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
bog. 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 reentered
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 be
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.