The Outlet

Both herds had watered in the Smoky during the afternoon.  The stranger’s cattle were not compelled to go down to the crossing, but found an easy passage several miles above the regular ford.  After leaving the river, both herds were grazed out during the evening, and when darkness fell we were not over three miles apart, one on either side of the trail.  The Wyoming cowman spent a restless night, and early the next morning rode to the nearest elevation which would give him a view of his cattle.  Within an hour after sun-up he returned, elated over the fact that his herd was far in the lead of ours, camp being already broken, while we were only breakfasting.  Matters were working out just as I expected.  The mixed herd under the Mexican corporal, by moving early and late, could keep the lead of our beeves, and with the abundance of time at my disposal we were in no hurry.  The Kansas Pacific Railroad was but a few days’ drive ahead, and I advised our guest to take the train around to Ogalalla and have a new outfit all ready to relieve the aliens immediately on their arrival.  Promising to take the matter under consideration, he said nothing further for several days, his cattle in the mean time keeping a lead of from five to ten miles.

The trail crossed the railroad at a switch east of Grinnell.  I was naturally expecting some word from Don Lovell, and it was my intention to send one of the boys into that station to inquire for mail.  There was a hostelry at Grinnell, several stores and a livery stable, all dying an easy death from the blight of the arid plain, the town profiting little or nothing from the cattle trade.  But when within a half-day’s drive of the railway, on overtaking the herd after dinner, there was old man Don talking to the boys on herd.  The cattle were lying down, and rather than disturb them, he patiently bided his time until they had rested and arose to resume their journey.  The old man was feeling in fine spirits, something unusual, and declined my urgent invitation to go back to the wagon and have dinner.  I noticed that he was using his own saddle, though riding a livery horse, and in the mutual inquiries which were exchanged, learned that he had arrived at Grinnell but a few days before.  He had left Camp Supply immediately after Forrest and Sponsilier passed that point, and until Siringo came in with his report, he had spent the time about detective headquarters in Kansas City.  From intimate friends in Dodge, he had obtained the full particulars of the attempted but unsuccessful move of The Western Supply Company to take possession of his two herds.  In fact there was very little that I could enlighten him on, except the condition of the cattle, and they spoke for themselves, their glossy coats shining with the richness of silk.  On the other hand, my employer opened like a book.

“Tom, I think we’re past the worst of it,” said he.  “Those Dodge people are just a trifle too officious to suit me, but Ogalalla is a cow-town after my own heart.  They’re a law unto themselves up there, and a cowman stands some show—­a good one against thieves.  Ogalalla is the seat of an organized county, and the town has officers, it’s true, but they’ve got sense enough to know which side their bread’s buttered on; and a cowman who’s on the square has nothing to fear in that town.  Yes, the whole gang, Tolleston and all, are right up here at Ogalalla now; bought a herd this week, so I hear, and expect to take two of these away from us the moment we enter Keith County.  Well, they may; I’ve seen bad men before take a town, but it was only a question of time until the plain citizens retook it.  They may try to bluff us, but if they do, we’ll meet them a little over halfway.  Which one of your boys was it that licked Archie?  I want to thank him until such a time as I can reward him better.”

The herd was moving out, and as Seay was working in the swing on the opposite side, we allowed the cattle to trail past, and then rode round and overtook him.  The two had never met before, but old man Don warmed towards Dorg, who recited his experience in such an inimitable manner that our employer rocked in his saddle in spasms of laughter.  Leaving the two together, I rode on ahead to look out the water, and when the herd came up near the middle of the afternoon, they were still inseparable.  The watering over, we camped for the night several miles south of the railroad, the mixed herd having crossed it about noon.  My guest of the past few days had come to a point requiring a decision and was in a quandary to know what to do.  But when the situation had been thoroughly reviewed between Mr. Lovell and the Wyoming man, my advice was indorsed,—­to trust implicitly to his corporal, and be ready to relieve the outfit at the Platte.  Saddles were accordingly shifted, and the stranger, after professing a profusion of thanks, rode away on the livery horse by which my employer had arrived.  Once the man was well out of hearing, the old trail drover turned to my outfit and said: 

“Boys, there goes a warning that the days of the trail are numbered.  To make a success of any business, a little common sense is necessary.  Nine tenths of the investing in cattle to-day in the Northwest is being done by inexperienced men.  No other line of business could prosper in such incompetent hands, and it’s foolish to think that cattle companies and individuals, nearly all tenderfeet at the business, can succeed.  They may for a time,—­there are accidents in every calling,—­but when the tide turns, there won’t be one man or company in ten survive.  I only wish they would, as it means life and expansion for the cattle interests in Texas.  As long as the boom continues, and foreigners and tenderfeet pour their money in, the business will look prosperous.  Why, even the business men are selling out their stores and going into cattle.  But there’s a day of reckoning ahead, and there’s many a cowman in this Northwest country who will never see his money again.  Now the government demand is a healthy one:  it needs the cattle for Indian and military purposes; but this crazy investment, especially in she stuff, I wouldn’t risk a dollar in it.”

During the conversation that evening, I was delighted to learn that my employer expected to accompany the herds overland to Ogalalla.  There was nothing pressing elsewhere, and as all the other outfits were within a short day’s ride in the rear, he could choose his abode.  He was too good a cowman to interfere with the management of cattle, and the pleasure of his company, when in good humor, was to be desired.  The next morning a horse was furnished him from our extras, and after seeing us safely across the railroad track, he turned back to meet Forrest or Sponsilier.  This was the last we saw of him until after crossing into Nebraska.  In the mean time my boys kept an eye on the Mexican outfit in our front, scarcely a day passing but what we sighted them either in person or by signal.  Once they dropped back opposite us on the western side of the trail, when Cedardall, under the pretense of hunting lost horses, visited their camp, finding them contented and enjoying a lay-over.  They were impatient to know the distance to the Rio Platte, and G—­G assured them that within a week they would see its muddy waters and be relieved.  Thus encouraged they held the lead, but several times vaqueros dropped back to make inquiries of drives and the water.  The route was passable, with a short dry drive from the head of Stinking Water across to the Platte River, of which they were fully advised.  Keeping them in sight, we trailed along leisurely, and as we went down the northern slope of the divide approaching the Republican River, we were overtaken at noon by Don Lovell and Dave Sponsilier.

“Quirk,” said the old man, as the two dismounted, “I was just telling Dave that twenty years ago this summer I carried a musket with Sherman in his march to the sea.  And here we are to-day, driving beef to feed the army in the West.  But that’s neither here nor there under the present programme.  Jim Flood and I have talked matters over pretty thoroughly, and have decided to switch the foremen on the ‘Open A’ and ‘Drooping T’ cattle until after Ogalalla is passed.  From their actions at Dodge, it is probable that they will try and arrest the foreman of those two herds as accessory under some charge or other.  By shifting the foremen, even if the ones in charge are detained, we will gain time and be able to push the Buford cattle across the North Platte.  The chances are that they will prefer some charges against me, and if they do, if necessary, we will all go to the lock-up together.  They may have spotters ahead here on the Republican; Dave will take charge of your ‘Open A’s’ at once, and you will drop back and follow up with his cattle.  For the time being and to every stranger, you two will exchange names.  The Rebel is in charge of Forrest’s cattle now, and Quince will drop back with Paul’s herd.  Dave, here, gave me the slip on crossing the Texas Pacific in the lower country, but when we reach the Union Pacific, I want to know where he is, even if in jail.  And I may be right there with him, but we’ll live high, for I’ve got a lot of their money.”

Sponsilier reported his herd on the same side of the trail and about ten miles to our rear.  I had no objection to the change, for those arid plains were still to be preferred to the lock-up in Ogalalla.  My only regret was in temporarily losing my mount; but as Dave’s horses were nearly as good, no objection was urged, and promising, in case either landed in jail, to send flowers, I turned back, leaving my employer with the lead herd.  Before starting, I learned that the “Drooping T” cattle were in advance of Sponsilier’s, and as I soldiered along on my way back, rode several miles out of my way to console my old bunkie, The Rebel.  He took my chaffing good-naturedly and assured me that his gray hairs were a badge of innocence which would excuse him on any charge.  Turning, I rode back with him over a mile, this being my first opportunity of seeing Forrest’s beeves.  The steers were large and rangy, extremely uniform in ages and weight, and in general relieved me of considerable conceit that I had the best herd among the Buford cattle.  With my vanity eased, I continued my journey and reached Sponsilier’s beeves while they were watering.  Again a surprise was in store for me, as the latter herd had, if any, the edge over the other two, while “The Apple” was by all odds the prettiest road brand I had ever seen.  I asked the acting segundo, a lad named Tupps, who cut the cattle when receiving; light was thrown on the situation by his reply.

“Old man Don joined the outfit the day we reached Uvalde,” said he, “and until we began receiving, he poured it into our foreman that this year the cattle had to be something extra—­muy escogido, as the Mexicans say.  Well, the result was that Sponsilier went to work with ideas pitched rather high.  But in the first bunch received, the old man cut a pretty little four-year-old, fully a hundred pounds too light.  Dave and Mr. Lovell had a set-to over the beef, the old man refusing to cut him back, but he rode out of the herd and never again offered to interfere.  Forrest was present, and at dinner that day old man Don admitted that he was too easy when receiving.  Sponsilier and Forrest did the trimming afterward, and that is the secret of these two herds being so uniform.”

A general halt was called at the head of Stinking Water.  We were then within forty miles of Ogalalla, and a day’s drive would put us within the jurisdiction of Keith County.  Some time was lost at this last water, waiting for the rear herds to arrive, as it was the intention to place the “Open A” and “Drooping T” cattle at the rear in crossing this dry belt.  At the ford on the Republican, a number of strangers were noticed, two of whom rode a mile or more with me, and innocently asked numerous but leading questions.  I frankly answered every inquiry, and truthfully, with the exception of the names of the lead foreman and my own.  Direct, it was only sixty miles from the crossing on the Republican to Ogalalla, an easy night’s ride, and I was conscious that our whereabouts would be known at the latter place the next morning.  For several days before starting across this arid stretch, we had watered at ten o’clock in the morning, so when Flood and Forrest came up, mine being the third herd to reach the last water, I was all ready to pull out.  But old man Don counseled another day’s lie-over, as it would be a sore trial for the herds under a July sun, and for a full day twenty thousand beeves grazed in sight of each other on the mesas surrounding the head of Stinking Water.  All the herds were aroused with the dawn, and after a few hours’ sun on the cattle, the Indian beeves were turned onto the water and held until the middle of the forenoon, when the start was made for the Platte and Ogalalla.

I led out with “The Apple” cattle, throwing onto the trail for the first ten miles, which put me well in advance of Bob Quirk and Forrest, who were in my immediate rear.  A well-known divide marked the halfway between the two waters, and I was determined to camp on it that night.  It was fully nine o’clock when we reached it, Don Lovell in the mean time having overtaken us.  This watershed was also recognized as the line of Keith County, an organized community, and the next morning expectation ran high as to what the day would bring forth.  Lovell insisted on staying with the lead herd, and pressing him in as horse-wrangler, I sent him in the lead with the remuda and wagon, while Levering fell into the swing with the trailing cattle.  A breakfast halt was made fully seven miles from the bed-ground, a change of mounts, and then up divide, across mesa, and down slope at the foot of which ran the Platte.  Meanwhile several wayfaring men were met, but in order to avoid our dust, they took the right or unbranded side of our herd on meeting, and passed on their way without inquiry.  Near noon a party of six men, driving a number of loose mounts and a pack-horse, were met, who also took the windward side.  Our dragmen learned that they were on their way to Dodge to receive a herd of range horses.  But when about halfway down the slope towards the river, two mounted men were seen to halt the remuda and wagon for a minute, and then continue on southward.  Billy Tupps was on the left point, myself next in the swing; and as the two horsemen turned out on the branded side, their identity was suspected.  In reply to some inquiry, Tupps jerked his thumb over his shoulder as much as to say, “Next man.”  I turned out and met the strangers, who had already noted the road brand, and politely answered every question.  One of the two offered me a cigar, and after lighting it, I did remember hearing one of my boys say that among the herds lying over on the head of Stinking Water was an “Open A” and “Drooping T,” but I was unable to recall the owner’s or foremen’s names.  Complimenting me on the condition of my beeves, and assuring me that I would have time to water my herd and reach the mesa beyond Ogalalla, they passed on down the column of cattle.

I had given the cook an order on an outfitting house for new supplies, saying I would call or send a draft in the morning.  A new bridge had been built across the Platte opposite the town, and when nearing the river, the commissary turned off the trail for it, but the horse-wrangler for the day gave the bridge a wide berth and crossed the stream a mile below the village.  The width of the river was a decided advantage in watering a thirsty herd, as it gave the cattle room to thrash around, filling its broad bed for fully a half mile.  Fortunately there were few spectators, but I kept my eye on the lookout for a certain faction, being well disguised with dust and dirt and a month’s growth of beard.  As we pushed out of the river and were crossing the tracks below the railroad yards, two other herds were sighted coming down to the water, their remudas having forded above and below our cattle.  On scaling the bluffs, we could see the trail south of the Platte on which arose a great column of dust.  Lovell was waiting with the saddle stock in the hills beyond the town, and on striking the first good grass, the cattle fell to grazing while we halted to await the arrival of the wagon.  The sun was still several hours high, and while waiting for our commissary to come up, my employer and myself rode to the nearest point of observation to reconnoitre the rear.  Beneath us lay the hamlet; but our eyes were concentrated beyond the narrow Platte valley on a dust-cloud which hung midway down the farther slope.  As we watched, an occasional breeze wafted the dust aside, and the sinuous outline of a herd creeping forward greeted our vision.  Below the town were two other herds, distinctly separate and filling the river for over a mile with a surging mass of animals, while in every direction cattle dotted the plain and valley.  Turning aside from the panorama before us, my employer said: 

“Tom, you will have time to graze out a few miles and camp to the left of the trail.  I’ll stay here and hurry your wagon forward, and wait for Bob and Quince.  That lead herd beyond the river is bound to be Jim’s, and he’s due to camp on this mesa to-night, so these outfits must give him room.  If Dave and Paul are still free to act, they’ll know enough to water and camp on the south side of the Platte.  I’ll stay at Flood’s wagon to-night, and you had better send a couple of your boys into town and let them nose around.  They’ll meet lads from the ‘Open A’ and ‘Drooping T’ outfits; and I’ll send Jim and Bob in, and by midnight we’ll have a report of what’s been done.  If any one but an officer takes possession of those two herds, it’ll put us to the trouble of retaking them.  And I think I’ve got men enough here to do it.”