_Across the Plains With Cattle._
The first days of May found us on the banks of the river at the mouth
of Black Snake. Most of the men went along with the first load of
cattle ferried across the river. As the cattle were driven out on the
farther shore, the men corralled them and held them on a sand-bar
to await the slow process of bringing the whole herd across. Elwood
bottom at that time was a perfect wilderness of timber with only an
Indian trail leading through it out as far as Peter's Creek. After
much delay, the last of the herd was ferried over and then came the
wagons, oxen, horses and mules.
There were twenty-five men in charge of this drove of cattle. Each man
had a horse, and besides this, we had a number of mules. We took three
wagon loads of provisions and had four yoke of oxen to each wagon.
This comprised the outfit.
The Indians occupied the land on the Kansas side of the river and
they came down to see us cross. They were peaceable and harmless, and
did not mean to give us any trouble. They would come up close to the
trail, and stand and stare at the cattle, and this was about as bad
a thing as could have been done. I don't know why it is, but cattle
never liked Indians. The whole herd would pass a white man without
paying any attention to him, but if an Indian stood by the wayside
where the cattle could see him, he would create a great commotion, and
frequently, unless the greatest care was observed, a stampede would
follow.
The cattle were not used to traveling, and we experienced our greatest
trouble the first week out. We had not only the Indians to contend
with, but we had to break the cattle to drive, and the brush and
timber were so thick that every man in the company had to be on the
watch to keep from losing some of the herd. The men were as green as
the cattle, and with all these hindrances we made slow progress the
first period of our journey. At the end of about a week or ten days,
and after we had reached the high prairie, things began to settle
down. The men learned their duties and the cattle had apparently been
as apt as the men. They understood exactly what was before them when
the start was made in the morning. One of our company always rode
ahead and it was a pretty sight to see all the cattle break away from
grazing and start out after this leader as soon as the men began to
crack their whips and call to them.
We made no haste. The grazing was good and the water plentiful, and we
wanted our cattle to get in as good condition as possible before they
reached the desert part of the journey. Ten or fifteen miles a day was
counted a good day's drive. At this rate, there was plenty of time for
grazing and rest. The new men with us were impatient to go faster, but
those of us who had been over the journey knew too well the trials
ahead to permit haste on this part of the road. We wanted to save our
strength in order that we might make haste across the mountains and
the alkali that lay between us and the end of our journey.
At Little Blue we overtook a train lying in camp, and learned that
Cholera had broken out, and that several deaths had occurred. An old
man by the name of Frost came out to where we were and said he had
been waiting for us; that he had heard we would be on the road this
year, and when misfortune and sickness overtook his train, he decided
to wait for us. He lived on Grand River, and his son had died of the
Cholera, and we wanted to take the body back home. He said he had
enough of the plains and didn't care to spend the remainder of his
days amid such hardships. He had forty head of choice dairy cows and
asked us to buy them. We told him we had no money for that purpose
with us. He said he didn't want the money, if we would give him our
note it would be good enough for him. We accordingly gave him a note
for six hundred dollars and he turned his little herd over to us.
Brother Isaac decided to return with Mr. Frost and wait until he heard
from us, and if we succeeded in getting our cattle through without
difficulty, he would bring another herd the next year. Within a week
after Isaac left, brother William, who had made the trip home by way
of Panama and New York, overtook us with a drove about equal in number
to ours. We combined the two and all moved together, thenceforth
throughout the journey.
I may anticipate a little here and say that after arriving in
California, we sent the money back to take up our note given for the
forty cows. It reached our father and he communicated with Mr. Frost,
paid him the money and took up the note. It was pretty slow business,
but it was accomplished without difficulty.
When the two herds of cattle and two companies of men were joined
together, they made quite a caravan. A good many Buchanan County boys
made the trip with us, among them were James and Russell Deakins,
Joe and Sebastian Kessler, Rufus Huffman and a man by the name of
Streeter, who went along as cook in brother William's company. There
were many others, but I cannot now recall their names.
We journeyed without incident that I now recall until we reached Plum
Creek, which I have described in the account of my first trip out.
Close to this place the wolves attacked our cattle one night and
caught a fine cow and a heifer, and before we could relieve them tore
their flanks so dreadfully that they both died. The bellowing of these
two raised the whole herd and came near creating a stampede. It was a
very dark night. The entire company got out upon horseback and rounded
up the cattle, and kept galloping around them the remainder of the
night, firing their guns to frighten away the wolves. It is a wonder
we didn't have more trouble with wolves than we did. The buffalo had
all gone south and had not returned, and the wolves were savagely
hungry and would attack most anything that offered them a chance of
securing food.
We kept our course on up the Platte, taking every protection against
wolves and Indians, and finally reached a point just below the
junction of the two rivers. Here we decided to try a new road. We
would not go up the South Platte as we had gone on our previous trip,
but would cross the river and follow up the North Platte. We spent
half a day sounding the bottom of the river and found we could cross
by raising our wagon beds about ten inches. The banks of the stream
were low, but the water was running nearly bank full. By the middle of
the afternoon we had the wagon beds all raised and the banks spaded
down and ready for the start. We hitched ten yoke of cattle to one
wagon and drove in with five men on horseback on each side of the
cattle to keep them straight. This wagon crossed over in good shape
and the oxen were driven back and a second wagon taken across the same
way. As the last wagon crossed, we pushed the whole drove of cattle,
a thousand in all, after the wagon. The loose cattle traveled faster
than the work cattle and began to bunch behind the wagon and around
the oxen until we could not tell the work cattle from the loose ones,
except by the yoke. The loose cattle crowded on, more and more of
them gathering about the wagon until I began to think our work cattle
as well as the wagon were in great danger. We took quick action to
relieve the situation. I ordered fifteen or twenty of the boys to rush
right in, and with their whips force the loose cattle away from the
oxen. They cut and slashed, whooped and yelled, and finally got in
alongside the wagon and the work cattle. They then forced the oxen as
fast as they could to shore and drove them out safely on the opposite
bank. This left the loose cattle without any guide as to their course
across the river. The current was running swiftly and the cattle
wandered off down the river, sometimes getting beyond their depth and
finally when they reached the bank, it was in many places so steep
they could not climb out. It was a pretty serious situation for a
little while, but by and by through hard work and much racing of the
horses, we got them all out on the opposite shore and rounded them up
about sundown.
Next morning we started on our slow journey up North Platte and
moved on day by day, passed Fort Laramie, and a few miles above
it struck across the mountains along the old trail most of us had
twice traveled. Scenes were familiar along this route by this
time--Fremont's Peak in the distance to the north, Independence Rock
and Devil's Gate, and farther on South Pass, which divides the waters
of the Atlantic from the Pacific.
Green River was past fording. A couple of men from the east somewhere
had constructed their wagon beds of sheet iron made in the shape
of flat boats and had left home ahead of emigration and when they
reached this river, unloaded and set their wagon beds on the river
and were ready for business. They set our wagons over at five dollars
per load, and we swam our horses and cattle after them. We chose
the old trail over which we had gone in forty-nine, as better than
the Hedgepeth cut-off, and so we passed Soda Springs and Fort Hall,
thence down Snake River to mouth of Raft River, up Raft River and over
the divide to the Humboldt, down the Humboldt, over the desert and
across the Sierra Nevada Range, and down on the other side. Every spot
seemed as familiar to me as my father's door yard, but the most vivid
recollections came when I passed the old pine tree at Weaver Creek
under which I lay sick for ten days in forty-nine.
We crossed Sacramento River on a ferry at Sacramento City and went
forty miles southwest into the Suisun Valley, nearer San Francisco Bay
than our first ranch. We stopped a few days on Charles Ramsey's ranch
until we could locate grazing land of our own. Ramsey was a son-in-law
of Calvin James, and, as heretofore related, had brought his family
with my brothers on their trip out in 1850. He built a pre-emption
house in a black-haw patch where Easton, Missouri, now stands. After
his arrival in California in 1850, he took up a ranch in Suisun Valley
and passed the remainder of his life there.
After resting a few days at Ramsey's, brother James and I went back
east about ten miles to Barker Valley and located a ranch, and
returned for our cattle. Our first thought was of the cattle and after
they had been provided for, we thought of ourselves. We put up a
substantial cabin to shelter us from the rainy season, and then built
a large corral by cutting posts and setting them deep in the ground,
and binding the tops together with rawhide. We then dug a deep ditch
around it, after which we were sure it would hold a grizzly bear. Our
ranch proved to be on land claimed by Barker, a Spaniard, who lived
about ten miles away, but he gave us no trouble. He had a little
village of Spaniards around him and about fifty Digger Indians who
were his slaves. They were quite friendly, and we all worked together
looking after the cattle.
By the time all preparations had been made for winter, the season
was pretty well advanced. Through it all, we had not had time to
lay in a supply of venison for the winter or to enjoy a good hunt.
After everything else had been done and we had rested a few days, we
rigged up our pack mules and started for the mountains. I have already
described the abundance of game in this country, and on this hunt we
found no exception. Deer, antelope, elk and bear in plenty. We had
to watch also for California lions, wolves and wildcats. They were
abundant also. We were gone on this hunt about a week. Had a camp in
which we assembled over night and brought in the results of our day's
work. It was great fun to sit about a big camp fire and re-count the
experiences of the day. We secured all the venison we could possibly
need for a long period of time, and with it set off to our cabin to
spend a winter very much the same as we had spent a previous winter
farther up the valley.
Our only diversion was with the gun and the dogs. Wild fowl was still
abundant, and we had the choicest meats whenever we wanted them. I
remember during this winter that a large herd of elk were driven out
of the swamp by the water, and into an open valley near our cabin.
The dogs sighted them and made for them. They singled out a monster
buck and he took to the water to battle them. The dogs were plucky
and swam in after him, but they had little chance, as the water was
beyond their depth, while he could easily stand on the bottom. As the
dogs would approach him, he would strike them with his front feet and
plunger them under. We watched the proceedings for a few minutes and
soon saw that our dogs would all be drowned if we let the buck alone,
so one of our boys rode in and shot him with his revolver. We dragged
him out and dressed him. He was a monster, and must have weighed as
much as 800 pounds. His antlers were the largest I have ever seen.