Chapter X. A Family Reunion

by Andy Adams

　　The hospitality of a trail wagon was aptly expressed in theinvitation to enjoy ourselves. Some one had exercised goodjudgment in selecting a camp, for every convenience was at hand,including running water and ample shade from a clump ofcottonwoods. Turning our steaming horses free, we threwourselves, in complete abandonment and relaxation, down in thenearest shade. Unmistakable hints were given our host of certainrefreshments which would be acceptable, and in reply Forrestpointed to a bucket of creek water near the wagon wheel, andurged us not to be at all backward.Every one was well fortified with brown cigarette papers andsmoking tobacco, and singly and in groups we were soon smokinglike hired hands and reviewing the incidents of the morning.Forrest's cook, a tall, red-headed fellow, in anticipation of thenumber of guests his wagon would entertain for the day, put onthe little and the big pot. As it only lacked an hour of noon onour arrival, the promised fresh beef would not be available intime for dinner; but we were not like guests who had to hurryhome--we would be right there when supper was ready.The loss of a night's sleep on my outfit was a good excuse for anafter-dinner siesta. Untying our slickers, we strolled out ofhearing of the camp, and for several hours obliterated time.About three o'clock Bob Quirk aroused and informed us that he hadordered our horses, and that the signal of Sponsilier's cattlehad been seen south on the trail. Dave was impatient to intercepthis herd and camp them well down the creek, at least below theregular crossing. This would throw Bob's and my cattle stillfarther down the stream; and we were all determined to honorForrest with our presence for supper and the evening hours.Quince's wrangler rustled in the horses, and as we rejoined thecamp the quarters of a beef hung low on a cottonwood, while asmudge beneath them warned away all insect life. Leaving wordthat we would return during the evening, the eleventh-hour guestsrode away in the rough, uneven order in which we had arrived.Sponsilier and his men veered off to the south, Bob Quirk and hislads soon following, while the rest of us continued on down thecreek. My cattle were watering when we overtook them, occupyingfully a mile of the stream, and nearly an hour's ride below thetrail crossing. It takes a long time to water a big herdthoroughly, and we repeatedly turned them back and forth acrossthe creek, but finally allowed them to graze away with a broad,fan-like front. As ours left the stream, Bob's cattle were comingin over a mile above, and in anticipation of a dry camp thatnight, Parent had been advised to fill his kegs and supplyhimself with wood.Detailing the third and fourth guard to wrangle the remuda, Isent Levering up the creek with my brother's horses and torecover our loaned saddle stock; even Bob Quirk was justthoughtless enough to construe a neighborly act into a horsetrade. About two miles out from the creek and an equal distancefrom the trail, I found the best bed-ground of the trip. Itsloped to the northwest, was covered with old dry grass, andwould catch any vagrant breeze except an eastern one. The wagonwas ordered into camp, and the first and second guards wererelieved just long enough to secure their night-horses. Nearlyall of these two watches had been with me during the day, and onthe return of Levering with the horses, we borrowed a number ofempty flour-sacks for beef, and cantered away, leaving behindonly the cook and the first two guards.What an evening and night that was! As we passed up the creek, wesighted in the gathering twilight the camp-fires of Sponsilierand my brother, several miles apart and south of the stream. Whenwe reached Forrest's wagon the clans were gathering, The Rebeland his crowd being the last to come in from above. Groups ofsaddle horses were tied among the trees, while around two fireswere circles of men broiling beef over live coals. The red-headedcook had anticipated forty guests outside of his own outfit, andwas pouring coffee into tin cups and shying biscuit right andleft on request. The supper was a success, not on account of thespread or our superior table manners, but we graced the occasionwith appetites which required the staples of life to satisfy.Then we smoked, falling into groups when the yarning began. Allthe fresh-beef stories of our lives, and they were legion, weretold, no one group paying any attention to another."Every time I run a-foul of fresh beef," said The Rebel, as hesettled back comfortably between the roots of a cottonwood, withhis back to its trunk, "it reminds me of the time I was aprisoner among the Yankees. It was the last year of the war, andI had got over my first desire to personally whip the wholeNorth. There were about five thousand of us held as prisoners ofwar for eleven months on a peninsula in the Chesapeake Bay. Thefighting spirit of the soldier was broken in the majority of us,especially among the older men and those who had families. But weyoungsters accepted the fortunes of war and were glad that wewere alive, even if we were prisoners. In my mess in prison therewere fifteen, all having been captured at the same time, and manyof us comrades of three years' standing."I remember the day we were taken off the train and marchedthrough the town for the prison, a Yankee band in our frontplaying national airs and favorites of their army, and the peoplealong the route jeering us and asking how we liked the music. Ourmess held together during the march, and some of the boysanswered them back as well as they could. Once inside the prisonstockade, we went into quarters and our mess still held together.Before we had been there long, one day there was a call among theprisoners for volunteers to form a roustabout crew. Well, Ienlisted as a roustabout. We had to report to an officer twice aday, and then were put under guard and set to work. The kind oflabor I liked best was unloading the supplies for the prison,which were landed on a near-by wharf. This roustabout crew hadall the unloading to do, and the reason I liked it was it gave ussome chance to steal. Whenever there was anything extra, intendedfor the officers, to be unloaded, look out for accidents. Brokencrates were common, and some of the contents was certain to reachour pockets or stomachs, in spite of the guard."I was a willing worker and stood well with the guards. Theynever searched me, and when they took us outside the stockade,the captain of the guard gave me permission, after our work wasover, to patronize the sutler's store and buy knick-knacks fromthe booths. There was always some little money amongst soldiers,even in prison, and I was occasionally furnished money by mymessmates to buy bread from a baker's wagon which was outside thewalls. Well, after I had traded a few times with the baker's boy,I succeeded in corrupting him. Yes, had him stealing from hisemployer and selling to me at a discount. I was a good customer,and being a prisoner, there was no danger of my meeting hisemployer. You see the loaves were counted out to him, and he hadto return the equivalent or the bread. At first the bread cost meten cents for a small loaf, but when I got my scheme working, itdidn't cost me five cents for the largest loaves the boy couldsteal from the bakery. I worked that racket for several months,and if we hadn't been exchanged, I'd have broke that baker, sure."But the most successful scheme I worked was stealing the kidneysout of beef while we were handling it. It was some distance fromthe wharf to the warehouse, and when I'd get a hind quarter ofbeef on my shoulder, it was an easy trick to burrow my handthrough the tallow and get a good grip on the kidney. Then whenI'd throw the quarter down in the warehouse, it would be minus akidney, which secretly found lodgment in a large pocket in theinside of my shirt. I was satisfied with one or two kidneys a daywhen I first worked the trick, but my mess caught on, and then Ihad to steal by wholesale to satisfy them. Some days, when theguards were too watchful, I couldn't get very many, and thenagain when things were lax, 'Elijah's Raven' would get a kidneyfor each man in our mess. With the regular allowance of rationsand what I could steal, when the Texas troops were exchanged, ourmess was ragged enough, but pig-fat, and slick as weasels. Lordlove you, but we were a great mess of thieves."Nearly all of Flood's old men were with him again, several ofwhom were then in Forrest's camp. A fight occurred among a groupof saddle horses tied to the front wheel of the wagon, among thembeing the mount of John Officer. After the belligerents had beenquieted, and Officer had removed and tied his horse to aconvenient tree, he came over and joined our group, among whichwere the six trail bosses. Throwing himself down among us, andusing Sponsilier for a pillow and myself for footstool, heobserved:"All you foremen who have been over the Chisholm Trail rememberthe stage-stand called Bull Foot, but possibly some of the boyshaven't. Well, no matter, it's just about midway between LittleTurkey Creek and Buffalo Springs on that trail, where it runsthrough the Cherokee Strip. I worked one year in that northerncountry--lots of Texas boys there too. It was just about the timethey began to stock that country with Texas steers, and we rodelines to keep our cattle on their range. You bet, there wasriding to do in that country then. The first few months thatthese Southern steers are turned loose on a new range, Lord! butthey do love to drift against a breeze. In any kind of arain-storm, they'll travel farther in a night than a whole outfitcan turn them back in a day."Our camp was on the Salt Fork of the Cimarron, and late in thefall when all the beeves had been shipped, the outfit were ridinglines and loose-herding a lot of Texas yearlings, and mixedcattle, natives to that range. Up in that country they haveIndian summer and Squaw winter, both occurring in the fall. Theyhave lots of funny weather up there. Well, late one evening thatfall there came an early squall of Squaw winter, sleeted and spitsnow wickedly. The next morning there wasn't a hoof in sight, andshortly after daybreak we were riding deep in our saddles tocatch the lead drift of our cattle. After a hard day's ride, wefound that we were out several hundred head, principallyyearlings of the through Texas stock. You all know how locoed abunch of dogies can get--we hunted for three days and for fiftymiles in every direction, and neither hide, hair, nor hoof couldwe find. It was while we were hunting these cattle that my yarncommences."The big augers of the outfit lived in Wichita, Kansas. Theirforeman, Bibleback Hunt, and myself were returning from huntingthis missing bunch of yearlings when night overtook us, fullytwenty-five miles from camp. Then this Bull Foot stage came tomind, and we turned our horses and rode to it. It was nearly darkwhen we reached it, and Bibleback said for me to go in and makethe talk. I'll never forget that nice little woman who met me atthe door of that sod shack. I told her our situation, and sheseemed awfully gracious in granting us food and shelter for thenight. She told us we could either picket our horses or put themin the corral and feed them hay and grain from thestage-company's supply. Now, old Bibleback was what you mightcall shy of women, and steered clear of the house until she senther little boy out and asked us to come in. Well, we sat aroundin the room, owly-like, and to save my soul from the wrath tocome, I couldn't think of a word that was proper to say to thelittle woman, busy getting supper. Bibleback was worse off than Iwas; he couldn't do anything but look at the pictures on thewall. What was worrying me was, had she a husband? Or what wasshe doing away out there in that lonesome country? Then a man oldenough to be her grandfather put in an appearance. He wasfriendly and quite talkative, and I built right up to him. Andthen we had a supper that I distinctly remember yet. Well, Ishould say I do--it takes a woman to get a good supper, and cheerit with her presence, sitting at the head of the table andpouring the coffee."This old man was a retired stage-driver, and was doing thewrangling act for the stage-horses. After supper I went out tothe corral and wormed the information out of him that the womanwas a widow; that her husband had died before she came there, andthat she was from Michigan. Amongst other things that I learnedfrom the old man was that she had only been there a few months,and was a poor but deserving woman. I told Bibleback all thisafter we had gone to bed, and we found that our finances amountedto only four dollars, which she was more than welcome to. So thenext morning after breakfast, when I asked her what I owed herfor our trouble, she replied so graciously: 'Why, gentlemen, Icouldn't think of taking advantage of your necessity to chargeyou for a favor that I'm only too happy to grant.' 'Oh,' said I,'take this, anyhow,' laying the silver on the corner of the tableand starting for the door, when she stopped me. 'One moment, sir;I can't think of accepting this. Be kind enough to grant myrequest,' and returned the money. We mumbled out some thanks,bade her good-day, and started for the corral, feeling like twosheep thieves. While we were saddling up--will you believe it?--her little boy came out to the corral and gave each one of us asfine a cigar as ever I buttoned my lip over. Well, fellows, wehad had it put all over us by this little Michigan woman, till wecouldn't look each other in the face. We were accustomed tohardship and neglect, but here was genuine kindness enough tokill a cat."Until we got within five miles of our camp that morning, oldBibleback wouldn't speak to me as we rode along. Then he turnedhalfway in his saddle and said: 'What kind of folks are those?''I don't know,' I replied, 'what kind of people they are, but Iknow they are good ones.' 'Well, I'll get even with that littlewoman if it takes every sou in my war-bags,' said Hunt."When within a mile of camp, Bibleback turned again in his saddleand asked, 'When is Christmas?' 'In about five weeks,' Ianswered. 'Do you know where that big Wyoming stray ranges?' henext asked. I trailed onto his game in a second. 'Of course Ido.' 'Well,' says he, 'let's kill him for Christmas and give thatlittle widow every ounce of the meat. It'll be a good one on her,won't it? We'll fool her a plenty. Say nothing to the others,' headded; and giving our horses the rein we rode into camp on agallop."Three days before Christmas we drove up this Wyoming stray andbeefed him. We hung the beef up overnight to harden in the frost,and the next morning bright and early, we started for thestage-stand with a good pair of ponies to a light wagon. Wereached the widow's place about eleven o'clock, and against herprotests that she had no use for so much, we hung up eighthundred pounds of as fine beef as you ever set your peepers on.We wished her a merry Christmas, jumped into the wagon, cluckedto the ponies, and merely hit the high places getting away. Whenwe got well out of sight of the house--well, I've seen mule coltsplay and kid goats cut up their antics; I've seen children thatwas frolicsome; but for a man with gray hair on his head, oldBibleback Hunt that day was the happiest mortal I ever saw. Hetalked to the horses; he sang songs; he played Injun; and thatChristmas was a merry one, for the debt was paid and our littlewidow had beef to throw to the dogs. I never saw her again, butwherever she is to-night, if my prayer counts, may God blessher!"Early in the evening I had warned my boys that we would start onour return at ten o'clock. The hour was nearly at hand, and inreply to my inquiry if our portion of the beef had been secured,Jack Splann said that he had cut off half a loin, a side of ribs,and enough steak for breakfast. Splann and I tied the beef to ourcantle-strings, and when we returned to the group, Sponsilier wastelling of the stampede of his herd in the Panhandle about amonth before. "But that run wasn't a circumstance to one in whichI figured once, and in broad daylight," concluded Dave. Itrequired no encouragement to get the story; all we had to do wasto give him time to collect his thoughts."Yes, it was in the summer of '73," he finally continued. "It wasmy first trip over the trail, and I naturally fell into positionat the drag end of the herd. I was a green boy of about eighteenat the time, having never before been fifty miles from the ranchwhere I was born. The herd belonged to Major Hood, and ourdestination was Ellsworth, Kansas. In those days they generallyworked oxen to the chuck-wagons, as they were ready sale in theupper country, and in good demand for breaking prairie. I reckonthere must have been a dozen yoke of work-steers in our herd thatyear, and they were more trouble to me than all the balance ofthe cattle, for they were slothful and sinfully lazy. Myvocabulary of profanity was worn to a frazzle before we were outa week, and those oxen didn't pay any more attention to a rope ormyself than to the buzzing of a gnat."There was one big roan ox, called Turk, which we worked to thewagon occasionally, but in crossing the Arbuckle Mountains in theIndian Territory, he got tender-footed. Another yoke wassubstituted, and in a few days Turk was on his feet again. But hewas a cunning rascal and had learned to soldier, and while hisfeet were sore, I favored him with sandy trails and gave him hisown time. In fact, most of my duties were driving that one ox,while the other boys handled the herd. When his feet got well--Ihad toadied and babied him so--he was plum ruined. I begged theforeman to put him back in the chuck team, but the cook kicked onaccount of his well-known laziness, so Turk and I continued toadorn the rear of the column. I reckon the foreman thought itbetter to have Turk and me late than no dinner. I tried a hundreddifferent schemes to instill ambition and self-respect into thatox, but he was an old dog and contented with his evil ways."Several weeks passed, and Turk and I became a standing joke withthe outfit. One morning I made the discovery that he was afraidof a slicker. For just about a full half day, I had the best ofhim, and several times he was out of sight in the main body ofthe herd. But he always dropped to the rear, and finally theslicker lost its charm to move him. In fact he rather enjoyedhaving me fan him with it--it seemed to cool him. It was themiddle of the afternoon, and Turk had dropped about aquarter-mile to the rear, while I was riding along beside andthrowing the slicker over him like a blanket. I was letting himcarry it, and he seemed to be enjoying himself, switching histail in appreciation, when the matted brush of his tail nooseditself over one of the riveted buttons on the slicker. The nextswitch brought the yellow 'fish' bumping on his heels, andemitting a blood-curdling bellow, he curved his tail and startedfor the herd. Just for a minute it tickled me to see old Turkgetting such a wiggle on him, but the next moment my mirth turnedto seriousness, and I tried to cut him off from the other cattle,but he beat me, bellowing bloody murder. The slicker was sailinglike a kite, and the rear cattle took fright and began bawling asif they had struck a fresh scent of blood. The scare flashedthrough the herd from rear to point, and hell began popping rightthen and there. The air filled with dust and the earth trembledwith the running cattle. Not knowing which way to turn, I stayedright where I was--in the rear. As the dust lifted, I followedup, and about a mile ahead picked up my slicker, and shortlyafterward found old Turk, grazing contentedly. With every man inthe saddle, that herd ran seven miles and was only turned by theCimarron River. It was nearly dark when I and the roan oxovertook the cattle. Fortunately none of the swing-men had seenthe cause of the stampede, and I attributed it to fresh blood,which the outfit believed. My verdant innocence saved my scalpthat time, but years afterward I nearly lost it when I admittedto my old foreman what had caused the stampede that afternoon.But I was a trail boss then and had learned my lesson."The Rebel, who was encamped several miles up the creek, summonedhis men, and we all arose and scattered after our horses. Therewas quite a cavalcade going our way, and as we halted within thelight of the fires for the different outfits to gather, Floodrode up, and calling Forrest, said: "In the absence of any wordfrom old man Don, we might as well all pull out in the morning.More than likely we'll hear from him at Grinnell, and until wereach the railroad, the Buford herds had better take the lead.I'll drag along in the rear, and if there's another move madefrom Dodge, you will have warning. Now, that's about all, exceptto give your cattle plenty of time; don't hurry. S'long,fellows."