Chapter XVII. Water-Bound

by Andy Adams

　　Our route was carrying us to the eastward of the Black Hills. Theregular trail to the Yellowstone and Montana points was by theway of the Powder River, through Wyoming; but as we were onlygrazing across to our destination, the most direct route wasadopted. The first week after leaving the Niobrara was withoutincident, except the meeting with a band of Indians, who weregathering and drying the wild fruit in which the countryabounded. At first sighting their camp we were uneasy, holdingthe herd close together; but as they proved friendly, we relaxedand shared our tobacco with the men. The women were nearly all ofone stature, short, heavy, and repulsive in appearance, while themen were tall, splendid specimens of the aborigines, and asuniform in a dozen respects as the cattle we were driving.Communication was impossible, except by signs, but the chief hada letter of permission from the agent at Pine Ridge, allowinghimself and band a month's absence from the reservation on aberrying expedition. The bucks rode with us for hours, silentlyabsorbed in the beeves, and towards evening turned and gallopedaway for their encampment.It must have been the latter part of July when we reached theSouth Fork of the Big Cheyenne River. The lead was first held byone and then the other herd, but on reaching that watercourse, weall found it more formidable than we expected. The stage of waterwas not only swimming, but where we struck it, the river had anabrupt cut-bank on one side or the other. Sponsilier happened tobe in the lead, and Forrest and myself held back to await thedecision of the veteran foreman. The river ran on a northwestangle where we encountered it, and Dave followed down it somedistance looking for a crossing. The herds were only three orfour miles apart, and assistance could have been rendered eachother, but it was hardly to be expected that an older foremanwould ask either advice or help from younger ones. Hence Quinceand myself were in no hurry, nor did we intrude ourselves onDavid the pathfinder, but sought out a crossing up the river andon our course. A convenient riffle was soon found in the riverwhich would admit the passage of the wagons without rafting, if acut-bank on the south side could be overcome. There was an abruptdrop of about ten feet to the water level, and I argued that awagon-way could be easily cut in the bank and the commissarieslowered to the river's edge with a rope to the rear axle. Forrestalso favored the idea, and I was authorized to cross the wagonsin case a suitable ford could be found for the cattle. Myaversion to manual labor was quite pronounced, yet John Q.Forrest wheedled me into accepting the task of making awagon-road. About a mile above the riffle, a dry wash cut a gashin the bluff bank on the opposite side, which promised thenecessary passageway for the herds out of the river. The slope onthe south side was gradual, affording an easy inlet to the water,the only danger being on the other bank, the dry wash not beingover thirty feet wide. But we both agreed that by putting thecattle in well above the passageway, even if the current wasswift, an easy and successful ford would result. Forrestvolunteered to cross the cattle, and together we returned to theherds for dinner.Quince allowed me one of his men besides the cook, and detailedClay Zilligan to assist with the wagons. We took my remuda, thespades and axes, and started for the riffle. The commissaries hadorders to follow up, and Forrest rode away with a superciliousair, as if the crossing of wagons was beneath the attention of aforeman of his standing. Several hours of hard work were spentwith the implements at hand in cutting the wagon-way through thebank, after which my saddle horses were driven up and down; andwhen it was pronounced finished, it looked more like abeaver-slide than a roadway. But a strong stake was cut anddriven into the ground, and a corral-rope taken from the axle toit; without detaching the teams, the wagons were eased down theincline and crossed in safety, the water not being over threefeet deep in the shallows. I was elated over the ease and successof my task, when Zilligan called attention to the fact that thefirst herd had not yet crossed. The chosen ford was out of sight,but had the cattle been crossing, we could have easily seen themon the mesa opposite. "Well," said Clay, "the wagons are over,and what's more, all the mules in the three outfits couldn'tbring one of them back up that cliff."We mounted our horses, paying no attention to Zilligan's note ofwarning, and started up the river. But before we came in view ofthe ford, a great shouting reached our ears, and giving ourhorses the rowel, we rounded a bend, only to be confronted withthe river full of cattle which had missed the passageway out onthe farther side. A glance at the situation revealed a dangerouspredicament, as the swift water and the contour of the river heldthe animals on the farther side or under the cut-bank. Innumerous places there was footing on the narrow ledges to whichthe beeves clung like shipwrecked sailors, constantly crowdingeach other off into the current and being carried downstreamhundreds of yards before again catching a foothold. Above andbelow the chosen ford, the river made a long gradual bend, thecurrent and deepest water naturally hugged the opposite shore,and it was impossible for the cattle to turn back, though theswimming water was not over forty yards wide. As we dashed up,the outfit succeeded in cutting the train of cattle and turningthem back, though fully five hundred were in the river, while notover one fifth that number had crossed in safety. Forrest was ascool as could be expected, and exercised an elegant command ofprofanity in issuing his orders."I did allow for the swiftness of the current," said he, in replyto a criticism of mine, "but those old beeves just drifteddownstream like a lot of big tubs. The horses swam it easy, andthe first hundred cattle struck the mouth of the wash square inthe eye, but after that they misunderstood it for a bath insteadof a ford. Oh, well, it's live and learn, die and forget it. Butsince you're so d-- strong on the sabe, suppose you suggest a wayof getting those beeves out of the river."It was impossible to bring them back, and the only alternativewas attempted. About three quarters of a mile down the river thecut-bank shifted to the south side. If the cattle could swim thatdistance there was an easy landing below. The beeves belonged toForrest's herd, and I declined the proffered leadership, butplans were outlined and we started the work of rescue. Only a fewmen were left to look after the main herds, the remainder of usswimming the river on our horses. One man was detailed to drivethe contingent which had safely forded, down to the point wherethe bluff bank shifted and the incline commenced on the northshore. The cattle were clinging, in small bunches, under thecut-bank like swallows to a roof for fully a quarter-mile belowthe mouth of the dry wash. Divesting ourselves of all clothing, asquad of six of us, by way of experiment, dropped over the bankand pushed into the river about twenty of the lowest cattle. Oncatching the full force of the current, which ran like amill-race, we swept downstream at a rapid pace, sometimesclinging to a beef's tail, but generally swimming between thecattle and the bluff. The force of the stream drove them againstthe bank repeatedly, but we dashed water in their eyes and pushedthem off again and again, and finally landed every steer.The Big Cheyenne was a mountain stream, having numeroustributaries heading in the Black Hills. The water was none toowarm, and when we came out the air chilled us; but we scaled thebluff and raced back after more cattle. Forrest was in the riveron our return, but I ordered his wrangler to drive all the horsesunder saddle down to the landing, in order that the men couldhave mounts for returning. This expedited matters, and the workprogressed more rapidly. Four separate squads were drifting thecattle, but in the third contingent we cut off too many beevesand came near drowning two fine ones. The animals in questionwere large and strong, but had stood for nearly an hour on aslippery ledge, frequently being crowded into the water, and wereon the verge of collapse from nervous exhaustion. They weretrembling like leaves when we pushed them off. Runt Pickett wasdetailed to look especially after those two, and the littlerascal nursed and toyed and played with them like a circus rider.They struggled constantly for the inshore, but Runt rode theirrumps alternately, the displacement lifting their heads out ofthe water to good advantage. When we finally landed, the two bigfellows staggered out of the river and dropped down through sheerweakness, a thing which I had never seen before except in wildhorses.A number of the boys were attacked by chills, and towards eveninghad to be excused for fear of cramps. By six o'clock we werereduced to two squads, with about fifty cattle still remaining inthe river. Forrest and I had quit the water after the fourthtrip; but Quince had a man named De Manse, a Frenchman, who swamlike a wharf-rat and who stayed to the finish, while I turned mycrew over to Runt Pickett. The latter was raised on the coast ofTexas, and when a mere boy could swim all day, with or withoutoccasion. Dividing the remaining beeves as near equally aspossible, Runt's squad pushed off slightly in advance of DeManse, the remainder of us riding along the bank with the horsesand clothing, and cheering our respective crews. The Frenchmanwas but a moment later in taking the water, and as pretty andthrilling a race as I ever witnessed was in progress. The latterpracticed a trick, when catching a favorable current, of dippingthe rump of a steer, thus lifting his fore parts and rocking himforward like a porpoise. When a beef dropped to the rear, thisprocess was resorted to, and De Manse promised to overtakePickett. From our position on the bank, we shouted to Runt to diphis drag cattle in swift water; but amid the din and splash ofthe struggling swimmers our messages failed to reach his ears.De Manse was gaining slowly, when Pickett's bunch were driveninshore, a number of them catching a footing, and before theycould be again pushed off, the Frenchman's cattle were at theirheels. A number of De Manse's men were swimming shoreward oftheir charges, and succeeded in holding their beeves off theledge, which was the last one before the landing. The remaininghundred yards was eddy water; and though Pickett fought hard,swimming among the Frenchman's lead cattle, to hold the twobunches separate, they mixed in the river. As an evidence ofvictory, however, when the cattle struck a foothold, Runt andeach of his men mounted a beef and rode out of the water somedistance. As the steers recovered and attempted to dislodge theirriders, they nimbly sprang from their backs and hustledthemselves into their ragged clothing.I breathed easier after the last cattle landed, though Forrestcontended there was never any danger. At least a seriouspredicament had been blundered into and handled, as was shown bysubsequent events. At noon that day, rumblings of thunder wereheard in the Black Hills country to the west, a warning to getacross the river as soon as possible. So the situation at theclose of the day was not a very encouraging one to either Forrestor myself. The former had his cattle split in two bunches, whileI had my wagon and remuda on the other side of the river from myherd. But the emergency must be met. I sent a messenger after ourwagon, it was brought back near the river, and a hasty supper wasordered. Two of my boys were sent up to the dry wash to recrossthe river and drift our cattle down somewhere near thewagon-crossing, thus separating the herds for the night. I havenever made claim to being overbright, but that evening I did havesense or intuition enough to take our saddle horses back acrossthe river. My few years of trail life had taught me theimportance of keeping in close touch with our base ofsubsistence, while the cattle and the saddle stock for handlingthem should under no circumstances ever be separated. Yet underexisting conditions it was impossible to recross our commissary,and darkness fell upon us encamped on the south side of the BigCheyenne.The night passed with almost constant thunder and lightning inthe west. At daybreak heavy dark clouds hung low in a semicircleall around the northwest, threatening falling weather, and hastypreparations were made to move down the stream in search of acrossing. In fording the river to breakfast, my outfit agreedthat there had been no perceptible change in the stage of waterovernight, which quickened our desire to move at once. The twowagons were camped close together, and as usual Forrest wasindifferent and unconcerned over the threatening weather; he hadleft his remuda all night on the north side of the river, and hadactually turned loose the rescued contingent of cattle. I did notmince my words in giving Mr. Forrest my programme, when he turnedon me, saying: "Quirk, you have more trouble than a marriedwoman. What do I care if it is raining in London or the BlackHills either? Let her rain; our sugar and salt are both covered,and we can lend you some if yours gets wet. But you go rightahead and follow up Sponsilier; he may not find a crossing thisside of the Belle Fourche. I can take spades and axes, and in twohours' time cut down and widen that wagon-way until the herds cancross. I wouldn't be as fidgety as you are for a large farm. Youought to take something for your nerves."I had a mental picture of John Quincy Forrest doing any manuallabor with an axe or spade. During our short acquaintance thathad been put to the test too often to admit of question; but Iencouraged him to fly right at the bank, assuring him that incase his tools became heated, there was always water at hand tocool them. The wrangler had rustled in the wagon-mules for ourcook, and Forrest was still ridiculing my anxiety to move, when afusillade of shots was heard across and up the river. Every manat both wagons was on his feet in an instant, not one of us evendreaming that the firing of the boys on herd was a warning, whenQuince's horsewrangler galloped up and announced a flood-wavecoming down the river. A rush was made for our horses, and westruck for the ford, dashing through the shallows and up thefarther bank without drawing rein. With a steady rush, a body ofwater, less than a mile distant, greeted our vision, looking likethe falls of some river, rolling forward like an immensecylinder. We sat our horses in bewilderment of the scene, thoughI had often heard Jim Flood describe the sudden rise of streamswhich had mountain tributaries. Forrest and his men crossedbehind us, leaving but the cooks and a horse-wrangler on thefarther side. It was easily to be seen that all the lowlandsalong the river would be inundated, so I sent Levering back withorders to hook up the team and strike for tall timber. Followingsuit, Forrest sent two men to rout the contingent of cattle outof a bend which was nearly a mile below the wagons. The wave,apparently ten to twelve feet high, moved forward slowly, greatwalls lopping off on the side and flooding out over the bottoms,while on the farther shore every cranny and arroyo claimed itsfill from the avalanche of water. The cattle on the south sidewere safe, grazing well back on the uplands, so we gave theoncoming flood our undivided attention. It was traveling at therate of eight to ten miles an hour, not at a steady pace, butsometimes almost halting when the bottoms absorbed its volume,only to catch its breath and forge ahead again in angryimpetuosity. As the water passed us on the bluff bank, severalwaves broke over and washed around our horses' feet, filling thewagon-way, but the main volume rolled across the narrow valley onthe opposite side. The wagons had pulled out to higher ground,and while every eye was strained, watching for the rescued beevesto come out of the bend below, Vick Wolf, who happened to lookupstream, uttered a single shout of warning and dashed away.Turning in our saddles, we saw within five hundred feet of us asecond wave about half the height of the first one. Rowels andquirts were plied with energy and will, as we tore down theriver-bank, making a gradual circle until the second bottoms werereached, outriding the flood by a close margin.The situation was anything but encouraging, as days might elapsebefore the water would fall. But our hopes revived as we saw thecontingent of about six hundred beeves stampede out of a bendbelow and across the river, followed by two men who wereenergetically burning powder and flaunting slickers in theirrear. Within a quarter of an hour, a halfmile of roaring, ragingtorrent, filled with floating driftwood, separated us from thewagons which contained the staples of life. But in the midst ofthe travail of mountain and plain, the dry humor of the men wasirrepressible, one of Forrest's own boys asking him if he feltany uneasiness now about his salt and sugar."Oh, this is nothing," replied Quince, with a contemptuous waveof his hand. "These freshets are liable to happen at any time;rise in an hour and fall in half a day. Look there how it isclearing off in the west; the river will be fordable this eveningor in the morning at the furthest. As long as everything is safe,what do we care? If it comes to a pinch, we have plenty of straybeef; berries are ripe, and I reckon if we cast around we mightfind some wild onions. I have lived a whole month at a time onnothing but land-terrapin; they make larruping fine eating whenyou are cut off from camp this way. Blankets? Never use them;sleep on your belly and cover with your back, and get up with thebirds in the morning. These Lovell outfits are getting so tonythat by another year or two they'll insist on bathtubs, Floridawater, and towels with every wagon. I like to get down tostraight beans for a few days every once in a while; it has atendency to cure a man with a whining disposition. The only thingthat's worrying me, if we get cut off, is the laugh thatSponsilier will have on us."We all knew Forrest was bluffing. The fact that we werewater-bound was too apparent to admit of question, and since theelements were beyond our control, there was no telling whenrelief would come. Until the weather moderated in the hills tothe west, there was no hope of crossing the river; but men grewhungry and nights were chilly, and bluster and bravado broughtneither food nor warmth. A third wave was noticed within an hour,raising the water-gauge over a foot. The South Fork of the BigCheyenne almost encircled the entire Black Hills country, andwith a hundred mountain affluents emptying in their tribute, thewaters commanded and we obeyed. Ordering my men to kill a beef, Irode down the river in the hope of finding Sponsilier on ourside, and about noon sighted his camp and cattle on the oppositebank. A group of men were dallying along the shore, but being outof hearing, I turned back without exposing myself.On my return a general camp had been established at the nearestwood, and a stray killed. Stakes were driven to mark the rise orfall of the water, and we settled down like prisoners, waitingfor an expected reprieve. Towards evening a fire was built up andthe two sides of ribs were spitted over it, our only chance forsupper. Night fell with no perceptible change in the situation,the weather remaining dry and clear. Forrest's outfit had beenfurnished horses from my remuda for guard duty, and aboutmidnight, wrapping ourselves in slickers, we lay down in a circlewith our feet to the fire like cave-dwellers. The camp-fire waskept up all night by the returning guards, even until the morninghours, when we woke up shivering at dawn and hurried away to notethe stage of the water. A four-foot fall had taken place duringthe night, another foot was added within an hour after sun-up,brightening our hopes, when a tidal wave swept down the valley,easily establishing a new high-water mark. Then we breakfasted onbroiled beefsteak, and fell back into the hills in search of thehuckleberry, which abounded in that vicinity.A second day and night passed, with the water gradually falling.The third morning a few of the best swimmers, tiring of the dietof beef and berries, took advantage of the current and swam tothe other shore. On returning several hours later, they broughtback word that Sponsilier had been up to the wagons the afternoonbefore and reported an easy crossing about five miles below. Bynoon the channel had narrowed to one hundred yards of swimmingwater, and plunging into it on our horses, we dined at the wagonsand did justice to the spread. Both outfits were anxious to move,and once dinner was over, the commissaries were started down theriver, while we turned up it, looking for a chance to swim backto the cattle. Forrest had secured a fresh mount of horses, andsome distance above the dry wash we again took to the water,landing on the opposite side between a quarter and half milebelow. Little time was lost in starting the herds, mine in thelead, while the wagons got away well in advance, accompanied byForrest's remuda and the isolated contingent of cattle.Sponsilier was expecting us, and on the appearance of our wagons,moved out to a new camp and gave us a clear crossing. A number ofthe boys came down to the river with him, and several of themswam it, meeting the cattle a mile above and piloting us into theford. They had assured me that there might be seventy-five yardsof swimming water, with a gradual entrance to the channel and ahalf-mile of solid footing at the outcome. The description of thecrossing suited me, and putting our remuda in the lead, we struckthe muddy torrent and crossed it without a halt, the chain ofswimming cattle never breaking for a single moment. Forrestfollowed in our wake, the one herd piloting the other, and withinan hour after our arrival at the lower ford, the drag-end of the"Drooping T" herd kicked up their heels on the north bank of theBig Cheyenne. Meanwhile Sponsilier had been quietly sitting hishorse below the main landing, his hat pulled down over his eye,nursing the humor of the situation. As Forrest came up out of thewater with the rear guard of his cattle, the opportunity was toogood to be overlooked."Hello, Quince," said Dave; "how goes it, old sport? Do you keepstout? I was up at your wagon yesterday to ask you all down tosupper. Yes, we had huckleberry pie and venison galore, but yourmen told me that you had quit eating with the wagon. I was painedto hear that you and Tom have both gone plum hog-wild, drinkingout of cowtracks and living on wild garlic and land-terrapin,just like Injuns. Honest, boys, I hate to see good men go wrongthat way."