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  CHAPTER VI. CAMP SUPPLY

  In gala spirits we broke camp the next morning. The herd had left thebed-ground at dawn, and as the outfit rode away to relieve the lastguard, every mother's son was singing. The cattle were a refreshingsight as they grazed forward, their ragged front covering half a milein width. The rest of the past few days had been a boon to the fewtender-footed ones. The lay-over had rejuvenated both man and beast.From maps in our possession we knew we were somewhere near the westernborder of the Chickasaw Nation, while on our left was the reservation ofthree blanket tribes of Indians. But as far as signs of occupancy wereconcerned, the country was unmarked by any evidence of civilization. TheChisholm Cattle Trail, which ran from Red River to the Kansas line, hadalmost fallen into disuse, owing to encroachments of settlements southof the former and westward on the latter. With the advancement ofimmigration, Abilene and Ellsworth as trail terminals yielded to thetide, and the leading cattle trace of the '70's was relegated to localuse in '84.

  The first guard was on the qui vive for the outfit whose camp-fire theyhad sighted the night before. I was riding with Clay Zilligan on theleft point, when he sighted what we supposed was a small bunch of cattlelying down several miles distant. When we reached the first rise ofground, a band of saddle horses came in view, and while we were tryingto locate their camp, Jack Splann from the opposite point attracted ourattention and pointed straight ahead. There a large band of cattle underherd greeted our view, compelling us to veer to the right and intersectthe trail sooner than we intended. Keeping a clear half-mile betweenus, we passed them within an hour and exchanged the compliments of thetrail. They proved to be "Laurel Leaf" and "Running W" cattle, thevery ones for which the International Railway agent at the meeting inFebruary had so boastfully shown my employer the application for cars.The foreman was cursing like a stranded pirate over the predicament inwhich he found himself. He had left Santo Gertrudo Ranch over a monthbefore with a herd of three thousand straight two-year-old steers.But in the shipment of some thirty-three thousand cattle from the tworanches to Wichita Falls, six trains had been wrecked, two of which werehis own. Instead of being hundreds of miles ahead in the lead of theyear's drive, as he expected, he now found himself in charge of a campof cripples. What few trains belonging to his herd had escaped the ditchwere used in filling up other unfortunate ones, the injured cattle fromthe other wrecks forming his present holdings.

  "Our people were anxious to get their cattle on to the market early thisyear," said he, "and put their foot into it up to the knee. Shippingto Red River was an experiment with them, and I hope they've got theirbelly full. We've got dead and dying cattle in every pasture from thefalls to the river, while these in sight aren't able to keep out ofthe stench of those that croaked between here and the ford. Oh, thisshipping is a fine thing--for the railroads. Here I've got to rot allsummer with these cattle, just because two of my trains went into theditch while no other foreman had over one wrecked. And mind you, theypaid the freight in advance, and now King and Kennedy have brought suitfor damages amounting to double the shipping expense. They'll get it allright--in pork. I'd rather have a claim against a nigger than a railroadcompany. Look at your beeves, slick as weasels, and from the NuecesRiver. Have to hold them in, I reckon, to keep from making twenty milesa day. And here I am--Oh, hell, I'd rather be on a rock-pile with a balland chain to my foot! Do you see those objects across yonder about twomiles--in that old grass? That's where we bedded night before last andforty odd died. We only lost twenty-two last night. Oh, we're getting inshape fast. If you think you can hold your breakfast down, just take aride through mine. No, excuse me--I've seen them too often already."

  Several of the boys and myself rode into the herd some little distance,but the sight was enough to turn a copper-lined stomach. Scarcely ananimal had escaped without more or less injury. Fully one half wereminus one or both horns, leaving instead bloody stumps. Broken bonesand open sores greeted us on every hand; myriads of flies added to themisery of the cattle, while in many instances there was evidence ofmaggots at work on the living animal. Turning from the herd in disgust,we went back to our own, thankful that the rate offered us had beenprohibitory. The trials and vexations of the road were mere nothings tobe endured, compared to the sights we were then leaving. Even whatwe first supposed were cattle lying down, were only bed-grounds, theoccupants having been humanely relieved by unwaking sleep. Powerless torender any assistance, we trailed away, glad to blot from our sight andmemory such scenes of misery and death.

  Until reaching the Washita River, we passed through a delightfulcountry. There were numerous local trails coming into the main one, allof which showed recent use. Abandoned camp-fires and bed-grounds were tobe seen on every hand, silent witnesses of an exodus which was to markthe maximum year in the history of the cattle movement from Texas.Several times we saw some evidence of settlement by the natives, but asto the freedom of the country, we were monarchs of all we surveyed.On arriving at the Washita, we encountered a number of herds, laboringunder the impression that they were water-bound. Immediate entrance atthe ford was held by a large herd of young cattle in charge of a negrooutfit. Their stock were scattered over several thousand acres, andwhen I asked for the boss, a middle-aged darky of herculean figure waspointed out as in charge. To my inquiry why he was holding the ford, hisanswer was that until to-day the river had been swimming, and now he waswaiting for the banks to dry. Ridiculing his flimsy excuse, I kindlyyet firmly asked him either to cross or vacate the ford by three o'clockthat afternoon. Receiving no definite reply, I returned to our herd,which was some five miles in the rear. Beyond the river's steep,slippery banks and cold water, there was nothing to check a herd.

  After the noonday halt, the wrangler and myself took our remuda and wenton ahead to the river. Crossing and recrossing our saddle stock a numberof times, we trampled the banks down to a firm footing. While we weredoing this work, the negro foreman and a number of his men rode up andsullenly watched us. Leaving our horses on the north bank, Levering andI returned, and ignoring the presence of the darky spectators, startedback to meet the herd, which was just then looming up in sight. Butbefore we had ridden any distance, the dusky foreman overtook us andpolitely said, "Look-ee here, Cap'n; ain't you-all afraid of losin' someof your cattle among ours?" Never halting, I replied, "Not a particle;if we lose any, you eat them, and we'll do the same if our herd absorbsany of yours. But it strikes me that you had better have those lazyniggers throw your cattle to one side," I called back, as he halted hishorse. We did not look backward until we reached the herd; then as weturned, one on each side to support the points, it was evident that aclear field would await us on reaching the river. Every horseman in theblack outfit was pushing cattle with might and main, to give us a cleancloth at the crossing.

  The herd forded the Washita without incident. I remained on the southbank while the cattle were crossing, and when they were about half oversome half-dozen of the darkies rode up and stopped apart, conversingamong themselves. When the drag cattle passed safely out on the fartherbank, I turned to the dusky group, only to find their foremanabsent. Making a few inquiries as to the ownership of their herd, itsdestination, and other matters of interest, I asked the group to expressmy thanks to their foreman for moving his cattle aside. Our commissarycrossed shortly afterward, and the Washita was in our rear. But thatnight, as some of my outfit returned from the river, where they had beenfishing, they reported the negro outfit as having crossed and encampedseveral miles in our rear.

  "All they needed was a good example," said Dorg Seay. "Under a whiteforeman, I'll bet that's a good lot of darkies. They were just about theright shade--old shiny black. As good cowhands as ever I saw were nigs,but they need a white man to blow and brag on them. But it always ruinsone to give him any authority."

  Without effort we traveled fifteen miles a day. In the absence of anywet weather to gall their backs, there was not a horse in our remudaunfit for the saddle. In fact, after reaching the Indian Territor
y, theytook on flesh and played like lambs. With the exception of long hoursand night-herding, the days passed in seeming indolence as we sweptnorthward, crossing rivers without a halt which in previous years haddefied the moving herds. On arriving at the Cimarron River, in reply toa letter written to my employer on leaving Texas behind us, ananswer was found awaiting me at Red Fork. The latter was an Indiantrading-post, located on the mail route to Fort Reno, and only a fewmiles north of the Chisholm Crossing. The letter was characteristicof my employer. It contained but one imperative order,--that I shouldtouch, either with or without the herd, at Camp Supply. For someunexplained reason he would make that post his headquarters until afterthe Buford herds had passed that point. The letter concluded with theinjunction, in case we met any one, to conceal the ownership of the herdand its destination.

  The mystery was thickening. But having previously declined to borrowtrouble, I brushed this aside as unimportant, though I gave my outfitinstructions to report the herd to every one as belonging to Omaha men,and on its way to Nebraska to be corn-fed. Fortunately I had riddenahead of the herd after crossing the Cimarron, and had posted the outfitbefore they reached the trading-station. I did not allow one of my boysnear the store, and the herd passed by as in contempt of such a waysideplace. As the Dodge cut-off left the Chisholm Trail some ten miles abovethe Indian trading-post, the next morning we waved good-bye to the oldcattle trace and turned on a northwest angle. Our route now lay up theCimarron, which we crossed and recrossed at our pleasure, for the sakeof grazing or to avoid several large alkali flats. There was evidence ofherds in our advance, and had we not hurried past Red Fork, I might havelearned something to our advantage. But disdaining all inquiry of thecut-off, fearful lest our identity be discovered, we deliberately walkedinto the first real danger of the trip.

  At low water the Cimarron was a brackish stream. But numeroustributaries put in from either side, and by keeping above the river'sebb, an abundance of fresh water was daily secured from the river'saffluents. The fifth day out from Red Rock was an excessively sultryone, and suffering would have resulted to the herd had we not beenfollowing a divide where we caught an occasional breeze. The riverlay some ten miles to our right, while before us a tributary could bedistinctly outlined by the cottonwoods which grew along it. Since earlymorning we had been paralleling the creek, having nooned within sight ofits confluence with the mother stream, and consequently I had consideredit unnecessary to ride ahead and look up the water. When possible, wealways preferred watering the herd between three and four o'clock in theafternoon. But by holding our course, we were certain to intersect thecreek at about the usual hour for the cattle's daily drink, and besides,as the creek neared the river, it ran through an alkali flat for somedistance. But before the time arrived to intersect the creek on ourcourse, the herd turned out of the trail, determined to go to the creekand quench their thirst. The entire outfit, however, massed on the rightflank, and against their will we held them on their course. As theirthirst increased with travel, they made repeated attempts to breakthrough our cordon, requiring every man to keep on the alert. But weheld them true to the divide, and as we came to the brow of a small hillwithin a quarter-mile of the water, a stench struck us until we turnedin our saddles, gasping for breath. I was riding third man in the swingfrom the point, and noticing something wrong in front, galloped to thebrow of the hill. The smell was sickening and almost unendurable, andthere before us in plain view lay hundreds of dead cattle, bloated anddecaying in the summer sun.

  I was dazed by the awful scene. A pretty, greenswarded little valleylay before me, groups of cottonwoods fringed the stream here and there,around the roots of which were both shade and water. The reeking stenchthat filled the air stupefied me for the instant, and I turned my horsefrom the view, gasping for a mouthful of God's pure ozone. But ourbeeves had been scenting the creek for hours, and now a few of theleaders started forward in a trot for it. Like a flash it came to methat death lurked in that water, and summoning every man within hearing,I dashed to the lead of our cattle to turn them back over the hill.Jack Splann was on the point, and we turned the leaders when withintwo hundred yards of the creek, frequently jumping our horses over theputrid carcasses of dead cattle. The main body of the herd were trailingfor three quarters of a mile in our rear, and none of the men daredleave their places. Untying our slickers, Splann and I fell upon theleaders and beat them back to the brow of the hill, when an unfortunatebreeze was wafted through that polluted atmosphere from the creek to thecattle's nostrils. Turning upon us and now augmented to several hundredhead, they sullenly started forward. But in the few minutes' interim,two other lads had come to our support, and dismounting we rushed them,whipping our slickers into ribbons over their heads. The mastery of managain triumphed over brutes in their thirst, for we drove them in a routback over the divide.

  Our success, however, was only temporary. Recovering our horses we beatthe cattle back, seemingly inch by inch, until the rear came up, when werounded them into a compact body. They quieted down for a short while,affording us a breathing spell, for the suddenness of this dangerhad not only unnerved me but every one of the outfit who had caught aglimpse of that field of death. The wagon came up, and those who neededthem secured a change of horses. Leaving the outfit holding the herd,Splann and I took fresh mounts, and circling around, came in on thewindward side of the creek. As we crossed it half a mile above the sceneof disaster, each of us dipped a hand in the water and tasted it. Thealkali was strong as concentrated lye, blistering our mouths in theexperiment. The creek was not even running, but stood in long, deeppools, clear as crystal and as inviting to the thirsty as a mountainspring. As we neared the dead cattle, Splann called my attention to theattitude of the animals when death relieved them, the heads of fullytwo thirds being thrown back on their sides. Many, when stricken, wereunable to reach the bank, and died in the bed of the stream. Making acomplete circle of the ghastly scene, we returned to our own, agreeingthat between five and six hundred cattle had met their fate in thosedeath-dealing pools.

  We were not yet out of the woods. On our return, many of the cattle werelying down, while in the west thunder-clouds were appearing. The NorthFork of the Canadian lay on our left, which was now our only hope forwater, yet beyond our reach for the day. Keeping the slight dividebetween us and the creek, we started the herd forward. Since it wasimpossible to graze them in their thirsty condition, I was determined tomove them as far as possible before darkness overtook us. But within anhour we crossed a country trail over which herds had passed on their waynorthwest, having left the Chisholm after crossing the North Fork. Atthe first elevation which would give me a view of the creek, anotherscene of death and desolation greeted my vision, only a few milesabove the first one. Yet from this same hill I could easily trace themeanderings of the creek for miles as it made a half circle in ourfront, both inviting and defying us. Turning the herd due south, wetraveled until darkness fell, going into camp on a high, flat mesa ofseveral thousand acres. But those evening breezes wafted an invitationto come and drink, and our thirsty herd refused to bed down. To add toour predicament, a storm thickened in the west. Realizing that we wereconfronting the most dangerous night in all my cattle experience, Iordered every man into the saddle. The remuda and team were taken incharge by the wrangler and cook, and going from man to man, I warnedthem what the consequences would be if we lost the herd during thenight, and the cattle reached the creek.

  The cattle surged and drifted almost at will, for we were compelled tohold them loose to avoid milling. Before ten o'clock the lightning wasflickering overhead and around us, revealing acres of big beeves, whichin an instant might take fright, and then, God help us. But in thatnight of trial a mercy was extended to the dumb brutes in charge. A warmrain began falling, first in a drizzle, increasing after the first hour,and by midnight we could hear the water slushing under our horses' feet.By the almost constant flashes of lightning we could see the cattlestanding as if asleep, in grateful enjoyment of the s
heeting downpour.As the night wore on, our fears of a stampede abated, for the buffalowallows on the mesa filled, and water was on every hand. The rain ceasedbefore dawn, but owing to the saturated condition underfoot, not a hooflay down during the night, and when the gray of morning streaked theeast, what a sense of relief it brought us. The danger had passed.

  Near noon that day, and within a few miles of the North Fork, we roundedan alkaline plain in which this deadly creek had its source. Under theinfluence of the season, alkali had oozed up out of the soil until itlooked like an immense lake under snow. The presence of range cattlein close proximity to this creek, for we were in the Cherokee Strip,baffled my reasoning; but the next day we met a range-rider whoexplained that the present condition of the stream was unheard ofbefore, and that native cattle had instinct enough to avoid it. Heaccounted for its condition as due to the dry season, there being nogeneral rains sufficient to flood the alkaline plain and thoroughlyflush the creek. In reply to an inquiry as to the ownership of theunfortunate herds, he informed me that there were three, one belongingto Bob Houston, another to Major Corouthers, and the third to a mannamed Murphy, the total loss amounting to about two thousand cattle.

  From this same range-man we also learned our location. Camp Supply layup the North Fork some sixty miles, while a plain trail followed up thefirst bottom of the river. Wishing to avoid, if possible, intersectingthe western trail south of Dodge, the next morning I left the herd tofollow up, and rode into Camp Supply before noon. Lovell had sighted mea mile distant, and after a drink at the sutler's bar, we strolled asidefor a few minutes' chat. Once I had informed him of the locality ofthe herd and their condition, he cautioned me not to let my businessbe known while in the post. After refreshing the inner man, my employersecured a horse and started with me on my return. As soon as the flagover Supply faded out of sight in our rear, we turned to the friendlyshade of the timber on the North Fork and dismounted. I felt that theprecaution exercised by the drover was premonitory of some revelation,and before we arose from the cottonwood log on which we took seats, thescales had fallen from my eyes and the atmosphere of mystery cleared.

  "Tom," said my employer, "I am up against a bad proposition. I amdriving these Buford cattle, you understand, on a sub-contract. I wasthe second lowest bidder with the government, and no sooner was theaward made to The Western Supply Company than they sent an agent whogave me no peace until they sublet their contract. Unfortunately for me,when the papers were drawn, my regular attorney was out of town, and Iwas compelled to depend on a stranger. After the articles were executed,I submitted the matter to my old lawyer; he shook his head, arguingthat a loophole had been left open, and that I should have secured anassignment of the original contract. After studying the matter over, weopened negotiations to secure a complete relinquishment of the award.But when I offered the company a thousand dollars over and above whatthey admitted was their margin, and they refused it, I opened my eyes tothe true situation. If cattle went up, I was responsible and would haveto fill my contract; if they went down, the company would buy in thecattle and I could go to hell in a hand-basket for all they cared.Their bond to the government does me no good, and beyond that they areirresponsible. Beeves have broken from four to five dollars a head, andunless I can deliver these Buford herds on my contract, they will loseme fifty thousand dollars."

  "Have you any intimation that they expect to buy in other cattle?" Iinquired.

  "Yes. I have had a detective in my employ ever since my suspicionswere aroused. There are two parties in Dodge this very minute with theoriginal contract, properly assigned, and they are looking for cattle tofill it. That's why I'm stopping here and lying low. I couldn't explainit to you sooner, but you understand now why I drove those Buford herdsin different road brands. Tom, we're up against it, and we've got tofight the devil with fire. Henceforth your name will be Tom McIndoo,your herd will be the property of the Marshall estate, and their agent,my detective, will be known as Charles Siringo. Any money or suppliesyou may need in Dodge, get in the usual form through the firm of Wright,Beverly & Co.--they understand. Hold your herd out south on Mulberry,and Siringo will have notice and be looking for you, or you can find himat the Dodge House. I've sent a courier to Fort Elliott to meet Dave andQuince, and once I see them, I'll run up to Ogalalla and wait for you.Now, until further orders, remember you never knew a man by the name ofDon Lovell, and by all means don't forget to use what wits Nature gaveyou."