The situation was anything but encouraging, as days might elapse before the water would fall.But our hopes revived as we saw the contingent of about six hundred beeves stampede out of a bend below and across the river, followed by two men who were energetically burning powder and flaunting slickers in their rear.Within a quarter of an hour, a halfmile of roaring, raging torrent, filled with floating driftwood, separated us from the wagons which contained the staples of life.But in the midst of the travail of mountain and plain, the dry humor of the men was irrepressible, one of Forrest's own boys asking him if he felt any uneasiness now about his salt and sugar.
"Oh, this is nothing," replied Quince, with a contemptuous wave of his hand."These freshets are liable to happen at any time;rise in an hour and fall in half a day.Look there how it is clearing off in the west; the river will be fordable this evening or in the morning at the furthest.As long as everything is safe, what do we care? If it comes to a pinch, we have plenty of stray beef; berries are ripe, and I reckon if we cast around we might find some wild onions.I have lived a whole month at a time on nothing but land-terrapin; they make larruping fine eating when you are cut off from camp this way.Blankets? Never use them;sleep on your belly and cover with your back, and get up with the birds in the morning.These Lovell outfits are getting so tony that by another year or two they'll insist on bathtubs, Florida water, and towels with every wagon.I like to get down to straight beans for a few days every once in a while; it has a tendency to cure a man with a whining disposition.The only thing that's worrying me, if we get cut off, is the laugh that Sponsilier will have on us."We all knew Forrest was bluffing.The fact that we were water-bound was too apparent to admit of question, and since the elements were beyond our control, there was no telling when relief would come.Until the weather moderated in the hills to the west, there was no hope of crossing the river; but men grew hungry and nights were chilly, and bluster and bravado brought neither food nor warmth.A third wave was noticed within an hour, raising the water-gauge over a foot.The South Fork of the Big Cheyenne almost encircled the entire Black Hills country, and with a hundred mountain affluents emptying in their tribute, the waters commanded and we obeyed.Ordering my men to kill a beef, Irode down the river in the hopc of finding Sponsilier on our side, and about noon sighted his camp and cattle on the opposite bank.A group of men were dallying along the shore, but being out of hearing, I turned back without exposing myself.
On my return a general camp had been established at the nearest wood, and a stray killed.Stakes were driven to mark the rise or fall of the water, and we settled down like prisoners, waiting for an expected reprieve.Towards evening a fire was built up and the two sides of ribs were spitted over it, our only chance for supper.Night fell with no perceptible change in the situation, the weather remaining dry and clear.Forrest's outfit had been furnished horses from my remuda for guard duty, and about midnight, wrapping ourselves in slickers, we lay down in a circle with our feet to the fire like cave-dwellers.The camp-fire was kept up all night by the returning guards, even until the morning hours, when we woke up shivering at dawn and hurried away to note the stage of the water.A four-foot fall had taken place during the night, another foot was added within an hour after sun-up, brightening our hopes, when a tidal wave swept down the valley, easily establishing a new high-water mark.Then we breakfasted on broiled beefsteak, and fell back into the hills in search of the huckleberry, which abounded in that vicinity.
A second day and night passed, with the water gradually falling.
The third morning a few of the best swimmers, tiring of the diet of beef and berries, took advantage of the current and swam to the other shore.On returning several hours later, they brought back word that Sponsilier had been up to the wagons the afternoon before and reported an easy crossing about five miles below.By noon the channel had narrowed to one hundred yards of swimming water, and plunging into it on our horses, we dined at the wagons and did justice to the spread.Both outfits were anxious to move, and once dinner was over, the commissaries were started down the river, while we turned up it, looking for a chance to swim back to the cattle.Forrest had secured a fresh mount of horses, and some distance above the dry wash we again took to the water, landing on the opposite side between a quarter and half mile below.Little time was lost in starting the herds, mine in the lead, while the wagons got away well in advance, accompanied by Forrest's remuda and the isolated contingent of cattle.
Sponsilier was expecting us, and on the appearance of our wagons, moved out to a new camp and gave us a clear crossing.A number of the boys came down to the river with him, and several of them swam it, meeting the cattle a mile above and piloting us into the ford.They had assured me that there might be seventy-five yards of swimming water, with a gradual entrance to the channel and a half-mile of solid footing at the outcome.The description of the crossing suited me, and putting our remuda in the lead, we struck the muddy torrent and crossed it without a halt, the chain of swimming cattle never breaking for a single moment.Forrest followed in our wake, the one herd piloting the other, and within an hour after our arrival at the lower ford, the drag-end of the " Drooping T" herd kicked up their heels on the north bank of the Big Cheyenne.Meanwhile Sponsilier had been quietly sitting his horse below the main landing, his hat pulled down over his eye, nursing the humor of the situation.As Forrest came up out of the water witb the rear guard of his cattle, the opportunity was too good to be overlooked.
"Hello, Quince," said Dave; "how goes it, old sport? Do you keep stout? I was up at your wagon yesterday to ask you all down to supper.Yes, we had huckleberry pie and venison galore, but your men told me that you had quit eating with the wagon.I was pained to hear that you and Tom have both gone plum hog-wild, drinking out of cowtracks and living on wild garlic and land-terrapin, just like Injuns.Honest, boys, I hate to see good men go wrong that way."
