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 buoying1 up the spirits of my outfit2, I had promised them rest and recreation at the first possible opportunity.
Fortunately we had an easy ford3. 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 herd4 on account of inflamed5 eyes. The cook had weathered the sand-storm better than any of us. Sheltering his team, and fastening his wagon6-sheet securely, he took refuge under it until the gale7 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 recuperated8 rapidly, and by the evening of the fourth day after crossing, the inflammation was so reduced in those whose eyes were inflamed, that we decided9 to start in earnest the next morning.
The cook was ordered to set out the best the wagon afforded, several outside delicacies10 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 laurels11 in the supper to which he invited us about sundown. The cattle came in to their beds groaning12 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 banished13. The fact that we were in the Indian country, civilized14 though the Indians were, called forth15 many an incident. The raids of the Comanches into the Panhandle country during the buffalo16 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, lighting17 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 rustler18. 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 blizzard19 struck us that the country had ever seen. The next day it was just as bad, and BLOODY20 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 ranches21 rustled22 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 creek23, 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 standing24 against the wagon wheel, but as the bucks26 were making no trouble, I gave the matter no attention. Mr. Injun came up to the fire and professed27 to be very friendly, shook hands, and spoke28 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 knoll29, threw his arms in the air, and made signs.
"Instantly, out of the cover of some timber on the creek a quarter above, came about twenty young bucks, mounted, and yelling like demons30. When they came up, they began circling around the fire and wagon. I was sitting on an empty corn-crate by the fire. One young buck25, seeing that I was not scaring to suit him, unslung a carbine as he rode, and shot into the fire before me. The bullet threw fire and ashes all over me, and I jumped about ten feet, which suited them better. They circled around for several minutes, every one uncovering a carbine, and they must have fired a hundred and fifty shots into the fire. In fact they almost shot it out, scattering31 the fire around so that it came near burning up the bedding of our outfit. I was scared thoroughly32 by this time. If it was possible for me to have had fits, I'd have had one sure. The air seemed full of coals of fire and ashes. I got good practical insight into what hell's like. I was rustling33 the rolls of bedding out of the circle of fire, expecting every moment would be my last. It's a wonder I wasn't killed. Were they throwing lead? Well, I should remark! You see the ground was not frozen around the fire, and the bullets buried themselves in the soft soil.
"After they had had as much fun as they wanted, the leader gave a yell and they all circled the other way once, and struck back into the timber. Some of them had brought up the decoy Indian's horse when they made the dash at first, and he suddenly turned as wild as a Cheyenne generally gets. When the others were several hundred yards away, he turned his horse, rode back some little distance, and attracted my attention by holding out the Winchester. From his horse he laid it carefully down on the ground, whirled his pony34, and rode like a scared wolf after the others. I could hear their yells for miles, as they made for their encampment over on the North Fork. As soon as I got the fire under control, I went out and got the carbine. It was empty; the Indian had used its magazine in the general hilarity35. That may be an Indian's style of fun, but I failed to see where there was any in it for me."
The cook threw a handful of oily fish-bones on the fire, causing it to flame up for a brief moment. With the exception of Wayne Outcault, who was lying prone36 on the ground, the men were smoking and sitting Indian fashion around the fire. After rolling awhile uneasily, Outcault sat up and remarked, "I feel about half sick. Eat too much? Don't you think it. Why, I only ate seven or eight of those fish, and that oughtn't to hurt a baby. There was only half a dozen hard-boiled eggs to the man, and I don't remember of any of you being so generous as to share yours with me. Those few plates of prunes37 that I ate for dessert wouldn't hurt nobody--they're medicine to some folks. Unroll our bed, pardner, and I'll thrash around on it awhile."
Several trail stories of more or less interest were told, when Runt Pickett, in order to avoid the smoke, came over and sat down between Burl Van Vedder and me. He had had an experience, and instantly opened on us at short range. "Speaking of stampedes," said Runt, "reminds me of a run I was in, and over which I was paid by my employer a very high compliment. My first trip over the trail, as far north as Dodge38, was in '78. The herd sold next day after reaching there, and as I had an old uncle and aunt living in middle Kansas, I concluded to run down and pay them a short visit. So I threw away all my trail togs--well, they were worn out, anyway--and bought me a new outfit complete. Yes, I even bought button shoes. After visiting a couple of weeks with my folks, I drifted back to Dodge in the hope of getting in with some herd bound farther north--I was perfectly39 useless on a farm. On my return to Dodge, the only thing about me that indicated a cow-hand was my Texas saddle and outfit, but in toggery, in my visiting harness, I looked like a rank tenderfoot.
"Well, boys, the first day I struck town I met a through man looking for hands. His herd had just come in over the Chisholm Trail, crossing to the western somewhere above. He was disgusted with his outfit, and was discharging men right and left and hiring new ones to take their places. I apologized for my appearance, showed him my outfit, and got a job cow-punching with this through man. He expected to hold on sale a week or two, when if unsold he would drift north to the Platte. The first week that I worked, a wet stormy night struck us, and before ten o'clock we lost every hoof40 of cattle. I was riding wild after little squads41 of cattle here and there, guided by flashes of lightning, when the storm finally broke. Well, there it was midnight, and I didn't have a HOOF OF CATTLE to hold and no one to help me if I had. The truth is, I was lost. Common horse-sense told me that; but where the outfit or wagon was was anybody's guess. The horses in my mount were as good as worthless; worn out, and if you gave one free rein42 he lacked the energy to carry you back to camp. I ploughed around in the darkness for over an hour, but finally came to a sudden stop on the banks of the muddy Arkansaw. Right there I held a council of war with myself, the decision of which was that it was at least five miles to the wagon.
"After I'd prowled around some little time, a bright flash of lightning revealed to me an old deserted43 cabin a few rods below. To this shelter I turned without even a bid, unsaddled my horse and picketed44 him, and turned into the cabin for the night. Early the next morning I was out and saddled my horse, and the question was, Which way is camp? As soon as the sun rose clearly, I got my bearings. By my reasoning, if the river yesterday was south of camp, this morning the wagon must be north of the river, so I headed in that direction. Somehow or other I stopped my horse on the first little knoll, and looking back towards the bottom, I saw in a horseshoe which the river made a large bunch of cattle. Of course I knew that all herds45 near about were through cattle and under herd, and the absence of any men in sight aroused my curiosity. I concluded to investigate it, and riding back found over five hundred head of the cattle we had lost the night before. 'Here's a chance to make a record with my new boss,' I said to myself, and circling in behind, began drifting them out of the bottoms towards the uplands. By ten o'clock I had got them to the first divide, when who should ride up but the owner, the old cowman himself--the sure enough big auger46.
"'Well, son,' said my boss, 'you held some of them, didn't you?' 'Yes,' I replied, surly as I could, giving him a mean look, 'I've nearly ridden this horse to death, holding this bunch all night. If I had only had a good man or two with me, we could have caught twice as many. What kind of an outfit are you working, anyhow, Captain?' And at dinner that day, the boss pointed47 me out to the others and said, 'That little fellow standing over there with the button shoes on is the only man in my outfit that is worth a --------.'"
The cook had finished his work, and now joined the circle. Parent began regaling us with personal experiences, in which it was evident that he would prove the hero. Fortunately, however, we were spared listening to his self-laudation. Dorg Seay and Tim Stanley, bunkies, engaged in a friendly scuffle, each trying to make the other get a firebrand for his pipe. In the tussle48 which followed, we were all compelled to give way or get trampled49 underfoot. When both had exhausted50 themselves in vain, we resumed our places around the fire. Parent, who was disgusted over the interruption, on resuming his seat refused to continue his story at the request of the offenders51, replying, "The more I see of you two varmints the more you remind me of mule52 colts."
Once the cook refused to pick up the broken thread of his story, John Levering, our horse-wrangler53, preempted54 the vacated post. "I was over in Louisiana a few winters ago with a horse herd," said John, "and had a few experiences. Of all the simple people that I ever met, the 'Cajin' takes the bakery. You'll meet darkies over there that can't speak a word of anything but French. It's nothing to see a cow and mule harnessed together to a cart. One day on the road, I met a man, old enough to be my father, and inquired of him how far it was to the parish centre, a large town. He didn't know, except it was a long, long ways. He had never been there, but his older brother, once when he was a young man, had been there as a witness at court. The brother was dead now, but if he was living and present, it was quite possible that he would remember the distance. The best information was that it was a very long ways off. I rode it in the mud in less than two hours; just about ten miles.
"But that wasn't a circumstance to other experiences. We had driven about three hundred horses and mules55, and after disposing of over two thirds of them, my employer was compelled to return home, leaving me to dispose of the remainder. I was a fair salesman, and rather than carry the remnant of the herd with me, made headquarters with a man who owned a large cane56-brake pasture. It was a convenient stopping-place, and the stock did well on the young cane. Every week I would drive to some distant town eighteen or twenty head, or as many as I could handle alone. Sometimes I would sell out in a few days, and then again it would take me longer. But when possible I always made it a rule to get back to my headquarters to spend Sunday. The owner of the cane-brake and his wife were a simple couple, and just a shade or two above the Arcadians. But they had a daughter who could pass muster57, and she took quite a shine to the 'Texas-Hoss-Man,' as they called me. I reckon you understand now why I made that headquarters?--there were other reasons besides the good pasturage.
"Well, the girl and her mother both could read, but I have some doubt about the old man on that score. They took no papers, and the nearest approach to a book in the house was an almanac three years old. The women folks were ravenous58 for something to read, and each time on my return after selling out, I'd bring them a whole bundle of illustrated59 papers and magazines. About my fourth return after more horses,--I was mighty60 near one of the family by that time,--when we were all seated around the fire one night, the women poring over the papers and admiring the pictures, the old man inquired what the news was over in the parish where I had recently been. The only thing that I could remember was the suicide of a prominent man. After explaining the circumstances, I went on to say that some little bitterness arose over his burial. Owing to his prominence61 it was thought permission would be given to bury him in the churchyard. But it seems there was some superstition62 about permitting a self-murderer to be buried in the same field as decent folks. It was none of my funeral, and I didn't pay overmuch attention to the matter, but the authorities refused, and they buried him just outside the grounds, in the woods.
"My host and I discussed the matter at some length. He contended that if the man was not of sound mind, he should have been given his little six feet of earth among the others. A horse salesman has to be a good second-rate talker, and being anxious to show off before the girl, I differed with her father. The argument grew spirited yet friendly, and I appealed to the women in supporting my view. My hostess was absorbed at the time in reading a sensational63 account of a woman shooting her betrayer. The illustrations covered a whole page, and the girl was simply burning, at short range, the shirt from off her seducer64. The old lady was bogged65 to the saddle skirts in the story, when I interrupted her and inquired, 'Mother, what do you think ought to be done with a man who commits suicide?' She lowered the paper just for an instant, and looking over her spectacles at me replied, 'Well, I think any man who would do THAT ought to be made to support the child.'"
No comment was offered. Our wrangler arose and strolled away from the fire under the pretense66 of repicketing his horse. It was nearly time for the guards to change, and giving the last watch orders to point the herd, as they left the bed-ground in the morning, back on an angle towards the trail, I prepared to turn in. While I was pulling off my boots in the act of retiring, Clay Zilligan rode in from the herd to call the relief. The second guard were bridling67 their horses, and as Zilligan dismounted, he said to the circle of listeners, "Didn't I tell you fellows that there was another herd just ahead of us? I don't care if they didn't pass up the trail since we've been laying over, they are there just the same. Of course you can't see their camp-fire from here, but it's in plain view from the bed-ground, and not over four or five miles away. If I remember rightly, there's a local trail comes in from the south of the Wichita River, and joins the Chisholm just ahead. And what's more, that herd was there at nine o'clock this morning, and they haven't moved a peg68 since. Well, there's two lads out there waiting to be relieved, and you second guard know where the cattle are bedded."
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buoying
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| v.使浮起( buoy的现在分词 )；支持；为…设浮标；振奋…的精神 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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recuperated
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| v.恢复（健康、体力等），复原( recuperate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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rustler
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| n.[美口]偷牛贼 | |
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blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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ranches
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| 大农场， （兼种果树，养鸡等的）大牧场( ranch的名词复数 ) | |
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rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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prunes
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| n.西梅脯，西梅干( prune的名词复数 )v.修剪（树木等）( prune的第三人称单数 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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squads
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| n.（军队中的）班( squad的名词复数 )；（暗杀）小组；体育运动的运动（代表）队；（对付某类犯罪活动的）警察队伍 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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picketed
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| 用尖桩围住（picket的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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auger
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| n.螺丝钻，钻孔机 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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48
tussle
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| n.&v.扭打，搏斗，争辩 | |
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49
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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offenders
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| n.冒犯者( offender的名词复数 )；犯规者；罪犯；妨害…的人（或事物） | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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wrangler
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| n.口角者，争论者；牧马者 | |
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preempted
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| v.先占( preempt的过去式和过去分词 )；取代；先取；先发制人 | |
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mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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56
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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59
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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prominence
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| n.突出；显著；杰出；重要 | |
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62
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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63
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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64
seducer
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| n.诱惑者,骗子,玩弄女性的人 | |
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65
bogged
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| adj.陷于泥沼的v.（使）陷入泥沼， （使）陷入困境( bog的过去式和过去分词 )；妨碍，阻碍 | |
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66
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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67
bridling
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的现在分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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