A DRY DRIVE
Our cattle quieted down nicely after this run, and the next few weeks
brought not an incident worth recording. There was no regular trail
through the lower counties, so we simply kept to the open country.
Spring had advanced until the prairies were swarded with grass and
flowers, while water, though scarcer, was to be had at least once
daily. We passed to the west of San Antonio--an outfitting point which
all herds touched in passing northward--and Flood and our cook took
the wagon and went in for supplies. But the outfit with the herd kept
on, now launched on a broad, well-defined trail, in places
seventy-five yards wide, where all local trails blent into the one
common pathway, known in those days as the Old Western Trail. It is
not in the province of this narrative to deal with the cause or origin
of this cattle trail, though it marked the passage of many hundred
thousand cattle which preceded our Circle Dots, and was destined to
afford an outlet to several millions more to follow. The trail proper
consisted of many scores of irregular cow paths, united into one broad
passageway, narrowing and widening as conditions permitted, yet ever
leading northward. After a few years of continued use, it became as
well defined as the course of a river.
Several herds which had started farther up country were ahead of ours,
and this we considered an advantage, for wherever one herd could go,
it was reasonable that others could follow. Flood knew the trail as
well as any of the other foremen, but there was one thing he had not
taken into consideration: the drouth of the preceding summer. True,
there had been local spring showers, sufficient to start the grass
nicely, but water in such quantities as we needed was growing daily
more difficult to find. The first week after leaving San Antonio, our
foreman scouted in quest of water a full day in advance of the herd.
One evening he returned to us with the news that we were in for a dry
drive, for after passing the next chain of lakes it was sixty miles to
the next water, and reports regarding the water supply even after
crossing this arid stretch were very conflicting.
“While I know every foot of this trail through here,” said the
foreman, “there’s several things that look scaly. There are only five
herds ahead of us, and the first three went through the old route, but
the last two, after passing Indian Lakes, for some reason or other
turned and went westward. These last herds may be stock cattle,
pushing out west to new ranges; but I don’t like the outlook. It would
take me two days to ride across and back, and by that time we could be
two thirds of the way through. I’ve made this drive before without a
drop of water on the way, and wouldn’t dread it now, if there was any
certainty of water at the other end. I reckon there’s nothing to do
but tackle her; but isn’t this a hell of a country? I’ve ridden fifty
miles to-day and never saw a soul.”
The Indian Lakes, some seven in number, were natural reservoirs with
rocky bottoms, and about a mile apart. We watered at ten o’clock the
next day, and by night camped fifteen miles on our way. There was
plenty of good grazing for the cattle and horses, and no trouble was
experienced the first night. McCann had filled an extra twenty gallon
keg for this trip. Water was too precious an article to be lavish
with, so we shook the dust from our clothing and went unwashed. This
was no serious deprivation, and no one could be critical of another,
for we were all equally dusty and dirty.
The next morning by daybreak the cattle were thrown off the bed ground
and started grazing before the sun could dry out what little moisture
the grass had absorbed during the night. The heat of the past week had
been very oppressive, and in order to avoid it as much as possible, we
made late and early drives. Before the wagon passed the herd during
the morning drive, what few canteens we had were filled with water for
the men. The _remuda_ was kept with the herd, and four changes of
mounts were made during the day, in order not to exhaust any one
horse. Several times for an hour or more, the herd was allowed to lie
down and rest; but by the middle of the afternoon thirst made them
impatient and restless, and the point men were compelled to ride
steadily in the lead in order to hold the cattle to a walk. A number
of times during the afternoon we attempted to graze them, but not
until the twilight of evening was it possible.
After the fourth change of horses was made, Honeyman pushed on ahead
with the saddle stock and overtook the wagon. Under Flood’s orders he
was to tie up all the night horses, for if the cattle could be induced
to graze, we would not bed them down before ten that night, and all
hands would be required with the herd. McCann had instructions to make
camp on the divide, which was known to be twenty-five miles from our
camp of the night before, or forty miles from the Indian Lakes. As we
expected, the cattle grazed willingly after nightfall, and with a fair
moon, we allowed them to scatter freely while grazing forward. The
beacon of McCann’s fire on the divide was in sight over an hour before
the herd grazed up to camp, all hands remaining to bed the thirsty
cattle. The herd was given triple the amount of space usually required
for bedding, and even then for nearly an hour scarcely half of them
lay down.
We were handling the cattle as humanely as possible under the
circumstances. The guards for the night were doubled, six men on the
first half and the same on the latter, Bob Blades being detailed to
assist Honeyman in night-herding the saddle horses. If any of us got
more than an hour’s sleep that night, he was lucky. Flood, McCann, and
the horse wranglers did not even try to rest. To those of us who could
find time to eat, our cook kept open house. Our foreman knew that a
well-fed man can stand an incredible amount of hardship, and
appreciated the fact that on the trail a good cook is a valuable
asset. Our outfit therefore was cheerful to a man, and jokes and songs
helped to while away the weary hours of the night.
The second guard, under Flood, pushed the cattle off their beds an
hour before dawn, and before they were relieved had urged the herd
more than five miles on the third day’s drive over this waterless
mesa. In spite of our economy of water, after breakfast on this third
morning there was scarcely enough left to fill the canteens for the
day. In view of this, we could promise ourselves no midday
meal--except a can of tomatoes to the man; so the wagon was ordered to
drive through to the expected water ahead, while the saddle horses
were held available as on the day before for frequent changing of
mounts. The day turned out to be one of torrid heat, and before the
middle of the forenoon, the cattle lolled their tongues in despair,
while their sullen lowing surged through from rear to lead and back
again in piteous yet ominous appeal. The only relief we could offer
was to travel them slowly, as they spurned every opportunity offered
them either to graze or to lie down.
[Illustration: HEAT AND THIRST]
It was nearly noon when we reached the last divide, and sighted the
scattering timber of the expected watercourse. The enforced order of
the day before--to hold the herd in a walk and prevent exertion and
heating--now required four men in the lead, while the rear followed
over a mile behind, dogged and sullen. Near the middle of the
afternoon, McCann returned on one of his mules with the word that it
was a question if there was water enough to water even the horse
stock. The preceding outfit, so he reported, had dug a shallow well in
the bed of the creek, from which he had filled his kegs, but the stock
water was a mere loblolly. On receipt of this news, we changed mounts
for the fifth time that day; and Flood, taking Forrest, the cook, and
the horse wrangler, pushed on ahead with the _remuda_ to the waterless
stream.
The outlook was anything but encouraging. Flood and Forrest scouted
the creek up and down for ten miles in a fruitless search for water.
The outfit held the herd back until the twilight of evening, when
Flood returned and confirmed McCann’s report. It was twenty miles yet
to the next water ahead, and if the horse stock could only be watered
thoroughly, Flood was determined to make the attempt to nurse the herd
through to water. McCann was digging an extra well, and he expressed
the belief that by hollowing out a number of holes, enough water could
be secured for the saddle stock. Honeyman had corralled the horses and
was letting only a few go to the water at a time, while the night
horses were being thoroughly watered as fast as the water rose in the
well.
Holding the herd this third night required all hands. Only a few men
at a time were allowed to go into camp and eat, for the herd refused
even to lie down. What few cattle attempted to rest were prevented by
the more restless ones. By spells they would mill, until riders were
sent through the herd at a break-neck pace to break up the groups.
During these milling efforts of the herd, we drifted over a mile from
camp; but by the light of moon and stars and the number of riders,
scattering was prevented. As the horses were loose for the night, we
could not start them on the trail until daybreak gave us a change of
mounts, so we lost the early start of the morning before.
Good cloudy weather would have saved us, but in its stead was a sultry
morning without a breath of air, which bespoke another day of sizzling
heat. We had not been on the trail over two hours before the heat
became almost unbearable to man and beast. Had it not been for the
condition of the herd, all might yet have gone well; but over three
days had now elapsed without water for the cattle, and they became
feverish and ungovernable. The lead cattle turned back several times,
wandering aimlessly in any direction, and it was with considerable
difficulty that the herd could be held on the trail. The rear overtook
the lead, and the cattle gradually lost all semblance of a trail herd.
Our horses were fresh, however, and after about two hours’ work, we
once more got the herd strung out in trailing fashion; but before a
mile had been covered, the leaders again turned, and the cattle
congregated into a mass of unmanageable animals, milling and lowing in
their fever and thirst. The milling only intensified their sufferings
from the heat, and the outfit split and quartered them again and
again, in the hope that this unfortunate outbreak might be checked. No
sooner was the milling stopped than they would surge hither and yon,
sometimes half a mile, as ungovernable as the waves of an ocean. After
wasting several hours in this manner, they finally turned back over
the trail, and the utmost efforts of every man in the outfit failed to
check them. We threw our ropes in their faces, and when this failed,
we resorted to shooting; but in defiance of the fusillade and the
smoke they walked sullenly through the line of horsemen across their
front. Six-shooters were discharged so close to the leaders’ faces as
to singe their hair, yet, under a noonday sun, they disregarded this
and every other device to turn them, and passed wholly out of our
control. In a number of instances wild steers deliberately walked
against our horses, and then for the first time a fact dawned on us
that chilled the marrow in our bones,--_the herd was going blind_.
The bones of men and animals that lie bleaching along the trails
abundantly testify that this was not the first instance in which the
plain had baffled the determination of man. It was now evident that
nothing short of water would stop the herd, and we rode aside and let
them pass. As the outfit turned back to the wagon, our foreman seemed
dazed by the sudden and unexpected turn of affairs, but rallied and
met the emergency.
“There’s but one thing left to do,” said he, as we rode along, “and
that is to hurry the outfit back to Indian Lakes. The herd will travel
day and night, and instinct can be depended on to carry them to the
only water they know. It’s too late to be of any use now, but it’s
plain why those last two herds turned off at the lakes; some one had
gone back and warned them of the very thing we’ve met. We must beat
them to the lakes, for water is the only thing that will check them
now. It’s a good thing that they are strong, and five or six days
without water will hardly kill any. It was no vague statement of the
man who said if he owned hell and Texas, he’d rent Texas and live in
hell, for if this isn’t Billy hell, I’d like to know what you call
it.”
We spent an hour watering the horses from the wells of our camp of the
night before, and about two o’clock started back over the trail for
Indian Lakes. We overtook the abandoned herd during the afternoon.
They were strung out nearly five miles in length, and were walking
about a three-mile gait. Four men were given two extra horses apiece
and left to throw in the stragglers in the rear, with instructions to
follow them well into the night, and again in the morning as long as
their canteens lasted. The remainder of the outfit pushed on without a
halt, except to change mounts, and reached the lakes shortly after
midnight. There we secured the first good sleep of any consequence for
three days.
It was fortunate for us that there were no range cattle at these
lakes, and we had only to cover a front of about six miles to catch
the drifting herd. It was nearly noon the next day before the cattle
began to arrive at the water holes in squads of from twenty to fifty.
Pitiful objects as they were, it was a novelty to see them reach the
water and slack their thirst. Wading out into the lakes until their
sides were half covered, they would stand and low in a soft moaning
voice, often for half an hour before attempting to drink. Contrary to
our expectation, they drank very little at first, but stood in the
water for hours. After coming out, they would lie down and rest for
hours longer, and then drink again before attempting to graze, their
thirst overpowering hunger. That they were blind there was no
question, but with the causes that produced it once removed, it was
probable their eyesight would gradually return.
By early evening, the rear guard of our outfit returned and reported
the tail end of the herd some twenty miles behind when they left them.
During the day not over a thousand head reached the lakes, and towards
evening we put these under herd and easily held them during the night.
All four of the men who constituted the rear guard were sent back the
next morning to prod up the rear again, and during the night at least
a thousand more came into the lakes, which held them better than a
hundred men. With the recovery of the cattle our hopes grew, and with
the gradual accessions to the herd, confidence was again completely
restored. Our saddle stock, not having suffered as had the cattle,
were in a serviceable condition, and while a few men were all that
were necessary to hold the herd, the others scoured the country for
miles in search of any possible stragglers which might have missed the
water.
During the forenoon of the third day at the lakes, Nat Straw, the
foreman of Ellison’s first herd on the trail, rode up to our camp. He
was scouting for water for his herd, and, when our situation was
explained and he had been interrogated regarding loose cattle, gave us
the good news that no stragglers in our road brand had been met by
their outfit. This was welcome news, for we had made no count yet, and
feared some of them, in their locoed condition, might have passed the
water during the night. Our misfortune was an ill wind by which Straw
profited, for he had fully expected to keep on by the old route, but
with our disaster staring him in the face, a similar experience was to
be avoided. His herd reached the lakes during the middle of the
afternoon, and after watering, turned and went westward over the new
route taken by the two herds which preceded us. He had a herd of about
three thousand steers, and was driving to the Dodge market. After the
experience we had just gone through, his herd and outfit were a
welcome sight. Flood made inquiries after Lovell’s second herd, under
my brother Bob as foreman, but Straw had seen or heard nothing of
them, having come from Goliad County with his cattle.
After the Ellison herd had passed on and out of sight, our squad which
had been working the country to the northward, over the route by which
the abandoned herd had returned, came in with the information that
that section was clear of cattle, and that they had only found three
head dead from thirst. On the fourth morning, as the herd left the bed
ground, a count was ordered, and to our surprise we counted out
twenty-six head more than we had received on the banks of the Rio
Grande a month before. As there had been but one previous occasion to
count, the number of strays absorbed into our herd was easily
accounted for by Priest: “If a steer herd could increase on the trail,
why shouldn’t ours, that had over a thousand cows in it?” The
observation was hardly borne out when the ages of our herd were taken
into consideration. But 1882 in Texas was a liberal day and
generation, and “cattle stealing” was too drastic a term to use for
the chance gain of a few cattle, when the foundations of princely
fortunes were being laid with a rope and a branding iron.
In order to give the Ellison herd a good start of us, we only moved
our wagon to the farthest lake and went into camp for the day. The
herd had recovered its normal condition by this time, and of the
troubles of the past week not a trace remained. Instead, our herd
grazed in leisurely content over a thousand acres, while with the
exception of a few men on herd, the outfit lounged around the wagon
and beguiled the time with cards.
We had undergone an experience which my bunkie, The Rebel, termed “an
interesting incident in his checkered career,” but which not even he
would have cared to repeat. That night while on night herd
together--the cattle resting in all contentment--we rode one round
together, and as he rolled a cigarette he gave me an old war story:--
“They used to tell the story in the army, that during one of the
winter retreats, a cavalryman, riding along in the wake of the column
at night, saw a hat apparently floating in the mud and water. In the
hope that it might be a better hat than the one he was wearing, he
dismounted to get it. Feeling his way carefully through the ooze until
he reached the hat, he was surprised to find a man underneath and
wearing it. ‘Hello, comrade,’ he sang out, ‘can I lend you a hand?’
“‘No, no,’ replied the fellow, ‘I’m all right; I’ve got a good mule
yet under me.’”