When the spirit of a man is once broken, he becomes useless.On the trail it is necessary to have some diversion from hard work, long hours, and exposure to the elements.With man and beast, from the Brazos to Red River was a fire test of physical endurance.But after crossing into the Chickasaw Nation, a comparatively new country would open before us.When the strain of the past week was sorest, in buoying up the spirits of my outfit, I had promised them rest and recreation at the first possible opportunity.
Fortunately we had an easy ford.There was not even an indication that there had been a freshet on the river that spring.This was tempering the wind, for we were crippled, three of the boys being unable to resume their places around the herd on account of inflamed eyes.The cook had weathered the sand-storm better than any of us.Sheltering his team, and fastening his wagon-sheet securely, he took refuge under it until the gale had passed.
Pressing him into the service the next morning, and assigning him to the drag end of the herd, I left the blind to lead the blind in driving the wagon.On reaching the river about the middle of the forenoon, we trailed the cattle across in a long chain, not an animal being compelled to swim.The wagon was carried over on a ferryboat, as it was heavily loaded, a six weeks' supply of provisions having been taken on before crossing.Once the trail left the breaks, on the north side of the river, we drew off several miles to the left and went into camp for the remainder of the day.Still keeping clear of the trail, daily we moved forward the wagon from three to five miles, allowing the cattle to graze and rest to contentment.The herd recuperated rapidly, and by the evening of the fourth day after crossing, the inflammation was so reduced in those whose eyes were inflamed, that we decided to start in earnest the next morning.
The cook was ordered to set out the best the wagon afforded, several outside delicacies were added, and a feast was in sight.
G--G Cederdall had recrossed the river that day to mail a letter, and on his return proudly carried a basket of eggs on his arm.
Three of the others had joined a fishing party from the Texas side, and had come in earlier in the day with a fine string of fish.Parent won new laurels in the supper to which he invited us about sundown.The cattle came in to their beds groaning and satiated, and dropped down as if ordered.When the first watch had taken them, there was nothing to do but sit around and tell stories.Since crossing Red River, we had slept almost night and day, but in that balmy May evening sleep was banished.The fact that we were in the Indian country, civilized though the Indians were, called forth many an incident.The raids of the Comanches into the Panhandle country during the buffalo days was a favorite topic.Vick Wolf, however, had had an Indian experience in the North with which he regaled us at the first opportunity.
"There isn't any trouble nowadays," said he, lighting a cigarette, "with these blanket Indians on the reservations.I had an experience once on a reservation where the Indians could have got me easy enough if they had been on the war-path.It was the first winter I ever spent on a Northern range, having gone up to the Cherokee Strip to avoid--well, no matter.I got a job in the Strip, not riding, but as a kind of an all-round rustler.This was long before the country was fenced, and they rode lines to keep the cattle on their ranges.One evening about nightfall in December, the worst kind of a blizzard struck us that the country had ever seen.The next day it was just as bad, and BLOODY cold.
A fellow could not see any distance, and to venture away from the dugout meant to get lost.The third day she broke and the sun came out clear in the early evening.The next day we managed to gather the saddle horses, as they had not drifted like the cattle.
"Well, we were three days overtaking the lead of that cattle drift, and then found them in the heart of the Cheyenne country, at least on that reservation.They had drifted a good hundred miles before the storm broke.Every outfit in the Strip had gone south after their cattle.Instead of drifting them back together, the different ranches rustled for their own.Some of the foremen paid the Indians so much per head to gather for them, but ours didn't.The braves weren't very much struck on us on that account.I was cooking for the outfit, which suited me in winter weather.We had a permanent camp on a small well-wooded creek, from which we worked all the country round.
"One afternoon when I was in camp all alone, I noticed an Indian approaching me from out of the timber.There was a Winchester standing against the wagon wheel, but as the bucks were making no trouble, I gave the matter no attention.Mr.Injun came up to the fire and professed to be very friendly, shook hands, and spoke quite a number of words in English.After he got good and warm, he looked all over the wagon, and noticing that I had no sixshooter on, he picked up the carbine and walked out about a hundred yards to a little knoll, threw his arms in the air, and made signs.
