. Water was plentiful and grass fairly good, but thoseflinty hills must be avoided or sorefooted beeves would be the result.I had seen trails of blood left by cattle from sandy countries onencountering rock, and now the feet of ours were a second considerationto their stomachs. But long before the herd reached this menace, MorgTussler and myself, scouting two full days in advance, located a saferoute to the westward. Had we turned to the other hand, we should havebeen forced into the main trail below Fredericksburg, and we preferredthe sea-room of the boundless plain. From every indication and report,this promised to be the banner year in the exodus of cattle from theSouth to the then new Northwest. This latter section was affording thelong-looked-for outlet, by absorbing the offerings of cattle which cameup from Texas over the trail, and marking an epoch barely covering asingle decade.

  Turning on a western angle, a week's drive brought us out on a hightableland. Veering again to the north, we snailed along through adelightful country, rich in flora and the freshness of the season. Fromevery possible elevation, we scanned the west in the hope of sightingsome of the herd which had followed up the main Frio, but in vain.Sweeping northward at a leisurely gait, the third week out we sightedthe Blue Mountains, the first familiar landmark on our course. As themain western trail skirted its base on the eastward, our position waseasily established.

  So far the cattle were well behaved, not a run, and only a singleincident occurring worth mention. About half an hour before dawn onemorning, the cook aroused the camp with the report that the herd wasmissing. The beeves had been bedded within two hundred yards of thewagon, and the last watch usually hailed the rekindling of the cook'sfire as the first harbinger of day. But on this occasion the absence ofthe usual salutations from the bed-ground aroused Parent's suspicion. Herushed into camp, and laboring under the impression that the cattlehad stampeded, trampled over our beds, yelling at the top of his lungs.Aroused in the darkness from heavy sleep, bewildered by a bright fireburning and a crazy man shouting, "The beeves have stampeded! the herd'sgone! Get up, everybody!" we were almost thrown into a panic. Many ofthe boys ran for their night-horses, but Clay Zilligan and I fell on thecook and shook the statement out of him that the cattle had left theirbeds. This simplified the situation, but before I could recall the men,several of them had reached the bed-ground. As fast as horses could besecured, others dashed through the lighted circle and faded into thedarkness. From the flickering of matches it was evident that the boyswere dismounting and looking for some sign of trouble. Zilligan wasswearing like a pirate, looking for his horse in the murky night; butinstead of any alarm, oaths and derision greeted our ears as the menreturned to camp. Halting their horses within the circle of the fire,Dorg Seay said to the cook:

  "Neal, the next time you find a mare's nest, keep the secret toyourself. I don't begrudge losing thirty minutes' beauty sleep, butI hate to be scared out of a year's growth. Haven't you got cow-senseenough to know that if those beeves had run, they'd have shook theearth? If they had stampeded, that alarm clock of yours wouldn't be acircumstance to the barking of the boys' guns. Why, the cattle haven'tbeen gone thirty minutes. You can see where they got up and then quietlywalked away. The ground where they lay is still steaming and warm. Theywere watered a little too soon yesterday and naturally got up early thismorning. The boys on guard didn't want to alarm the outfit, and justallowed the beeves to graze off on their course. When day breaks, you'llsee they ain't far away, and in the right direction. Parent, if I didn'tsabe cows better than you do, I'd confine my attention to a cottonpatch."

  Seay had read the sign aright. When day dawned the cattle were in plainview about a mile distant. On the return of the last guard to camp, VickWolf explained the situation in a few words. During their watch the herdhad grown restless, many of the cattle arising; and knowing that dawnwas near at hand, the boys had pushed the sleepy ones off their bedsand started them feeding. The incident had little effect on theirrepressible Parent, who seemed born to blunder, yet gifted with asunny disposition which atoned for his numerous mistakes.

  With the Blue Mountains as our guiding star, we kept to the westward ofthat landmark, crossing the Llano River opposite some Indian mounds.On reaching the divide between this and the next water, we sighted twodust-clouds to the westward. They were ten to fifteen miles distant, butI was anxious to hear any word of Sponsilier or Forrest, and sent JakeBlair to make a social call. He did not return until the next day, andreported the first herd as from the mouth of the Pecos, and the moredistant one as belonging to Jesse Presnall. Blair had stayed all nightwith the latter, and while its foreman was able to locate at least adozen trail herds in close proximity, our two from Uvalde had neitherbeen seen nor heard of. Baffled again, necessity compelled us to turnwithin touch of some outfitting point. The staples of life were runninglow in our commissary, no opportunity having presented itself to obtaina new supply since we left the ranch in Medina over a month before.Consequent
ly, after crossing the San Saba, we made our first tack to theeastward.

  Brady City was an outfitting point for herds on the old western trail.On coming opposite that frontier village, Parent and I took the wagonand went in after supplies, leaving the herd on its course, parallelingthe former route. They had instructions to camp on Brady Creek thatnight. On reaching the supply point, there was a question if we couldsecure the simple staples needed. The drive that year had outstrippedall calculations, some half-dozen chuck-wagons being in waiting forthe arrival of a freight outfit which was due that morning. The nearestrailroad was nearly a hundred miles to the eastward, and all suppliesmust be freighted in by mule and ox teams. While waiting for the freightwagons, which were in sight several miles distant, I made inquiry of thetwo outfitting stores if our Buford herds had passed. If they had,no dealings had taken place on the credit of Don Lovell, though bothmerchants knew him well. Before the freight outfit arrived, some onetook Abb Blocker, a trail foreman for his brother John, to task forhaving an odd ox in his wheel team. The animal was a raw, unbroken "7L"bull, surly and chafing under the yoke, and attracted general attention.When several friends of Blocker, noticing the brand, began joking him,he made this explanation: "No, I don't claim him; but he came into myherd the other night and got to hossing my steers around. We couldn'tkeep him out, and I thought if he would just go along, why we'd put himunder the yoke and let him hoss that chuck-wagon to amuse himself. Oneof my wheelers was getting a little tenderfooted, anyhow."

  On the arrival of the freight outfit, short shift was made intransferring a portion of the cargo to the waiting chuck-wagons. As weexpected to reach Abilene, a railroad point, within a week, we took ononly a small stock of staple supplies. Having helped ourselves, the onlydelay was in getting a clerk to look over our appropriation, make outan itemized bill, and receive a draft on my employer. When finallythe merchant in person climbed into our wagon and took a list of thearticles, Parent started back to overtake the herd. I remained behindseveral hours, chatting with the other foremen.

  None of the other trail bosses had seen anything of Lovell's otherherds, though they all knew him personally or by reputation, andinquired if he was driving again in the same road brand. By generalagreement, in case of trouble, we would pick up each other's cattle; andfrom half a cent to a cent a head was considered ample remuneration inbuying water in Texas. Owing to the fact that many drovers hadshipped to Red River, it was generally believed that there would be nocongestion of cattle south of that point. All herds were then keepingwell to the westward, some even declaring their intention to go throughthe Panhandle until the Canadian was reached.

  Two days later we came into the main trail at the crossing of theColorado River. Before we reached it, several ominous dust-clouds hungon our right for hours, while beyond the river were others, indicatingthe presence of herds. Summer weather had already set in, and duringthe middle of the day the glare of heat-waves and mirages obstructed ourview of other wayfarers like ourselves, but morning and evening we werenever out of sight of their signals. The banks of the river at the fordwere trampled to the level of the water, while at both approach and exitthe ground was cut into dust. On our arrival, the stage of water wasfavorable, and we crossed without a halt of herd, horses, or commissary.But there was little inducement to follow the old trail. Washed intoruts by the seasons, the grass on either side eaten away for miles,there was a look of desolation like that to be seen in the wake of anarmy. As we felt under obligations to touch at Abilene within a fewdays, there was a constant skirmish for grass within a reasonabledistance of the trail; and we were early, fully two thirds of the drivebeing in our rear. One sultry morning south of Buffalo Gap, as we weregrazing past the foot of Table Mountain, several of us rode to thesummit of that butte. From a single point of observation we countedtwelve herds within a space of thirty miles both south and north, allmoving in the latter direction.

  When about midway between the Gap and the railroad we were met at noonone day by Don Lovell. This was his first glimpse of my herd, and hisexperienced eye took in everything from a broken harness to the peelingand legibility of the road brand. With me the condition of the cattlewas the first requisite, but the minor details as well as the moreimportant claimed my employer's attention. When at last, after ridingwith the herd for an hour, he spoke a few words of approbation on thecondition, weight, and uniformity of the beeves, I felt a load liftedfrom my shoulders. That the old man was in a bad humor on meeting us wasevident; but as he rode along beside the cattle, lazy and large as oxen,the cockles of his heart warmed and he grew sociable. Near the middle ofthe afternoon, as we were in the rear, looking over the drag steers, hecomplimented me on having the fewest tender-footed animals of any herdthat had passed Abilene since his arrival. Encouraged, I ventured thedouble question as to how this one would average with the other Bufordherds, and did he know their whereabouts. As I recall his reply, itwas that all Nueces Valley cattle were uniform, and if there was anydifference it was due to carelessness in receiving. In regard to thelocality of the other herds, it was easily to be seen that he wasprovoked about something.

  "Yes, I know where they are," said he, snappishly, "but that's all thegood it does me. They crossed the railroad, west, at Sweetwater, about aweek ago. I don't blame Quince, for he's just trailing along, half a daybehind Dave's herd. But Sponsilier, knowing that I wanted to see him,had the nerve to write me a postal card with just ten words on it,saying that all was well and to meet him in Dodge. Tom, you don't knowwhat a satisfaction it is to me to spend a day or so with each of theherds. But those rascals didn't pay any more attention to me than if Iwas an old woman. There was some reason for it--sore-footed cattle, orelse they have skinned up their remudas and didn't want me to see them.If I drive a hundred herds hereafter, Dave Sponsilier will stay at homeas far as I'm concerned. He may think it's funny to slip past, but thiscourt isn't indulging in any levity just at present. I fail to see thehumor in having two outfits with sixty-seven hundred cattle somewherebetween the Staked Plain and No-Man's-Land, and unable to communicatewith them. And while my herds are all contracted, mature beeves havebroke from three to five dollars a head in price since these started,and it won't do to shout before we're out of the woods. Those fool boysdon't know that, and I can't get near enough to tell them."

  I knew better than to ask further questions or offer any apologies forothers. My employer was naturally irritable, and his abuse or praiseof a foreman was to be expected. Previously and under the smile ofprosperity, I had heard him laud Sponsilier, and under an imaginaryshadow abuse Jim Flood, the most experienced man in his employ. Feelingit was useless to pour oil on the present troubled waters, I excusedmyself, rode back, and ordered the wagon to make camp ahead about fourmiles on Elm Creek. We watered late in the afternoon, grazing thenceuntil time to bed the herd. When the first and second guards wererelieved to go in and catch night-horses and get their supper, myemployer remained behind with the cattle. While feeding during theevening, we allowed the herd to scatter over a thousand acres. Takingadvantage of the loose order of the beeves, the old man rode back andforth through them until approaching darkness compelled us to throw themtogether on the bedground. Even after the first guard took charge, thedrover loitered behind, reluctant to leave until the last steer had laindown; and all during the night, sharing my blankets, he awoke on everychange of guards, inquiring of the returning watch how the cattle weresleeping.

  As we should easily pass Abilene before noon, I asked him as a favorthat he take the wagon in and get us sufficient supplies to last untilRed River was reached. But he preferred to remain behind with the herd,and I went instead. This suited me, as his presence overawed my outfit,who were delirious to see the town. There was no telling how long hewould have stayed with us, but my brother Bob's herd was expected atany time. Remaining with us a second night, something, possibly theplacidness of the cattle, mellowed the old man and he grew amiable withthe outfit, and myself in particular. At breakfast the next morning,whe
n I asked him if he was in a position to recommend any special route,he replied:

  "No, Tom, that rests with you. One thing's certain; herds are going tobe dangerously close together on the regular trail which crosses RedRiver at Doan's. The season is early yet, but over fifty herds havealready crossed the Texas Pacific Railway. Allowing one half the herdsto start north of that line, it gives you a fair idea what to expect.When seven hundred thousand cattle left Texas two years ago, it wasconsidered the banner year, yet it won't be a marker to this one. Theway prices are tumbling shows that the Northwest was bluffing when theyoffered to mature all the cattle that Texas could breed for the nextfifty years. That's the kind of talk that suits me, but last year therewere some forty herds unsold, which were compelled to winter in theNorth. Not over half the saddle horses that came up the trail lastsummer were absorbed by these Northern cowmen. Talk's cheap, but ittakes money to buy whiskey. Lots of these men are new ones at thebusiness and may lose fortunes. The banks are getting afraid of cattlepaper, and conditions are tightening. With the increased drive thisyear, if the summer passes without a slaughter in prices, the Texasdrovers can thank their lucky stars. I'm not half as bright as I mightbe, but this is one year that I'm smooth enough not to have unsoldcattle on the trail."

  The herd had started an hour before, and when the wagon was ready tomove, I rode a short distance with my employer. It was possible that hehad something to say of a confidential nature, for it was seldom thathe acted so discouraged when his every interest seemed protected bycontracts. But at the final parting, when we both had dismounted and saton the ground for an hour, he had disclosed nothing. On the contrary,he even admitted that possibly it was for the best that the other Bufordherds had held a westward course and thus avoided the crush on the mainroutes. The only intimation which escaped him was when we had remountedand each started our way, he called me back and said, "Tom, no doubt butyou've noticed that I'm worried. Well, I am. I'd tell you in a minute,but I may be wrong in the matter. But I'll know before you reach Dodge,and then, if it's necessary, you shall know all. It's nothing aboutthe handling of the herds, for my foremen have always considered myinterests first. Keep this to yourself, for it may prove a nightmare.But if it should prove true, then we must stand together. Now, that'sall; mum's the word until we meet. Drop me a line if you get a chance,and don't let my troubles worry you."

  While overtaking the herd, I mused over my employer's last words. Butmy brain was too muddy even to attempt to solve the riddle. The mostplausible theory that I could advance was that some friendly cowmenwere playing a joke on him, and that the old man had taken things tooseriously. Within a week the matter was entirely forgotten, crowded outof mind by the demands of the hour. The next night, on the Clear Forkof the Brazos, a stranger, attracted by our camp-fire, rode up to thewagon. Returning from the herd shortly after his arrival, I recognizedin our guest John Blocker, a prominent drover. He informed us that heand his associates had fifty-two thousand cattle on the trail, and thathe was just returning from overtaking two of their five lead herds.Knowing that he was a well-posted cowman on routes and sustenance,having grown up on the trail, I gave him the best our camp afforded,and in return I received valuable information in regard to the countrybetween our present location and Doan's Crossing. He reported thecountry for a hundred miles south of Red River as having had a dry,backward spring, scanty of grass, and with long dry drives; and further,that in many instances water for the herds would have to be bought fromthose in control.

  The outlook was not to my liking. The next morning when I inquired ofour guest what he would advise me to do, his answer clearly covered theground. "Well, I'm not advising any one," said he, "but you can drawyour own conclusions. The two herds of mine, which I overtook, haveorders to turn northeast and cross into the Nations at Red RiverStation. My other cattle, still below, will all be routed by way ofFort Griffin. Once across Red River, you will have the Chisholm Trail,running through civilized tribes, and free from all annoyance of blanketIndians. South of the river the grass is bound to be better than on thewestern route, and if we have to buy water, we'll have the advantage ofcompetition."

  With this summary of the situation, a decision was easily reached. TheChisholm Trail was good enough for me. Following up the north sideof the Clear Fork, we passed about twenty miles to the west of FortGriffin. Constantly bearing east by north, a few days later we crossedthe main Brazos at a low stage of water. But from there to Red River wasa trial not to be repeated. Wire fences halted us at every turn. Ownersof pastures refused permission to pass through. Lanes ran in the wrongdirection, and open country for pasturage was scarce. What we dreadedmost, lack of drink for the herd, was the least of our troubles,necessity requiring its purchase only three or four times. And like aclimax to a week of sore trials, when we were in sight of Red River asand and dust storm struck us, blinding both men and herd for hours. Thebeeves fared best, for with lowered heads they turned their backs tothe howling gale, while the horsemen caught it on every side. The cattledrifted at will in an uncontrollable mass. The air was so filled withsifting sand and eddying dust that it was impossible to see a mountedman at a distance of fifty yards. The wind blew a hurricane, making itimpossible to dismount in the face of it. Our horses trembled with fear,unsteady on their feet. The very sky overhead darkened as if nightwas falling. Two thirds of the men threw themselves in the lead of thebeeves, firing six-shooters to check them, which could not even be heardby the ones on the flank and in the rear. Once the herd drifted againsta wire fence, leveled it down and moved on, sullen but irresistible.Towards evening the storm abated, and half the outfit was sent out insearch of the wagon, which was finally found about dark some four milesdistant.

  That night Owen Ubery, as he bathed his bloodshot eyes in a pail ofwater, said to the rest of us: "Fellows, if ever I have a boy, and tellhim how his pa suffered this afternoon, and he don't cry, I'll cut aswitch and whip him until he does."