The Log of a Cowboy

A BOGGY FORD

That night we learned from Straw our location on the trail.  We were far above the Indian reservation, and instead of having been astray our foreman had held a due northward course, and we were probably as far on the trail as if we had followed the regular route.  So in spite of all our good maxims, we had been borrowing trouble; we were never over thirty miles to the westward of what was then the new Western Cattle Trail.  We concluded that the “Running W” herd had turned back, as Straw brought the report that some herd had recrossed Red River the day before his arrival, giving for reasons the wet season and the danger of getting waterbound.

About noon of the second day after leaving the North Fork of Red River, we crossed the Washita, a deep stream, the slippery banks of which gave every indication of a recent rise.  We had no trouble in crossing either wagon or herd, it being hardly a check in our onward course.  The abandonment of the regular trail the past ten days had been a noticeable benefit to our herd, for the cattle had had an abundance of fresh country to graze over as well as plenty of rest.  But now that we were back on the trail, we gave them their freedom and frequently covered twenty miles a day, until we reached the South Canadian, which proved to be the most delusive stream we had yet encountered.  It also showed, like the Washita, every evidence of having been on a recent rampage.  On our arrival there was no volume of water to interfere, but it had a quicksand bottom that would bog a saddle blanket.  Our foreman had been on ahead and examined the regular crossing, and when he returned, freely expressed his opinion that we would be unable to trail the herd across, but might hope to effect it by cutting it into small bunches.  When we came, therefore, within three miles of the river, we turned off the trail to a near-by creek and thoroughly watered the herd.  This was contrary to our practice, for we usually wanted the herd thirsty when reaching a large river.  But any cow brute that halted in fording the Canadian that day was doomed to sink into quicksands from which escape was doubtful.

We held the wagon and saddle horses in the rear, and when we were half a mile away from the trail ford, cut off about two hundred head of the leaders and started for the crossing, leaving only the horse wrangler and one man with the herd.  On reaching the river we gave them an extra push, and the cattle plunged into the muddy water.  Before the cattle had advanced fifty feet, instinct earned them of the treacherous footing, and the leaders tried to turn back; but by that time we had the entire bunch in the water and were urging them forward.  They had halted but a moment and begun milling, when several heavy steers sank; then we gave way and allowed the rest to come back.  We did not realize fully the treachery of this river until we saw that twenty cattle were caught in the merciless grasp of the quicksand.  They sank slowly to the level of their bodies, which gave sufficient resistance to support their weight, but they were hopelessly bogged.  We allowed the free cattle to return to the herd, and immediately turned our attention to those that were bogged, some of whom were nearly submerged by water.  We dispatched some of the boys to the wagon for our heavy corral ropes and a bundle of horse-hobbles; and the remainder of us, stripped to the belt, waded out and surveyed the situation at close quarters.  We were all experienced in handling bogged cattle, though this quicksand was the most deceptive that I, at least, had ever witnessed.  The bottom of the river as we waded through it was solid under our feet, and as long as we kept moving it felt so, but the moment we stopped we sank as in a quagmire.  The “pull” of this quicksand was so strong that four of us were unable to lift a steer’s tail out, once it was imbedded in the sand.  And when we had released a tail by burrowing around it to arm’s length and freed it, it would sink of its own weight in a minute’s time until it would have to be burrowed out again.  To avoid this we had to coil up the tails and tie them with a soft rope hobble.

Fortunately none of the cattle were over forty feet from the bank, and when our heavy rope arrived we divided into two gangs and began the work of rescue.  We first took a heavy rope from the animal’s horns to solid footing on the river bank, and tied to this five or six of our lariats.  Meanwhile others rolled a steer over as far as possible and began burrowing with their hands down alongside a fore and hind leg simultaneously until they could pass a small rope around the pastern above the cloof, or better yet through the cloven in the hoof, when the leg could be readily lifted by two men.  We could not stop burrowing, however, for a moment, or the space would fill and solidify.  Once a leg was freed, we doubled it back short and securely tied it with a hobble, and when the fore and hind leg were thus secured, we turned the animal over on that side and released the other legs in a similar manner.  Then we hastened out of the water and into our saddles, and wrapped the loose end of our ropes to the pommels, having already tied the lariats to the heavy corral rope from the animal’s horns.  When the word was given, we took a good swinging start, and unless something gave way there was one steer less in the hog.  After we had landed the animal high and dry on the bank, it was but a minute’s work to free the rope and untie the hobbles.  Then it was advisable to get into the saddle with little loss of time and give him a wide berth, for he generally arose angry and sullen.

It was dark before we got the last of the bogged cattle out and retraced our way to camp from the first river on the trip that had turned us.  But we were not the least discouraged, for we felt certain there was a ford that had a bottom somewhere within a few miles, and we could hunt it up on the morrow.  The next one, however, we would try before we put the cattle in.  There was no question that the treacherous condition of the river was due to the recent freshet, which had brought down new deposits of sediment and had agitated the old, even to changing the channel of the river, so that it had not as yet had sufficient time to settle and solidify.

The next morning after breakfast, Flood and two or three of the boys set out up the river, while an equal number of us started, under the leadership of The Rebel, down the river on a similar errand,—­to prospect for a crossing.  Our party scouted for about five miles, and the only safe footing we could find was a swift, narrow channel between the bank and an island in the river, while beyond the island was a much wider channel with water deep enough in several places to swim our saddle horses.  The footing seemed quite secure to our horses, but the cattle were much heavier; and if an animal ever bogged in the river, there was water enough to drown him before help could be rendered.  We stopped our horses a number of times, however, to try the footing, and in none of our experiments was there any indication of quicksand, so we counted the crossing safe.  On our return we found the herd already in motion, headed up the river where our foreman had located a crossing.  As it was then useless to make any mention of the island crossing which we had located, at least until a trial had been given to the upper ford, we said nothing.  When we came within half a mile of the new ford, we held up the herd and allowed them to graze, and brought up the remuda and crossed and recrossed them without bogging a single horse.  Encouraged at this, we cut off about a hundred head of heavy lead cattle and started for the ford.  We had a good push on them when we struck the water, for there were ten riders around them and Flood was in the lead.  We called to him several times that the cattle were bogging, but he never halted until he pulled out on the opposite bank, leaving twelve of the heaviest steers in the quicksand.

“Well, in all my experience in trail work,” said Flood, as he gazed back at the dozen animals struggling in the quicksand, “I never saw as deceptive a bottom in any river.  We used to fear the Cimarron and Platte, but the old South Canadian is the girl that can lay it over them both.  Still, there ain’t any use crying over spilt milk, and we haven’t got men enough to hold two herds, so surround them, boys, and we’ll recross them if we leave twenty-four more in the river.  Take them back a good quarter, fellows, and bring them up on a run, and I’ll take the lead when they strike the water; and give them no show to halt until they get across.”

As the little bunch of cattle had already grazed out nearly a quarter, we rounded them into a compact body and started for the river to recross them.  The nearer we came to the river, the faster we went, till we struck the water.  In several places where there were channels, we could neither force the cattle nor ride ourselves faster than a walk on account of the depth of the water, but when we struck the shallows, which were the really dangerous places, we forced the cattle with horse and quirt.  Near the middle of the river, in shoal water, Rod Wheat was quirting up the cattle, when a big dun steer, trying to get out of his reach, sank in the quicksand, and Rod’s horse stumbled across the animal and was thrown.  He floundered in attempting to rise, and his hind feet sank to the haunches.  His ineffectual struggles caused him to sink farther to the flanks in the loblolly which the tramping of the cattle had caused, and there horse and steer lay, side by side, like two in a bed.  Wheat loosened the cinches of the saddle on either side, and stripping the bridle off, brought up the rear, carrying saddle, bridle, and blankets on his back.  The river was at least three hundred yards wide, and when we got to the farther bank, our horses were so exhausted that we dismounted and let them blow.  A survey showed we had left a total of fifteen cattle and the horse in the quicksands.  But we congratulated ourselves that we had bogged down only three head in recrossing.  Getting these cattle out was a much harder task than the twenty head gave us the day before, for many of these were bogged more than a hundred yards from the bank.  But no time was to be lost; the wagon was brought up in a hurry, fresh horses were caught, and we stripped for the fray.  While McCann got dinner we got out the horse, even saving the cinches that were abandoned in freeing him of the saddle.

During the afternoon we were compelled to adopt a new mode of procedure, for with the limited amount of rope at hand, we could only use one rope for drawing the cattle out to solid footing, after they were freed from the quagmire.  But we had four good mules to our chuck wagon, and instead of dragging the cattle ashore from the pommels of saddles, we tied one end of the rope to the hind axle and used the mules in snaking the cattle out.  This worked splendidly, but every time we freed a steer we had to drive the wagon well out of reach, for fear he might charge the wagon and team.  But with three crews working in the water, tying up tails and legs, the work progressed more rapidly than it had done the day before, and two hours before sunset the last animal had been freed.  We had several exciting incidents during the operation, for several steers showed fight, and when released went on the prod for the first thing in sight.  The herd was grazing nearly a mile away during the afternoon, and as fast as a steer was pulled out, some one would take a horse and give the freed animal a start for the herd.  One big black steer turned on Flood, who generally attended to this, and gave him a spirited chase.  In getting out of the angry steer’s way, he passed near the wagon, when the maddened beef turned from Flood and charged the commissary.  McCann was riding the nigh wheel mule, and when he saw the steer coming, he poured the whip into the mules and circled around like a battery in field practice, trying to get out of the way.  Flood made several attempts to cut off the steer from the wagon, but he followed it like a mover’s dog, until a number of us, fearing our mules would be gored, ran out of the water, mounted our horses, and joined in the chase.  When we came up with the circus, our foreman called to us to rope the beef, and Fox Quarternight, getting in the first cast, caught him by the two front feet and threw him heavily.  Before he could rise, several of us had dismounted and were sitting on him like buzzards on carrion.  McCann then drove the team around behind a sand dune, out of sight; we released the beef, and he was glad to return to the herd, quite sobered by the throwing.

Another incident occurred near the middle of the afternoon.  From some cause or other, the hind leg of a steer, after having been tied up, became loosened.  No one noticed this; but when, after several successive trials, during which Barney McCann exhausted a large vocabulary of profanity, the mule team was unable to move the steer, six of us fastened our lariats to the main rope, and dragged the beef ashore with great éclat.  But when one of the boys dismounted to unloose the hobbles and rope, a sight met our eyes that sent a sickening sensation through us, for the steer had left one hind leg in the river, neatly disjointed at the knee.  Then we knew why the mules had failed to move him, having previously supposed his size was the difficulty, for he was one of the largest steers in the herd.  No doubt the steer’s leg had been unjointed in swinging him around, but it had taken six extra horses to sever the ligaments and skin, while the merciless quicksands of the Canadian held the limb.  A friendly shot ended the steer’s sufferings, and before we finished our work for the day, a flight of buzzards were circling around in anticipation of the coming feast.

Another day had been lost, and still the South Canadian defied us.  We drifted the cattle back to the previous night camp, using the same bed ground for our herd.  It was then that The Rebel broached the subject of a crossing at the island which we had examined that morning, and offered to show it to our foreman by daybreak.  We put two extra horses on picket that night, and the next morning, before the sun was half an hour high, the foreman and The Rebel had returned from the island down the river with word that we were to give the ford a trial, though we could not cross the wagon there.  Accordingly we grazed the herd down the river and came opposite the island near the middle of the forenoon.  As usual, we cut off about one hundred of the lead cattle, the leaders naturally being the heaviest, and started them into the water.  We reached the island and scaled the farther bank without a single animal losing his footing.  We brought up a second bunch of double, and a third of triple the number of the first, and crossed them with safety, but as yet the Canadian was dallying with us.  As we crossed each successive bunch, the tramping of the cattle increasingly agitated the sands, and when we had the herd about half over, we bogged our first steer on the farther landing.  As the water was so shallow that drowning was out of the question, we went back and trailed in the remainder of the herd, knowing the bogged steer would be there when we were ready for him, The island was about two hundred yards long by twenty wide, lying up and down the river, and in leaving it for the farther bank, we always pushed off at the upper end.  But now, in trailing the remainder of the cattle over, we attempted to force them into the water at the lower end, as the footing at that point of this middle ground had not, as yet, been trampled up as had the upper end.  Everything worked nicely until the rear guard of the last five or six hundred congested on the island, the outfit being scattered on both sides of the river as well as in the middle, leaving a scarcity of men at all points.  When the final rear guard had reached the river the cattle were striking out for the farther shore from every quarter of the island at their own sweet will, stopping to drink and loitering on the farther side, for there was no one to hustle them out.

All were over at last, and we were on the point of congratulating ourselves,—­for, although the herd had scattered badly, we had less than a dozen bogged cattle, and those near the shore,—­when suddenly up the river over a mile, there began a rapid shooting.  Satisfied that it was by our own men, we separated, and, circling right and left, began to throw the herd together.  Some of us rode up the river bank and soon located the trouble.  We had not ridden a quarter of a mile before we passed a number of our herd bogged, these having reëntered the river for their noonday drink, and on coming up with the men who had done the shooting, we found them throwing the herd out from the water.  They reported that a large number of cattle were bogged farther up the river.

All hands rounded in the herd, and drifting them out nearly a mile from the river, left them under two herders, when the remainder of us returned to the bogged cattle.  There were by actual count, including those down at the crossing, over eighty bogged cattle that required our attention, extending over a space of a mile or more above the island ford.

The outlook was anything but pleasing.  Flood was almost speechless over the situation, for it might have been guarded against.  But realizing the task before us, we recrossed the river for dinner, well knowing the inner man needed fortifying for the work before us.  No sooner had we disposed of the meal and secured a change of mounts all round, than we sent two men to relieve the men on herd.  When they were off, Flood divided up our forces for the afternoon work.

“It will never do,” said he, “to get separated from our commissary.  So, Priest, you take the wagon and remuda and go back up to the regular crossing and get our wagon over somehow.  There will be the cook and wrangler besides yourself, and you may have two other men.  You will have to lighten your load; and don’t attempt to cross those mules hitched to the wagon; rely on your saddle horses for getting the wagon over.  Forrest, you and Bull, with the two men on herd, take the cattle to the nearest creek and water them well.  After watering, drift them back, so they will be within a mile of these bogged cattle.  Then leave two men with them and return to the river.  I’ll take the remainder of the outfit and begin at the ford and work up the river.  Get the ropes and hobbles, boys, and come on.”

John Officer and I were left with The Rebel to get the wagon across, and while waiting for the men on herd to get in, we hooked up the mules.  Honeyman had the remuda in hand to start the minute our herders returned, their change of mounts being already tied to the wagon wheels.  The need of haste was very imperative, for the river might rise without an hour’s notice, and a two-foot rise would drown every hoof in the river as well as cut us off from our wagon.  The South Canadian has its source in the Staked Plains and the mountains of New Mexico, and freshets there would cause a rise here, local conditions never affecting a river of such width.  Several of us had seen these Plains rivers,—­when the mountain was sportive and dallying with the plain,—­under a clear sky and without any warning of falling weather, rise with a rush of water like a tidal wave or the stream from a broken dam.  So when our men from herd galloped in, we stripped their saddles from tired horses and cinched them to fresh ones, while they, that there might be no loss of time, bolted their dinners.  It took us less than an hour to reach the ford, where we unloaded the wagon of everything but the chuck-box, which was ironed fast.  We had an extra saddle in the wagon, and McCann was mounted on a good horse, for he could ride as well as cook.  Priest and I rode the river, selecting a route; and on our return, all five of us tied our lariats to the tongue and sides of the wagon.  We took a running start, and until we struck the farther bank we gave the wagon no time to sink, but pulled it out of the river with a shout, our horses’ flanks heaving.  Then recrossing the river, we lashed all the bedding to four gentle saddle horses and led them over.  But to get our provisions across was no easy matter, for we were heavily loaded, having taken on a supply at Doan’s sufficient to last us until we reached Dodge, a good month’s journey.  Yet over it must go, and we kept a string of horsemen crossing and recrossing for an hour, carrying everything from pots and pans to axle grease, as well as the staples of life.  When we had got the contents of the wagon finally over and reloaded, there remained nothing but crossing the saddle stock.

The wagon mules had been turned loose, harnessed, while we were crossing the wagon and other effects; and when we drove the remuda into the river, one of the wheel mules turned back, and in spite of every man, reached the bank again.  Part of the boys hurried the others across, but McCann and I turned back after our wheeler.  We caught him without any trouble, but our attempt to lead him across failed.  In spite of all the profanity addressed personally to him, he proved a credit to his sire, and we lost ground in trying to force him into the river.  The boys across the river watched a few minutes, when all recrossed to our assistance.

“Time’s too valuable to monkey with a mule to-day,” said Priest, as he rode up; “skin off that harness.”

It was off at once, and we blindfolded and backed him up to the river bank; then taking a rope around his forelegs, we threw him, hog-tied him, and rolled him into the water.  With a rope around his forelegs and through the ring in the bridle bit, we asked no further favors, but snaked him ignominiously over to the farther side and reharnessed him into the team.

The afternoon was more than half spent when we reached the first bogged cattle, and by the time the wagon overtook us we had several tied up and ready for the mule team to give us a lift.  The herd had been watered in the mean time and was grazing about in sight of the river, and as we occasionally drifted a freed animal out to the herd, we saw others being turned in down the river.  About an hour before sunset, Flood rode up to us and reported having cleared the island ford, while a middle outfit under Forrest was working down towards it.  During the twilight hours of evening, the wagon and saddle horses moved out to the herd and made ready to camp, but we remained until dark, and with but three horses released a number of light cows.  We were the last outfit to reach the wagon, and as Honeyman had tied up our night horses, there was nothing for us to do but eat and go to bed, to which we required no coaxing, for we all knew that early morning would find us once more working with bogged cattle.

The night passed without incident, and the next morning in the division of the forces, Priest was again allowed the wagon to do the snaking out with, but only four men, counting McCann.  The remainder of the outfit was divided into several gangs, working near enough each other to lend a hand in case an extra horse was needed on a pull.  The third animal we struck in the river that morning was the black steer that had showed fight the day before.  Knowing his temper would not be improved by soaking in the quicksand overnight, we changed our tactics.  While we were tying up the steer’s tail and legs, McCann secreted his team at a safe distance.  Then he took a lariat, lashed the tongue of the wagon to a cottonwood tree, and jacking up a hind wheel, used it as a windlass.  When all was ready, we tied the loose end of our cable rope to a spoke, and allowing the rope to coil on the hub, manned the windlass and drew him ashore.  When the steer was freed, McCann, having no horse at hand, climbed into the wagon, while the rest of us sought safety in our saddles, and gave him a wide berth.  When he came to his feet he was sullen with rage and refused to move out of his tracks.  Priest rode out and baited him at a distance, and McCann, from his safe position, attempted to give him a scare, when he savagely charged the wagon.  McCann reached down, and securing a handful of flour, dashed it into his eyes, which made him back away; and, kneeling, he fell to cutting the sand with his horns.  Rising, he charged the wagon a second time, and catching the wagon sheet with his horns, tore two slits in it like slashes of a razor.  By this time The Rebel ventured a little nearer, and attracted the steer’s attention.  He started for Priest, who gave the quirt to his horse, and for the first quarter mile had a close race.  The steer, however, weakened by the severe treatment he had been subjected to, soon fell to the rear, and gave up the chase and continued on his way to the herd.

After this incident we worked down the river until the outfits met.  We finished the work before noon, having lost three full days by the quicksands of the Canadian.  As we pulled into the trail that afternoon near the first divide and looked back to take a parting glance at the river, we saw a dust cloud across the Canadian which we knew must he the Ellison herd under Nat Straw.  Quince Forrest, noticing it at the same time as I did, rode forward and said to me, “Well, old Nat will get it in the neck this time, if that old girl dallies with him as she did with us.  I don’t wish him any bad luck, but I do hope he’ll bog enough cattle to keep his hand in practice.  It will be just about his luck, though, to find it settled and solid enough to cross.”  And the next morning we saw his signal in the sky about the same distance behind us, and knew he had forded without any serious trouble.