THE LITTLE MISSOURI
A week later we crossed the Belle Fourche, sometimes called the North
Fork of the Big Cheyenne. Like its twin sister on the south, it was a
mountain river, having numerous affluents putting in from the Black
Hills, which it encircled on the north and west. Between these two
branches of the mother stream were numerous tributaries, establishing
it as the best watered country encountered in our long overland cruise.
Besides the splendid watercourses which marked that section, numerous
wagontrails, leading into the hills, were peopled with freighters. Long
ox trains, moving at a snail’s pace, crept over hill and plain, the
common carrier between the mines and the outside world. The fascination
of the primal land was there; the buttes stood like sentinels, guarding
a king’s domain, while the palisaded cliffs frowned down, as if erected
by the hand Omnipotent to mark the boundary of nations.
Our route, after skirting the Black Hills, followed up the Belle
Fourche a few days, and early in August we crossed over to the Little
Missouri River. The divide between the Belle Fourche and the latter
stream was a narrow one, requiring little time to graze across it, and
intercepting the Little Missouri somewhere in Montana. The course of
that river was almost due north, and crossing and recrossing it
frequently, we kept constantly in touch with it on our last northward
tack. The river led through sections of country now known as the Bad
Lands, but we found an abundance of grass and an easy passage.
Sponsilier held the lead all the way down the river, though I did most
of the advance scouting, sometimes being as much as fifty miles in
front of the herds. Near the last of the month we sighted Sentinel
Butte and the smoke of railroad trains, and a few days later all three
of us foremen rode into Little Missouri Station of the Northern Pacific
Railway. Our arrival was expected by one man at least; for as we
approached the straggling village, our employer was recognized at a
distance, waving his hat, and a minute later all three of us were
shaking hands with Don Lovell. Mutual inquiries followed, and when we
reported the cattle fine as silk, having never known a hungry or
thirsty hour after leaving the North Platte, the old man brightened and
led the way to a well-known saloon.
“How did I fare at Omaha?” said old man Don, repeating Forrest’s query.
“Well, at first it was a question if I would be hung or shot, but we
came out with colors flying. The United States marshal who attempted to
take possession of the cattle on the North Platte went back on the same
train with us. He was feeling sore over his defeat, but Sutton
cultivated his acquaintance, and in mollifying that official, showed
him how easily failure could be palmed off as a victory. In fact, I
think Mike overcolored the story at my expense. He and the marshal gave
it to the papers, and the next morning it appeared in the form of a
sensational article. According to the report, a certain popular federal
officer had gone out to Ogalalla to take possession of two herds of
cattle intended for government purposes; he had met with resistance by
a lot of Texas roughs, who fatally shot one of his deputies, wounding
several others, and killing a number of horses during the assault; but
the intrepid officer had added to his laurels by arresting the owner of
the cattle and leader of the resisting mob, and had brought him back to
face the charge of contempt in resisting service. The papers freely
predicted that I would get the maximum fine, and one even went so far
as to suggest that imprisonment might teach certain arrogant cattle
kings a salutary lesson. But when the hearing came up, Sutton placed
Jim Reed and me in the witness-box, taking the stand later himself, and
we showed that federal court that it had been buncoed out of an order
of injunctive relief, in favor of the biggest set of ringsters that
ever missed stretching hemp. The result was, I walked out of that
federal court scot free. And Judge Dundy, when he realized the
injustice that he had inflicted, made all three of us take dinner with
him, fully explaining the pressure which had been brought to bear at
the time the order of relief was issued. Oh, that old judge was all
right. I only hope we’ll have as square a man as Judge Dundy at the
final hearing at Fort Buford. Do you see that sign over there, where it
says Barley Water and Bad Cigars? Well, put your horses in some corral
and meet me there.”
There was a great deal of news to review. Lovell had returned to
Ogalalla; the body of Tolleston had been recovered and given decent
burial; delivery day of the three Indian herds was at hand, bringing
that branch of the season’s drive to a close. But the main thing which
absorbed our employer was the quarantine that the upper Yellowstone
country proposed enforcing against through Texas cattle. He assured us
that had we gone by way of Wyoming and down the Powder River, the
chances were that the local authorities would have placed us under
quarantine until after the first frost. He assured us that the year
before, Texas fever had played sad havoc among the native and wintered
Southern cattle, and that Miles City and Glendive, live-stock centres
on the Yellowstone, were up in arms in favor of a rigid quarantine
against all through cattle. If this proved true, it was certainly an
ill wind to drovers on the Powder River route; yet I failed to see
where we were benefited until my employer got down to details.
“That’s so,” said he; “I forgot to tell you boys that when Reed and I
went back to Ogalalla, we found Field, Radcliff & Co. buying beeves.
Yes, they had bought a remuda of horses, rigged up two wagons, and
hired men to take possession of our ‘Open A’ and ‘Drooping T’ herds.
But meeting with disappointment and having the outfit on their hands,
they concluded to buy cattle and go ahead and make the delivery at
Buford. They simply had to do it or admit that I had called their
hands. But Reed and I raised such a howl around that town that we
posted every man with beeves for sale until the buyers had to pony up
the cash for every hoof they bought. We even hunted up young Murnane,
the seller of the herd that Jim Reed ran the attachment on; and before
old Jim and I got through with him, we had his promise not to move out
of Keith County until the last dollar was in hand. The buyers seemed to
command all kinds of money, but where they expect to make anything,
even if they do deliver, beats me, as Reed and I have got a good wad of
their money. Since leaving there, I have had word that they settled
with Murnane, putting a new outfit with the cattle, and that they have
ten thousand beef steers on the way to Fort Buford this very minute.
They are coming through on the North Platte and Powder River route, and
if quarantine can be enforced against them until frost falls, it will
give us a clear field at Buford on the day of delivery. Now it stands
us in hand to see that those herds are isolated until after the 15th
day of September.”
The atmosphere cleared instantly. I was well aware of the ravages of
splenic fever; but two decades ago every drover from Texas denied the
possibility of a through animal in perfect health giving a disease to
wintered Southerners or domestic cattle, also robust and healthy. Time
has demonstrated the truth, yet the manner in which the germ is
transmitted between healthy animals remains a mystery to this day,
although there has been no lack of theories advanced. Even the
theorists differed as to the manner of germ transmission, the sporule,
tick, and ship fever being the leading theories, and each having its
advocates. The latter was entitled to some consideration, for if bad
usage and the lack of necessary rest, food, and water will produce
fever aboard emigrant steamships, the same privations might do it among
animals. The overdriving of trail cattle was frequently unavoidable,
dry drives and the lack of grass on arid wastes being of common
occurrence. However, the presence of fever among through cattle was
never noticeable to the practical man, and if it existed, it must have
been very mild in form compared to its virulent nature among natives.
Time has demonstrated that it is necessary for the domestic animals to
walk over and occupy the same ground to contract the disease, though
they may drink from the same trough or stream of water, or inhale each
other’s breath in play across a wire fence, without fear of contagion.
A peculiar feature of Texas fever was that the very cattle which would
impart it on their arrival, after wintering in the North would contract
it and die the same as natives. The isolation of herds on a good range
for a period of sixty days, or the falling of frost, was recognized as
the only preventive against transmitting the germ. Government rewards
and experiments have never demonstrated a theory that practical
experience does not dispute.
The only time on this drive that our attention had been called to the
fever alarm was on crossing the wagon trail running from Pierre on the
Missouri River to the Black Hills. I was in the lead when a large bull
train was sighted in our front, and shortly afterward the wagon-boss
met me and earnestly begged that I allow his outfit to pass before we
crossed the wagon-road. I knew the usual form of ridicule of a herd
foreman, but the boss bull-whacker must have anticipated my reply, for
he informed me that the summer before he had lost ninety head out of
two hundred yoke of oxen. The wagon-master’s appeal was fortified by a
sincerity which won his request, and I held up my cattle and allowed
his train to pass in advance. Sponsilier’s herd was out of sight in my
rear, while Forrest was several miles to my left, and slightly behind
me. The wagon-boss rode across and made a similar request of Forrest,
but that worthy refused to recognize the right of way to a bull train
at the expense of a trail herd of government beeves. Ungentlemanly
remarks are said to have passed between them, when the boss
bull-whacker threw down the gauntlet and galloped back to his train.
Forrest pushed on, with ample time to have occupied the road in
crossing, thus holding up the wagon train. My herd fell to grazing, and
Sponsilier rode up to inquire the cause of my halting. I explained the
request of the wagon-master, his loss the year before and present fear
of fever, and called attention to the clash which was imminent between
the long freight outfit in our front and Forrest’s herd to the left,
both anxious for the right of way. A number of us rode forward in clear
view of the impending meeting. It was evident that Forrest would be the
first to reach the freight road, and would naturally hold it while his
cattle were crossing it. But when this also became apparent to the bull
train, the lead teams drove out of the road and halted, the rear wagons
passing on ahead, the two outfits being fully a mile apart. There were
about twenty teams of ten yoke each, and when the first five or six
halted, they unearthed old needle rifles and opened fire across
Forrest’s front. Once the range was found, those long-range buffalo
guns threw up the dust in handfuls in the lead of the herd, and Forrest
turned his cattle back, while the bull train held its way, undisputed.
It was immaterial to Forrest who occupied the road first, and with the
jeers of the freighters mingled the laughter of Sponsilier and my
outfit, as John Quincy Forrest reluctantly turned back.
This incident served as a safety-valve, and whenever Forrest forged to
the lead in coming down the Little Missouri, all that was necessary to
check him was to inquire casually which held the right of way, a trail
herd or a bull train.
Throughout the North, Texas fever was generally accepted as a fact, and
any one who had ever come in contact with it once, dreaded it ever
afterward. So when the devil was sick the devil a monk would be; and if
there was any advantage in taking the contrary view to the one
entertained by all drovers, so long as our herds were free, we were not
like men who could not experience a change of opinion, if in doing so
the wind was tempered to us. Also in this instance we were fighting an
avowed enemy, and all is fair in love and war. And amid the fumes of
bad cigars, Sponsilier drew out the plan of campaign.
“Now, let’s see,” said old man Don, “tomorrow will be the 25th day of
August. I’ve got to be at the Crow Agency a few days before the 10th of
next month, as you know we have a delivery there on that date. Flood
will have to attend to matters at Rosebud on the 1st, and then hurry on
west and be present at Paul’s delivery at Fort Washakie. So you see
I’ll have to depend on two of you boys going up to Glendive and Miles
and seeing that those cow-towns take the proper view of this quarantine
matter. After dinner you’ll fall back and bring up your herds, and
after crossing the railroad here, the outfits will graze over to
Buford. We’ll leave four of our best saddle horses here in a pasture,
so as to be independent on our return. Since things have changed so,
the chances are that I’ll bring Bob Quirk back with me, as I’ve written
Flood to help The Rebel sell his remuda and take the outfit and go
home. Now you boys decide among yourselves which two of you will go up
the Yellowstone and promote the enforcement of the quarantine laws.
Don’t get the impression that you can’t do this, because an all-round
cowman can do anything where his interests are at stake. I’ll think the
programme out a little more clearly by the time you bring up the
cattle.”
The herds were not over fifteen miles back up the river when we left
them in the morning. After honoring the village of Little Missouri with
our presence for several hours, we saddled up and started to meet the
cattle. There was no doubt in my mind but that Sponsilier would be one
of the two to go on the proposed errand of diplomacy, as his years,
experience, and good solid sense entitled him to outrank either Forrest
or myself. I knew that Quince would want to go, if for no other reason
than to get out of working the few days that yet remained of the drive.
All three of us talked the matter of quarantine freely as we rode
along, yet no one ventured any proposition looking to an agreement as
to who should go on the diplomatic mission. I was the youngest and
naturally took refuge behind my years, yet perfectly conscious that, in
spite of the indifferent and nonchalant attitude assumed, all three of
us foremen were equally anxious for the chance. Matters remained
undecided; but the next day at dinner, Lovell having met us before
reaching the railroad, the question arose who should go up to Miles
City. Dave and Quince were also eating at my wagon, and when our
employer forced an answer, Sponsilier innocently replied that he
supposed that we were all willing to leave it to him. Forrest
immediately approved of Dave’s suggestion. I gave my assent, and old
man Don didn’t qualify, hedge, or mince his words in appointing the
committees to represent the firm of Lovell.
“Jealous of each other, ain’t you? Very well; I want these herds grazed
across to Buford at the rate of four miles a day. Nothing but a Mexican
pastor, or a white man as lazy as Quince Forrest can fill the bill.
You’re listening, are you, Quince? Well, after the sun sets to-night,
you’re in charge of ten thousand beeves from here to the mouth of the
Yellowstone. I want to put every ounce possible on those steers for the
next twenty days. We may have to make a comparison of cattle, and if we
should, I want ours to lay over the opposition like a double eagle does
over a lead dime. We may run up against a lot of red tape at Fort
Buford, but if there is a lick of cow-sense among the government
representatives, we want our beeves to speak for themselves. Fat
animals do their own talking. You remember when every one was admiring
the fine horse, the blind man said, ‘Isn’t he fat?’ Now, Dave, you and
Tom appoint your segundos, and we’ll all catch the 10:20 train west
to-night.”
I dared to risk one eye on Forrest. Inwardly I was chuckling, but
Quince was mincing along with his dinner, showing that languid
indifference which is inborn to the Texan. Lovell continued to
monopolize the conversation, blowing on the cattle and ribbing up
Forrest to see that the beeves thenceforth should never know tire,
hunger, or thirst. The commissaries had run low; Sponsilier’s cook had
been borrowing beans from us for a week past, while Parent point-blank
refused to share any more of our bacon. The latter was recognized as a
staple in trail-work, and it mattered not how inviting the beef or
venison might be, we always fell back to bacon with avidity. When it
came time to move out on the evening lap, Forrest’s herd took the lead,
the other two falling in behind, the wagons pulling out for town in
advance of everything. Jack Splann had always acted as segundo in my
absence, and as he had overheard Lovell’s orders to Forrest, there was
nothing further for me to add, and Splann took charge of my “Open A’s.”
When changing mounts at noon, I caught out two of my best saddlers and
tied one behind the chuckwagon, to be left with a liveryman in town.
Leaving old man Don with the cattle, all three of us foremen went into
the village in order to secure a few staple supplies with which to
complete the journey.
It can be taken for granted that Sponsilier and myself were feeling
quite gala. The former took occasion, as we rode along, to throw
several bouquets at Forrest over his preferment, when the latter turned
on us, saying: “You fellows think you’re d—d smart, now, don’t you?
You’re both purty good talkers, but neither one of you can show me
where the rainbow comes in in rotting along with these measly cattle.
It’s enough to make a man kick his own dog. But I can see where the old
man was perfectly right in sending you two up to Miles City. When you
fellows work your rabbit’s foot, it will be Katy with those Washington
City schemers—more than likely they’ll not draw cards when they see
that you are in the game—When it comes to the real sabe, you fellows
shine like a tree full of owls. Honest, it has always been a wonder to
me that Grant didn’t send for both of you when he was making up his
cabinet.”
The herds crossed the railroad about a mile west of Little Missouri
Station. The wagons secured the needed supplies, and pulled out down
the river, leaving Sponsilier and myself foot-loose and free.
Lovell was riding a livery horse, and as neither of us expected him to
return until it was too dark to see the cattle, we amused ourselves by
looking over the town. There seemed to be a great deal of freighting to
outlying points, numerous ox and mule trains coming in and also leaving
for their destinations. Our employer came in about dusk, and at once
went to the depot, as he was expecting a message. One had arrived
during his absence, and after reading it, he came over to Dave and me,
saying:
“It’s from Mike Sutton. I authorized him to secure the services of the
best lawyer in the West, and he has just wired me that he has retained
Senator Aspgrain of Sioux City, Iowa. They will report at Fort Buford
on September the 5th and will take care of any legal complications
which may arise. I don’t know who this senator is, but Mike has orders
not to spare any expense as long as we have the other fellow’s money to
fight with. Well, if the Iowa lawyers are as good stuff as the Iowa
troops were down in Dixie, that’s all I ask. Now, we’ll get our suppers
and then sack our saddles—why, sure, you’ll need them; every good
cowman takes his saddle wherever he goes, though he may not have
clothes enough with him to dust a fiddle.”