In 1907 I was employed as a cowboy on the Wally Ranch, situated a
little to the north of Fort Saskatchewan, in Alberta, Canada. It was
there that an incident occurred which I shall never forget as long as
I live. Such a thing has never happened before in Canada, so far as I
am aware, and I hope it will never happen again.
During the particular week I have in mind we had a pretty rough time
of it and were all more or less tired out, but we had to keep going.
There had been some heavy storms and the cattle were unusually
restive, needing a lot of attention. One Thursday, about two in the
morning, we were seated round the camp fire getting something to eat.
There were five of us there, amongst us a comparative new-comer named
Harry Munroe. He was a splendid young fellow, and took to the work
from the first. He was a capital rider and a first-class shot. I had
always liked him, and used to take him with me to outlying posts on
every possible occasion. On this particular night we had a mob of
about two thousand five hundred head of cattle to look after. The
weather outlook had been very threatening for a long time. Great
clouds rolled one after the other across the face of the moon, and
presently the latter disappeared behind them altogether. The next
moment, without warning, the storm burst upon us. In an instant we
were on our horses, everyone ready for action, for each man of us knew
that at the first flash of lightning the cattle would stampede. Only
those who have experienced the spectacle of a thunderstorm on
the American prairies can have any idea of its grandeur. It is a
magnificent display of Nature's powers for a human being who can
understand and appreciate it, but a terrifying thing indeed for a herd
of helpless beasts.
I thought it best to take young Munroe along with me, as he was not
experienced enough in following a stampede to go alone. The three
others were old hands and needed no directions. Very often the cattle
will suddenly turn right about without any warning, and it needs an
experienced and cool-headed man to keep his saddle and save his life
when such a thing occurs.
We had not long to wait--only a few seconds--and then our work
began. A flash of baleful light zigzagged across the skies, and the
terror-stricken beasts rushed off headlong into the night. It was
an appalling sight to see the fear-maddened brutes racing over the
prairie. Heads upraised, mouths open, and tails lashing the air, they
neither knew nor cared where they were going. Sometimes one would
stumble and fall, only to be immediately trodden under foot by his
comrades, and the thudding of their feet could be heard as a dull
rumble in the lulls of the storm.
On and on they went in their mad career, horses and men close behind
them. We could do nothing but follow them and, when the storm abated,
collect them and drive them back to the station. The rain came down in
torrents and the lightning almost blinded one, so vivid and terrific
were the flashes, while the claps of thunder which followed seemed to
shake the earth. We had been going at a tremendous pace for perhaps
ten minutes, when a small range of hills loomed up in front. I knew
what would happen when the cattle reached this, and was of course
prepared. I yelled out to Munroe to keep close to me, so as to follow
my instructions.
"The beasts will stop at these hills and either wheel round or else
turn off to the right or left," I shouted.
Suddenly the whole herd stopped and, sniffing the air for a moment,
seemed undetermined what course to take. At that critical moment an
awful flash of lightning rent the air, completely blinding me for
a moment, and simultaneously I heard a terrific report immediately
behind me. These two occurrences decided the cattle, and they turned
and went pell-mell along the foot of the hills to the right. For the
moment I scarcely knew what had happened, but as the last of the herd
disappeared I turned round and called to young Munroe. "Are you there,
Harry?" I cried, but I got no answer. Again and again I shouted,
riding a little distance after every shout, but no answering hail
reached me. I knew Munroe would not follow the herd without me, and at
length I came to the conclusion that something must be amiss with him.
Perhaps his horse had stumbled and thrown him, or he had been caught
and overwhelmed by the passing herd. There was nothing to be done,
however, but to wait for the daylight; I dare not move in the pitch
blackness for fear of trampling upon him.
Already drenched to the skin, and with the rain still pouring down in
torrents, the lightning and the deafening peals of thunder combined to
make that night the most miserable of my existence. I had to keep on
the look-out, too, for any signs of the cattle, as they might easily,
from some cause or another, return along the base of the hills.
They did not appear, however, and so I kept my watch through that
awful night alone. I do not know how long the storm lasted, but it
must have been two or three hours at least.
[Illustration:
LIONEL BEAKBANE, THE COWBOY WHO HERE TELLS THE STORY OF THE TERRIBLE
FATE THAT BEFELL HIS COMPANION ON THE PRAIRIE DURING AN APPALLING
THUNDERSTORM.
_From a Photograph._
]
At last, to my infinite relief, the dawn arrived, and I looked round
anxiously for some signs of Harry Munroe. I had not gone far when, at
a short distance, I discerned the figures of poor Harry and his horse,
lying motionless on the ground. Leaving my own horse I ran towards
them. It was apparent, long before I reached them, that both man and
horse were dead.
[Illustration: "THE LIGHTNING HAD STRUCK MUNROE'S CARTRIDGE-BELT,
KILLING MAN AND HORSE ON THE SPOT."]
"Good heavens!" I involuntarily exclaimed, as I came nearer. "What
has happened?" Then, suddenly, I realized the awful thing that had
occurred. The lightning had struck Munroe's cartridge-belt, exploding
the whole of the cartridges simultaneously, and killing man and horse
on the spot. Poor Munroe! It was a terrible end; the only consolation
was that it must have been instantaneous.
Shocked and saddened by this awful calamity I stayed by my dead
friend, for I knew the boys would soon be coming to seek us. Then,
a very quiet procession, we bore our poor comrade's body off to the
ranch for burial.