10 - The Log of a Cowboy: No Man's Land

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter ten of The Log of a Cowboy by Andy Adams.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain No Man's Land.
Flood overtook us the next morning, and as a number
of us gathered round him to hear the news, told
us of a letter that Man had got at Domes

(00:21):
stating that the first herd to pass Camp Supply had
been harassed by Indians. The running w people. Man's employers
had a representative at Dodge who was authority for the statement.
Flood had read the letter, which intimated that an appeal
would be made to the government to send troops from

(00:42):
either Camp's Supply or Fort Sill to give trailherds a
safe escort in passing the western border of this Indian reservation.
The letter therefore admonished Man, if he thought the Indians
would give any trouble, to go up to the south
side of the Red River as far as the Panhandle
of Texas, and then turn north to the government trail

(01:04):
at Fort Elliott. I told Man, said our foreman, that
before I'd take one step backwards or go off on
a wild goose chase through that Panhandle country, I'd go
back home and start over next year. On the Chisholm trail.
It's the easiest thing in the world for some big
auger to sit in a hotel somewhere and direct the

(01:25):
management of a herd. I don't look for no soldiers
to furnish an escort. It would take the government six
months to get a move on her, even in an emergency.
I left Billy Mann in a quandary. He doesn't know
what to do. The big auger at Dodge is troubling him.
But if he don't act on his advice and lose

(01:46):
his cattle as to result, well he'll never boss any
more herds for King and Kennedy. So, boys, if we're
ever to see the Blackfoot Agency, there's but one course
for us to take, and that's straight ahead. His old
Oliver Loving, the first Texas cowman that ever drove a herd,
used to say, never borrow, trouble, or cross a river

(02:08):
before you reach it. So when the cattle are through grazing,
let them hit the trail north. It's entirely too late
for us to veer away from any Indians. We were
following the regular trail, which had been slightly used for
a year or two, though none of our outfit had
ever been over it when late on the third afternoon,

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about forty miles out from Dones, about a hundred mounted
bucks and squaws sighted our herd and crossed the North
Fork from their encampment. They did not ride direct to
the herd, but came into the trail nearly a mile
above the cattle, so it was some little time from
our first sighting of them before we met. We did

(02:50):
not check the herd or turn out of the trail,
but when the lead came within a few hundred yards
of the Indians, one buck, evidently the chief of the band,
rode forward a few rods and held up one hand
as if commanding a halt. At the sight of this
gaudily bedecked apparition, the cattle turned out of the trail

(03:12):
and Flood and I rode up to the chief, extending
our hands in friendly greeting. The chief could not speak
a word of English, but he made signs with his hands.
When I turned loose on him in Spanish. However, he
instantly turned his horse and signed back to his band.
Two young bucks rode forward and greeted flood in myself

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in good Spanish. On thus opening up an intelligent conversation.
I called fox quarter knight, who spoke Spanish, and he
rode up from his position of the third man in
the swing and joined in the council. The two young
Indians through whom we carried on the conversation were Apaches,

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no doubt, renegades of that tribe, and while we understood
each other in Spanish, they spoke in a heavy guttural
peculiar to the Indian. Flood opened the Powow by demanding
to know the meaning of this visit. When the question
had been properly interpreted to the chief, the latter dropped
his blanket from his shoulders and dismounted from his horse.

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He was a fine specimen of the plains Indian, fully
six feet in height, perfectly proportioned, and in years well
past middle life. He looked every inch a chief and
was a natural born orator. There was a certain easy
grace to his gestures, only to be seen in people
who used a sign language, and often when he was

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speaking to the Apache interpreters, I could anticipate his requests
before they were translated to us, although I did not
know a word of Comanche before the Powow had progressed far,
it was evident that begging was its object. In his prelude,
the chief laid claim to all the country in sight
as the hunting grounds of the Comanche tribe, and intimation

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that we were intruders. He spoke of the great slaughter
of the buffalo by the white hide hunters, and the
consequent hunger and poverty amongst his people. He dwelt on
the fact that he had ever counseled peace with the whites.
Until now his band numbered but a few squaws and papoosses,
the younger men having deserted him for other chiefs of

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the tribe who advocated war on the pale faces. When
he had fully stated his position, he offered to allow
us to pass through his country in consideration of ten beaves.
On receiving this proposition, all of us dismounted, including the
two Apaches, the latter seating themselves in their own fashion,

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while we whites lounged on the ground in truly American laziness,
rolling cigarettes. In dealing with people who know not the
value of time, the civilized man is taken at a disadvantage,
and unless he can show an equal composure in wasting
time results will be against him. Flood had had years

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of experience in dealing with Mexicans in the land of Manana,
where all maxims regarding the value of time are religiously discarded,
So in dealing with this Indian chief, he showed no
desire to hasten matters and carefully avoided all references to
the demand for beeves. His first question instead was to

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know the distance to Fort Sill and Fort Elliott. The
next was how many days it would take for cavalry
to reach him. He then had us narrate the fact
that when the first herd of cattle passed through the
country less than a month before, some bad Indians had
shown a very unfriendly spirit. They had taken many of
the cattle and had killed and eaten them. And now

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the Great White Man's chief at Washington was very much displeased.
If another single ox were taken and killed by bad Indians,
he would send his soldiers from the forts to protect
the cattle, even though their owners drove the herds through
the reservation of the Indians over the grass where their
ponies grazed. He had informed the chief that our entire

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herd was intended by the Great white Man's Chief at
Washington as a present to the Blackfeet Indians who lived
in Montana, because they were good Indians and welcomed priests
and teachers amongst them to teach them the ways of
the white Man. At our foreman's request, we informed the
chief that he was under no obligation to give him

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even a single beef for any privilege of passing through
his country, but as the squaws and little papooses were hungry,
he would give him two beaves. The old chief seemed
not the least disconcerted, but begged for five beeves, as
many of the squaws were in the encampment across the
North Fork, those present not being quite half of his village.

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It was now getting late in the day and the
band seemed to be getting tired of the parleying, a
number of squaws having already set out on their return
to the village. After some further talk, Flood agreed to
add another beef, on condition that they be taken to
the encampment before being killed. This was accepted, and at
once the entire band set up a chattering in view

(08:20):
of the coming feast. The cattle had in the meantime
grazed off nearly a mile the outfit, however, holding them
under a close herd during the pow wowing. All the
bucks in the band, numbering about forty, now joined us,
and we rode away to the herd. I noticed by
the way that quite a number of the younger braves

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had arms, and no doubt they would have made a
display of force had Flood's diplomacy been of a more
warlike character. While drifting the herd back to the trail,
we cut out a big lame steer and two stray
cows for the Indians who now left us and followed
the beaves which were being driven to their village. Flood

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had instructed Quarternight and me to invite the two apaches
to our camp for the night on the promise of sugar, coffee,
and tobacco. They consulted with the old chief, and, gaining
his consent, came with us. We extended the hospitality of
our wagon to our guests, and when supper was over,
promised them an extra beef if they would give us

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particulars of the trail until it crossed the North Fork.
After that river turned west towards the Panhandle, it was
evident that they were familiar with the country, for one
of them accepted our offer and with his finger sketched
a rude map on the ground where there had formerly
been a camp fire. He outlined the two rivers between

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which we were then encamped, and traced the trail until
it crossed the North Fork or beyond the Indian reservation.
We discussed the outline of the trail and detail for
an hour, asking hundreds of unimportant questions, but occasionally getting
in a leading one, always resulting in the information wanted.
We learned that the big summer encampment of the comanches

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in Kyowa's was one day's ride for a pony, or
two days with cattle up the trail at the point
where the divide between Salt and North Fork narrows to
about ten miles in width. We leached out of them
very cautiously the information that the encampment was a large one,
and that all herds this year had given up cattle,
some as many as twenty five head. Having secured the

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information we wanted, Flood gave to each apache a package
of arbuckle coffee, a small sack of sugar, and both
smoking and chewing tobacco. Quarter Night informed them that as
the cattle were bedded for the night, they had better
remain until morning, when he would pick them out a
nice fat beef. On their consenting, Fox stripped the wagon

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sheet off the wagon and made them a good bed,
in which, with their body blankets, they were as comfortable
as any of us. Neither of them was armed, so
we felt no fear of them, And after they had
laid down on their couch, Flood called quarter Knight and me,
and we strolled out into the darkness and reviewed the information.

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We agreed that the topography of the country they had
given was most likely correct, because we could verify much
of it by maps in our possession. Another thing on
which we agreed was that there was some means of
communication between this small and seemingly peaceable band and the
main encampment of the tribe, and that more than likely

(11:35):
our approach would be known in the large encampment before sunrise.
In spite of the good opinion we entertained of our guests,
we were also satisfied that they had lied to us
when they denied they had been in the large camp
since the trailherds began the pass. This was the last
question we had asked, and the artful manner in which

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they had parried it showed our guests to be no
mean diplomats themsels. Our camp was astir by daybreak, and
after breakfast, as we were catching our mounts for the day,
one of the apaches offered to take a certain pinto
horse in our ramuta in lieu of the promised beef,
but Flood declined the offer. On overtaking the herd. After breakfast,

(12:19):
quarter Knight cut out a fat two year old stray heifer,
and he and I assisted our guests to drive their
beef several miles toward their village, finally bidding them farewell.
We returned to the herd when the outfit informed us
that Flood in the rebel, had ridden on ahead to
look out a crossing on the Salt Fork. From this move,

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it was evident that if a passable ford could be found,
our foreman intended to abandon the established route and avoid
the big Indian encampment. On the return of priests and
Flood about noon, they reported having found an easy ford
of the Salt Fork, which, from the indication of their
old trails centering from every quarter at This crossing must

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have been used by buffalo for generations. After dinner, we
put our wagon in the lead, and following close at
hand with the cattle, turned off the trail about a
mile above our noon camp, and struck to the westward
for the crossing. This we reached and crossed early that evening,
camping out nearly five miles to the west of the river.

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Rain was always to be dreaded in trail work, and
when betting down the herd. That night we had one
of the heaviest downpours which we had experienced since leaving
the Rio Grande. It lasted several hours, but we stood
it uncomplainingly, for this fortunate drenching had obliterated every trace
left by our wagon and herd since abandoning the trail,

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as well as the sign left that the old buffalo
crossing on the Salt Fork. The rain ceased about ten o'clock,
when the cattle bed it down easily and the second
guard took them for their watch. Wood was too scarce
to afford a fire, and while our slickers had partially
protected us from the rain, many of us went to
bed in wet clothing that night. After another half day's

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drive to the west. We turned northward and traveled in
that direction through a nice country, more or less broken
with small hills, but well watered. On the morning of
the first day, after turning north, Honeyman reported a number
of our saddle horses had strayed from camp. This gave
Floods some little uneasiness, and a number of us got

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on our night horses without loss of time, and turned
out to look up the missing saddle stock. The Rebel
and I set out together to the southward, while others
of the outfit set off to other points of the compass.
I was always a good trailer, was in fact acknowledged
to be one of the best, with the exception of
my brother Zach. On the San Antonio River, where we

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grew up as boys. Encircling about that morning, I struck
the trail of about twenty horses, the missing number, and
at once signaled to Priest, who was about a mile distant,
to join me. The ground was fortunately fresh from the
recent rain and left an easy trail. We galloped along
it easily for some little distance, when the trail suddenly

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turned and we could see that the horses had been running,
having evidently received the sudden scare. On following up the
trail nearly a mile, we noticed where they had quieted
down and had evidently grazed for several hours. But in
looking up the trail by which they had left these parts,
priests made the discovery of signs of cattle. We located

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the trail of the horses soon, and we were again
surprised that they had been running as before, though the
trail was much fresher, having possibly been made about dawn.
We ran the trail out until it passed over a
slight divide, when there before us stood the missing horses.
They never noticed us, but were standing at attention, cautiously

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sniffing the early morning air, on which was borne to
them the scent of something they feared. On reaching them,
their fears seemed not the least appeased, and my partner
and I had our curiosity sufficiently aroused to ride forward
to the cause of their alarm. As we rounded the
spur of a hill there in plain view grazed a

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band of about twenty buffalo. We were almost as excited
as the horses over the discovery. By dropping back and
keeping the hill between us and them, then dismounting and
leaving our horses, we thought we could reach the apex
of the hill, but it was a small elevation, and
from its summit we secured a splendid view of the animals,

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now less than three hundred yards distance. Flattening ourselves out,
we spent several minutes watching the shaggy animals as they
grazed leisurely forward, while several calves in the bunch gambled
about their mothers. A buffalo calf I had always heard
made delicious veal, and as we had had no fresh

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meat since we had started, I proposed the priest that
we get one. He suggested trying our ropes, for if
we could get even within effective six shooter range, a
rope was much the surest. Certainly, such cumbrous, awkward looking animals,
he said, could be no match for our Texas horses.

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We accordingly dropped back off the hill to our saddle stock.
When priests said that if he only had a certain
horse of his out of the band we had been trailing,
he would promise me buffalo veal if he had to
follow them to the Panhandle. It took us but a
few minutes to return to our horses round them in
and secure the particular horse he wanted. I was riding

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my Nigger Boy, my regular night horse, and as only
one of my mount was in this bunch, a good horse,
but sluggish, I concluded to give my black a trial,
not depending on his speed so much as his staying qualities.
It took but a minute for the rebel to shift
his saddle from one horse to another, and when he
started around to the south, while I turned to the

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north so as to approach the buffalo simultaneously, I came
in sight of the band first, my partner having a
farther ride to make, but had only a few moments
to wait before I noticed the quarry take alarm, and
the next instant priest dashed out from behind the spur
of the hill and was after them. I followed suit.

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They turned westward, and when the rebel and I came
together on the angle of their course, we were several
hundred yards in their rear. My Bunkie had the best
horse and speed by all odds, and was soon crowding
the band so close that they began to scatter, And
though I passed several old bulls and cows, it was
all I could do to keep in sight of the calves.

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After the chase had continued over a mile, the staining
quality of my horse began to shine. But while I
was nearing the lead, the rebel tied to the large
calf in the bunch. The calf he had on his
rope was a beauty, and on overtaking him, I reined
in my horse, for to have killed a second one
would have been sheer waste. Priest wanted me to shoot

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the calf, but I refused, so he shifted the rope
to the pommel of my saddle, and, dismounting, dropped the
calf at the first shot. We skinned him, cut off
his head, and after disemboweling him, lashed the carcass across
my saddle. Then both of us mounted Priest's horse and
started on our return. On reaching the horse stock, we

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succeeded in catching a sleepy old horse belonging to Rod
Wheat's mount, and I rode him, bridleless and bareback to camp.
We received an ovation on our arrival, the recovery of
the saddle horses being a secondary matter compared to the
buffalo veal. So it was buffalo that had scared our horses,
was it? And ran them out of camp, said mac

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cann as he helped to unlash the calf. Well, it's
an ill wind that blows nobody good. There was no
particular loss of time, for the herd had grazed away
on our course several miles, and after changing our mouths,
we overtook the herd with the news that not only
the horses had been found, but that there was fresh

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meat in camp and buffalo veal. At that the other
men out horse hunting, seeing the cattle strung out in
the traveling shape, soon returned to their places. Beside the
trailing herd. We held a due northward course which we
figured ought to carry us past and at least thirty
miles to the westward of the Big Indian encampment. The

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worst thing with which we had now to contend was
the weather. It having rained more or less during the
past day and night, and ever since we had crossed
the Salt Fork, the weather had thrown the outfit into
such a gloomy mood that they would scarcely speak to
or answer each other. This gloomy feeling had been growing
on us for several days, and it was even believed

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secretly that our foreman didn't know where he was, that
the outfit was drifting and as good as lost. About
noon of the third day, the weather continuing wet, with
cold nights, and with no abatement of the general gloom,
our men on point noticed smoke arising directly ahead of
our course in a little valley through which ran a

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nice stream of water. When Flood's attention was directed to
the smoke, he rode forward to ascertain the cause, and
return worse baffled than I ever saw him. It was
an Indian camp and had evidently been abandoned only that morning,
for the fires were still smoldering. Ordering the wagon to
camp on the creek and the cattle to graze forward

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till noon, Flood returned to the Indian camp, taking two
of the boys and myself with him. It had not
been a permanent camp yet, showed evidence of having been
occupied several days at least, and had contained nearly a
hundred lean tos, wikiops and teepeas, altogether too large an
encampment to suit our tastes. The foreman had us hunt

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up the trail leaving, and once we had found it,
all four of us ran it out five or six
miles when from the freshness of it, fearing that we
might be seen, we turned back. The Indians had many
ponies and possibly some cattle, though the signs of the
latter were hard to distinguish from buffalo. Before quitting their trail,

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we concluded that they were from one of the reservations
and were heading to their old stamping grounds. The Panhandle
country peaceable, probably, but whether peaceable or not, we had
no desire to meet with them. We lost little time
then in returning to the herd and making late and
early drives until we were out of that section. But

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one cannot foresee impending trouble on the cattle trail any
more then elsewhere. And although we camped that night a
long distance to the north of the abandoned Indian camp,
the next morning we came near having a stampede. It
happened just at dawn. Flood had called the cook an
hour before daybreak, and he had started out with Honeyman

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to drive in the ramuda, which had scattered badly the
morning before. They had the horses rounded up and were
driving them towards camp, when about half a mile from
the wagon, four old buffalo bulls ran quartering past the horses.
This was tinder among stubble, and in their panic, the
horses outstripped the wranglers and came thundering for camp. Luckily

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we had been called to breakfast, and those of us
who could see what was up ran and secured our
night horses. Before half of the horses were thus secured, however,
one hundred and thirty loose saddle stock dashed through camp,
and every horse on picket went with them, saddles and all,
and dragging the picket ropes. Then the cattle jumped from

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the bed ground and were off like a shot. The
fourth guard, who had them in charge, with them just
for the time being. It was an open question which
way to ride our saddle horses, going in one direction
and the herd in another. Priest was an early riser,
and it hustled me out early. So fortunately we reached
our horses, though over half the outfit and camp could

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only look on and curse their luck at being left
the foot. The rebel was first in the saddle and
turned after the horses, but I rode for the herd.
The cattle were not badly scared, and as the morning
grew clearer, five of us quieted them down before they
had run more than a short mile. The horses, however,

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gave us a long, hard run, and since the horse
has a splendid memory, the effects of this scare were
noticeable for nearly a month after. Honeymen at once urged
our foreman to hobble at night, but Flood knew the
importance of keeping the remute as strong and refused. But
his decision was forced, for just as it was growing

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dusk that evening, we heard the horses running, and all
had to turn out to surround them and bring them
into camp. We hobbled every horse and sidelined certain leaders
for fully a week. Following one scare or another seemed
to hold our saddle stock in constant terror. During this
week we turned out our night horses, and taking the

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worst of the leaders in their stead, tied them solidly
to wagon wheels all night. Not being willing to trust
to picket ropes, they would even run from a mounted
man during the twilight of evening or early dawn, or
from any object not distinguishable in uncertain light. But the
wrangler now never went near them until after sunrise, and

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their nervousness gradually subsided. Trouble never comes singly, however, and
when we struck the Salt Fork we found it raging
and impassable nearly from bank to bank. But get across
we must. The swimming of it was nothing, but it
was necessary to get our wagon over, and there came

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the rub. We swam the cattle in twenty minutes time,
but it took us a full half day to get
the wagon over. The river was at least a hundred
yards wide, three quarters of which was swimming to a horse.
But we hunted up and down the river until we
found an eddy where the banks had a gradual approach
to deep water, and started to raft the wagon over,

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a thing none of the outfit had ever done, though
we had often heard of it around camp fires and Texas.
The first thing was to get the necessary timber to
make the raft. We scouted along the Salt Fork for
a mile either way before we found sufficient dry, dead
cottonwood to form our raft. Then we set about cutting it,

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but we had only one axe, and where the poorest
set of axemen that were ever called upon to perform
a similar task. When we cut a tree, it looked
as though a beaver had gnawed it down On horseback.
The Texan shines at the head of his class, but
in any occupation which must be performed on foot, he

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is never a competitor. There was scarcely a man in
our outfit who could not swing a rope and tie
down a steer in a given space of time. But
when it came to swinging an axe to cut logs
for the raft, our luster faded. Cutting these logs, said
Joe Stallings, as he mopped the sweat from his brow.
Reminds me of what the Tennessee girl who married a

(27:25):
Texan wrote home to her sister Texas. She wrote, is
a good place for men and dogs, but it's hell
on women and oxen. Dragging the logs up to the
place selected for the ford was an easy manner. They
were light, but we did it with ropes from the
pommels of our saddles, two to four horses being sufficient
to handle any of the trees. When everything was ready,

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we ran the wagon out in two foot water and
built the raft under it. We had cut the dry
logs from eighteen to twenty feet long, and now ran
a tier of these under the wagon. Between the wheels.
These we lashed securely to the axle, and even last
one large log on the under side of the hub
on the outside of the wheel. Then we crossed timbered

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under these, lashing everything securely to this outside guard log.
Before we had finished across timbering, it was necessary to
take an anchor rope ashore, for fear our wagon would
float away. By the time we had succeeded in getting
twenty five dry cottonwood logs under our wagon, it was afloat.
Half a dozen of us then swam the river on

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our horses, Taking across the heaviest rope we had for
a tow line, we threw the wagon tongue back and
lashed it, making it fast to the wagon. With one
end of the tow rope, fastened our lariats to the other.
With the remainder of our unused rope, we took a
guy line from the wagon and snubbed it to a
tree on the south bank. Everything being in readiness, the

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word was given, and as those on the south bank
eased a way, those on horseback on the other side
gave the rowel to their horses, and our commissary floated across.
The wagon floated so easily that mac cann was ordered
on the raft to trim the weight. When it struck
the current, the current carried it slightly down stream, and

(29:17):
when it lodged on the other side, those on the
south bank fastened lariats to the guy rope, and with
them pulling from that side and us from mars, it
was soon brought opposite the landing and hauled into shallow water.
Once the raft timber was unlashed and removed, the tongue
was lowered, and from the pommel of sick saddles the

(29:37):
wagon was set high and dry on the north bank.
There now only remained to bring up the cattle and
swim them, which was an easy task and soon accomplished.
After putting the salt fork behind us, Our spirits were
again dampened, for it rained all the latter part of
the night and until noon the next day. It was
with considerable difficulty that Machan could keep fire from drowning

(30:01):
out while he was getting breakfast, and several of the
outfit refused to eat at all. Flood knew it was
useless to rally the boys, for a wet, hungry man
is not to be jollied or reasoned with. Five days
had now elapsed since we turned off the established trail,
and half the time rain had been falling. Besides, our

(30:22):
doubt as to where we were had been growing. So
before we started that morning, Bull Durham very good naturedly
asked Flood if he had any idea where he was. No,
I haven't no more than you have, replied our foreman.
But this much I do know, or will just as
soon as the sun comes out. I know north from south.

(30:43):
We have been traveling north by a little west, and
if we hold that course, we're bound to strike the
North Fork, and within a day or two afterwards we
will come into the government trail running from Fort Elliott
to Camp's Supply, which will lead us into our own trail.
Or if we were certain that we had cleared the
Indian reservation, we could bear to our right and in

(31:05):
time would re enter the trail that way. I can't
help the weather boys, and as long as I have Chuck,
i'd as lief be lost as found. If there was
any recovery in the feeling of the outfit after this
talk of floods, it was not noticeable, and it is
safe to say that two thirds of the boys believed
we were in the Panhandle of Texas. One man's opinion

(31:28):
is as good as another's in a strange country. And
while there wasn't a man in the outfit who cared
to suggest it, I know the majority of us would
have endorsed turning northeast. But the fates smiled on us
at last. About middle of the forenoon on the following day,
we cut an Indian trail about three days old, probably

(31:49):
fifty horses. A number of us followed the trail several
miles on its westward course, and among other things, discovered
that they had been driving a small bunch of cattle,
evidently making for the sand hills, which we could see
about twenty miles to our left. How they had come
by the cattle was a mystery, perhaps by forced levee,

(32:09):
perhaps from a stampede. One thing was certain, the trail
must have contributed them, for there were none but trail
cattle in the country. This was reassuring and gave some
hint of guidance. We were all tickled therefore, after nooning
that day and on starting the herd in the afternoon
to hear our form and give orders to point the

(32:31):
herd a little east of north. The next few days
we made long drives our saddle horses recovered from their scare,
and the outfit fast regained its spirits. On the morning
of the tenth day, after leaving the trail, we loitered
up a long slope to a divide in our lead,
from which we sighted timber to the north. This was supposed,

(32:54):
from its size to be the north fork. Our route
lay up this divide some distance, and before we left it,
some one in the rear sighted a dust cloud to
the right and far behind us. As dust would hardly
rise on a still morning without a cause, we turned
the herd off the divide and pushed on for we
suspected Indians. Flood and Priest hung back on the divide,

(33:18):
watching the dust signals, and after the herd had left
them several miles in the rear, they turned and rode
towards it, a move which the outfit could hardly make out.
It was nearly noon when we saw them returning in
a long lope, and when they came in sight of
the herd, Priest waved his hat in the air and
gave the long yell when he explained that there was

(33:39):
a herd of cattle on the trail in the rear,
and to our right. The yell went round the herd
and was re echoed by our wrangler and cook in
the rear. The spirits of the outfit instantly rose. We
halted the herd and camped for noon, and mac cann
set out his best in celebrating the occasion. It was
the most enjoyable meal we had had in the past

(34:01):
ten days. After a good noonday rest, we set out, and,
having entered the trail during the afternoon, crossed the North
Fork late that evening. As we were going into camp,
we noticed a horseman coming up the trail who turned
out to be smiling Nate's Straw, whom we had left
on the Colorado River. Well, girls, said Nate, dismounting, I

(34:24):
didn't know who you were, but I just thought I'd
ride ahead and overtake whoever it was and stay all night. Indians. Yes,
I wouldn't drive on a trail that hadn't any excitement
on it. I gave the last big encampment ten strays
and won them all back and four ponies besides on
a horse race. Oh yes, got some running stock with us.

(34:47):
How soon will supper be ready? Causeye get up something
extra for You've got company end of chapter ten,