Our route was carrying us to the eastward of the Black Hills.The regular trail to the Yellowstone and Montana points was by the way of the Powder River, through Wyoming; but as we were only grazing across to our destination, the most direct route was adopted.The first week after leaving the Niobrara was without incident, except the meeting with a band of Indians, who were gathering and drying the wild fruit in which the country abounded.At first sighting their camp we were uneasy, holding the herd close together; but as they proved friendly, we relaxed and shared our tobacco with the men.The women were nearly all of one stature, short, heavy, and repulsive in appearance, while the men were tall, splendid specimens of the aborigines, and as uniform in a dozen respects as the cattle we were driving.
Communication was impossible, except by signs, but the chief had a letter of permission from the agent at Pine Ridge, allowing himself and band a month's absence from the reservation on a berrying expedition.The bucks rode with us for hours, silently absorbed in the beeves, and towards evening turned and galloped away for their encampment.
It must have been the latter part of July when we reached the South Fork of the Big Cheyenne River.The lead was first held by oiie and then the other herd, but on reaching that watercourse, we all found it more formidable than we expected.The stage of water was not only swimming, but where we struck it, the river had an abrupt cut-bank on one side or the other.Sponsilier happened to be in the lead, and Forrest and myself held back to await the decision of the veteran foreman.The river ran on a northwest angle where we encountered it, and Dave followed down it some distance looking for a crossing.The herds were only three or four miles apart, and assistance could have been rendered each other, but it was hardly to be expected that an older foreman would ask either advice or help from younger ones.
Hence Quince and myself were in no hurry, nor did we intrude ourselves on David the pathfinder, but sought out a crossing up the river and on our course.A convenient riffle was soon found in the river which would admit the passage of the wagons without rafting, if a cut-hank on the south side could be overcome.There was an abrupt drop of about ten feet to the water level, and Iargued that a wagon-way could be easily cut in the hank and the commissaries lowered to the river's edge with a rope to the rear axle.Forrest also favored the idea, and I was authorized to cross the wagons in case a suitable ford could be found for the cattle.My aversion to manual labor was quite pronounced, yet John Q.Forrest wheedled me into accepting the task of making a wagon-road.About a mile above the riffle, a dry wash cut a gash in the bluff bank on the opposite side, which promised the necessary passageway for the herds out of the river.The slope on the south side was gradual, affording an easy inlet to the water, the only danger being on the other bank, the dry wash not being over thirty feet wide.But we both agreed that by putting the cattle in well above the passageway, even if the current was swift, an easy and successful ford would result.Forrest volunteered to cross the cattle, and together we returned to the herds for dinner.
Quince allowed me one of his men besides the cook, and detailed Clay Zilligan to assist with the wagons.We took my remuda, the spades and axes, and started for the riffle.The commissaries had orders to follow up, and Forrest rode away with a supercilious air, as if the crossing of wagons was beneath the attention of a foreman of his standing.Several hours of hard work were spent with the implements at hand in cutting the wagon-way through the bank, after which my saddle horses were driven up and down; and when it was pronounced finished, it looked more like a beaver-slide than a roadway.But a strong stake was cut and driven into the ground, and a corral-rope taken from the axle to it; without detaching the teams, the wagons were eased down the incline and crossed in safety, the water not being over three feet deep in the shallows.I was elated over the ease and success of my task, when Zilligan called attention to the fact that the first herd had not yet crossed.The chosen ford was out of sight, but had the cattle been crossing, we could have easily seen them on the mesa opposite."Well," said Clay, "the wagons are over, and what's more, all the mules in the three outfits couldn't bring one of them back up that cliff."We mounted our horses, paying no attention to Zilligan's note of warning, and started up the river.But before we came in view of the ford, a great shouting reached our cars, and giving our horses the rowel, we rounded a bend, only to be confronted with the river full of cattle which had missed the passageway out on the farther side.A glance at the situation revealed a dangerous predicament, as the swift water and the contour of the river held the animals on the farther side or under the cut-bank.In numerous places there was footing on the narrow ledges to which the beeves clung like shipwrecked sailors, constantly crowding each other off into the current and being carried downstream hundreds of yards before again catching a foothold.Above and below the chosen ford, the river made a long gradual bend, the current and deepest water naturally hugged the opposite shore, and it was impossible for the cattle to turn back, though the swimming water was not over forty yards wide.As we dashed up, the outfit succeeded in cutting the train of cattle and turning them back, though fully five hundred were in the river, while not over one fifth that number had crossed in safety.Forrest was as cool as could be expected, and exercised an elegant command of profanity in issuing his orders.
