Chapter XXIV. The Winter of our Discontent

by Andy Adams

　　The inquiry was over before noon. A lieutenant detailed a few menand made a pretense of taking possession of Lovell. But once thespecial commissioner was out of sight, the farce was turned intoan ovation, and nearly every officer in the post came forward andextended his sympathy. Old man Don was visibly affected by thegenerous manifestations of the military men in general, and afterthanking each one personally, urged that no unnecessarydemonstration should be made, begging that the order of escortbeyond the boundary of the reservation be countermanded. No onepresent cared to suggest it, but gave assurance that it would beso modified as not in any way to interfere with the naturalmovement of the herds. Some little time would be required tooutfit the forage-wagons to accommodate the cavalry companies,during which my brother rode up, leading Lovell's horse,permission was given to leave in advance of the escort, and weall mounted and quietly rode away.The sudden turn of affairs had disconcerted every man in thethree outfits. Just what the next move would be was conjecturewith most of us, though every lad present was anxious to know.But when we were beyond the immediate grounds, Lovell turned inhis saddle and asked which one of us foremen wanted to winter inthe North. No one volunteered, and old man Don continued:"Anticipating the worst, I had a long talk this morning withSanders, and he assured me that our cattle would go through anywinter without serious loss. He suggested the Little Missouri asa good range, and told me of a hay ranch below the mouth of theBeaver. If it can be bought reasonably, we would have forage forour horses, and the railroad is said to be not over forty milesto the south. If the government can afford to take the risk ofwintering cattle in this climate, since there is no other choice,I reckon I'll have to follow suit. Bob and I will take freshhorses and ride through to the Beaver this afternoon, and youfellows follow up leisurely with the cattle. Sanders says thewinters are dry and cold, with very little if any snowfall. Well,we're simply up against it; there's no hope of selling this latein the season, and nothing is left us but to face the music of aNorthern winter."As we turned in to ford the Missouri, some one called attentionto a cavalry company riding out from their quarters at the post.We halted a moment, and as the first one entered the road, thesecond one swung into view, followed by forage-wagons. From mapsin our possession we knew the southern boundary of the FortBuford military reservation must be under twenty miles to thesouth, and if necessary, we could put it behind us thatafternoon. But after crossing the river, and when the two troopsagain came in view, they had dropped into a walk, passingentirely out of sight long before we reached Forrest's camp.Orders were left with the latter to take the lead and make ashort drive that evening, at least far enough to convinceobservers that we were moving. The different outfits dropped outas their wagons were reached, and when my remuda was sighted, oldman Don ordered it brought in for a change of horses. One of thedayherders was at camp getting dinner, and inviting themselves tojoin him, my employer and my brother helped themselves whiletheir saddles were shifted to two of my well-rested mounts.Inquiry had been made of all three of the outfits if any ranchhad been sighted on the Beaver while crossing that creek, but theonly recollection among the forty-odd men was that of Burl VanVedder, who contended that a dim trail, over which horses hadpassed that summer, ran down on the south side of the stream.With this meagre information Lovell and my brother started. Alate dinner over and the herders relieved, we all rode for thenearest eminence which would afford us a view. The cavalry werejust going into camp below O'Brien's ranch, their forage-train insight, while Forrest's cattle were well bunched and headingsouth. Sponsilier was evidently going to start, as his team wastied up and the saddle stock in hand, while the herd was crossingover to the eastern side of the Yellowstone. We dismounted andlay around for an hour or so, when the greater portion of theboys left to help in the watering of our herd, the remainder ofus doing outpost duty. Forrest had passed out of sight,Sponsilier's wagon and remuda crossed opposite us, going up thevalley, followed by his cattle in loose grazing order, and stillwe loitered on the hill. But towards evening I rode down to wherethe cavalry was encamped, and before I had conversed very longwith the officers, it was clear to me that the shorter our movesthe longer it would extend their outing. Before I left thesoldier camp, Sanders arrived, and as we started away together, Isent him back to tell the officers to let me know any time theycould use half a beef. On reaching our wagon, the boys were justcorralling the saddle stock for their night-horses, when Sandersbegged me to sell him two which had caught his fancy. I dared notoffer them; but remembering the fellow's faithful service in ourbehalf, and that my employer expected to remember him, I orderedhim to pick, with Don Lovell's compliments, any horse in theremuda as a present.The proposition stunned Sanders, but I insisted that if old manDon was there, he would make him take something. He picked a goodhorse out of my mount and stayed until morning, when he wascompelled to return, as the probabilities were that they wouldreceive the other cattle some time during the day. Afterbreakfast, and as he was starting to return, he said, "Well,boys, tell the old man that I don't expect ever to be able toreturn his kindness, though I'd ride a thousand miles for thechance. One thing sure, there isn't a man in Dakota who has moneyenough to tempt me to part with my pelon. If you locate down onthe Little Missouri, drop me a line where you are at, and ifLovell wants four good men, I can let him have them about thefirst of December. You through lads are liable to be scared overthe coming winter, and a few acclimated ones will put backbone inhis outfit. And tell the old man that if I can ever do him a goodturn just to snap his fingers and I'll quit the government--he'sa few shades whiter than it, anyhow."The herd had already left the bed-ground, headed south. Aboutfive miles above O'Brien's, we recrossed to the eastern side ofthe Yellowstone, and for the next three days moved shortdistances, the military always camped well in our rear. Thefourth morning I killed a beef, a forage-wagon came forward andtook half of it back to the cavalry camp with our greetings andfarewell, and we parted company. Don Lovell met us about noon,elated as a boy over his purchase of the hay ranch. My brotherhad gone on to the railroad and thence by train to Miles City tomeet his remuda and outfit. "Boys, I have bought you a new home,"was the greeting of old man Don, as he dismounted at our nooncamp. "There's a comfortable dugout, stabling for about tenhorses, and seventy-five tons of good hay in the stack. The ownerwas homesick to get back to God's country, and he'll give uspossession in ten days. Bob will be in Little Missouri to-day andorder us a car of sacked corn from Omaha, and within a monthwe'll be as snug as they are down in old Medina. Bob's outfitwill go home from Miles, and if he can't sell his remuda he'llbring it up here. Two of these outfits can start back in a fewdays, and afterward the camp will be reduced to ten men."Two days later Forrest veered off and turned his cattle loosebelow the junction of the Beaver with the Little Missouri.Sponsilier crossed the former, scattering his beeves both up anddown the latter, while I cut mine into a dozen bunches andlikewise freed them along the creek. The range was about tenmiles in length along the river, and a camp was established ateither end where men would be stationed until the beeves werelocated. The commissaries had run low, there was a quiet rivalryas to which outfits should go home, and we all waited with batedbreath for the final word. I had Dorg Seay secretly inform myemployer that I had given Sanders a horse without his permission,hoping that it might displease him. But the others pointed outthe fact that my outfit had far the best remuda, and that itwould require well-mounted men to locate and hold that number ofcattle through the winter. Old man Don listened to them all, andthe next morning, as all three of us foremen were outliningcertain improvements about the hay ranch with him, he turned tome and said:"Tom, I hear you gave Sanders a horse. Well, that was all right,although it strikes me you were rather liberal in giving him thepick of a choice remuda. But it may all come right in the longrun, as Bob and I have decided to leave you and your outfit tohold these cattle this winter. So divide your men and send halfof them down to Quince's camp, and have your cook and wranglercome over to Dave's wagon to bring back provision and the horses,as we'll start for the railroad in the morning. I may not comeback, but Bob will, and he'll see that you are well fixed for thewinter before he goes home. After he leaves, I want you to writeme every chance you have to send a letter to the railroad. Now, Idon't want any grumbling out of you or your men; you're adisgrace to the state that raised you if you can't handle cattleanywhere that any other man can."I felt all along it would fall to me, the youngest of sixforemen; and my own dear brother consigning me to a winter in theNorth, while he would bask in the sunshine of our own sunnySouth! It was hard to face; but I remembered that the fall beforeit had been my lot to drive a thousand saddle horses home to theranch, and that I had swaggered as a trail foreman afterward asthe result. It had always been my luck to have to earn everylittle advance or promotion, while others seemed to fall intothem without any effort. Bob Quirk never saw the day that he washalf the all-round cowman that I was; yet he was above me andcould advise, and I had to obey.On the morning of the 25th of September, 1884, the two outfitsstarted for the railroad, leaving the remainder of us in acountry, save for the cattle, so desolate that there was nochance even to spend our wages. I committed to memory a curtainlecture for my brother, though somehow or other it escaped me andwas never delivered. We rode lines between the upper and lowerwagons, holding the cattle loosely on a large range. A delightfulfall favored us, and before the first squall of winter came on,the beeves had contented themselves as though they had been bornon the Little Missouri. Meanwhile Bob's wagon and remuda arrived,the car of corn was hauled to our headquarters, extra stablingwas built, and we settled down like banished exiles.Communication had been opened with Fort Buford, and in the latterpart of October the four promised men arrived, when Bob Quirktook part of my outfit and went home, leaving me ten men. Parentremained as cook, the new men assimilated easily, a fiddle wassecured, and in fulfillment of the assertion of Sanders, wepicked up courage. Two grain-fed horses, carefully stabled, wereallowed to each man, the remainder of our large number of saddlestock running free on the range.To that long winter on the Little Missouri a relentless memoryturns in retrospect. We dressed and lived like Eskimos. The firstblizzard struck us early in December, the thermometer droppedsixty degrees in twelve hours, but in the absence of wind andsnow the cattle did not leave the breaks along the river. Threeweeks later a second one came, and we could not catch the leadanimals until near the railroad; but the storm drove them up theLittle Missouri, and its sheltering banks helped us to check ourworst winter drift. After the first month of wintry weather, thedread of the cold passed, and men and horses faced the work asthough it was springtime in our own loved southland. The monthsrolled by scarcely noticed. During fine weather Sanders and someof his boys twice dropped down for a few days, but we never leftcamp except to send letters home.An early spring favored us. I was able to report less than oneper cent. loss on the home range, with the possibility of but fewcattle having escaped us during the winter. The latter part ofMay we sold four hundred saddle horses to some men from the upperYellowstone. Early in June a wagon was rigged out, extra menemployed, and an outfit sent two hundred miles up the LittleMissouri to attend the round-ups. They were gone a month and camein with less than five hundred beeves, which represented ourwinter drift. Don Lovell reached the ranch during the first weekin July. One day's ride through the splendid cattle, and old manDon lost his voice, but the smile refused to come off. Everythingwas coming his way. Field, Radcliff & Co. had sued him, and thejury awarded him one-hundred thousand dollars. His bankers hadunlimited confidence in his business ability; he had four Indianherds on the trail and three others of younger steers, intendedfor the Little Missouri ranch. Cattle prices in Texas haddepreciated nearly one half since the spring before--"a good timefor every cowman to strain his credit and enlarge his holdings,"my employer assured me.Orders were left that I was to begin shipping out the beevesearly in August. It was the intention to ship them in two andthree train-load lots, and I was expecting to run a doubleoutfit, when a landslide came our way. The first train-loadnetted sixty dollars a head at Omaha--but they were beeves; codslike an ox's heart and waddled as they walked. We had justreturned from the railroad with the intention of shipping twotrain-loads more, when the quartermaster and Sanders from FortBuford rode into the ranch under an escort. The government hadlost forty per cent. of the Field-Radcliff cattle during thewinter just passed, and were in the market to buy the deficiency.The quartermaster wanted a thousand beeves on the first day ofSeptember and October each, and double that number for the nextmonth. Did we care to sell that amount? A United States marshal,armed with a search-warrant, could not have found Don Lovell in amonth, but they were promptly assured that our beef steers werefor sale. It is easy to show prime cattle. The quartermaster,Sanders, and myself rode down the river, crossed over and came upbeyond our camp, forded back and came down the Beaver, and I knewthe sale was made. I priced the beeves, delivered at Buford, atsixty-five dollars a head, and the quartermaster took them.Then we went to work in earnest. Sanders remained to receive thefirst contingent for Buford, which would leave our range on the25th of each month. A single round-up and we had the beeves inhand. The next morning after Splann left for the mouth of theYellowstone, I started south for the railroad with twotrain-loads of picked cattle. Professional shippers took them offour hands at the station, accompanied them en route to market,and the commission house in Omaha knew where to remit theproceeds. The beef shipping season was on with a vengeance. Oursaddle stock had improved with a winter in the North, until onewas equal to two Southern or trail horses. Old man Don had comeon in the mean time, and was so pleased with my sale to the armypost that he returned to Little Missouri Station at once andbought two herds of three-year-olds at Ogalalla by wire. Thismade sixteen thousand steer cattle en route from the latter pointfor Lovell's new ranch in Dakota."Tom," said old man Don, enthusiastically, "this is the making ofa fine cattle ranch, and we want to get in on the flood-tide.There is always a natural wealth in a new country, and thegoldmines of this one are in its grass. The instinct that taughtthe buffalo to choose this as their summer and winter range wasunerring, and they found a grass at hand that would sustain themin any and all kinds of weather. This country to-day is just whatTexas was thirty years ago. All the early settlers at home grewrich without any effort, but once the cream of the virgin land isgone, look out for a change. The early cowmen of Texas flatterthemselves on being shrewd and far-seeing--just about as much asI was last fall, when I would gladly have lost twenty-fivethousand dollars rather than winter these cattle. Now look whereI will come out, all due to the primitive wealth of the land.From sixty to sixty-five dollars a head beats thirty-seven and ahalf for our time and trouble."The first of the through cattle arrived early in September. Theyavoided our range for fear of fever, and dropped in about fifteenmiles below our headquarters on the Little Missouri. Dorg Seaywas one of the three foremen, Forrest and Sponsilier being theother two, having followed the same route as our herds of theyear before. But having spent a winter in the North, we showedthe through outfits a chilling contempt. I had ribbed up Parentnot even to give them a pleasant word about our wagon orheadquarters; and particularly if Bob Quirk came through with oneof the purchased herds, he was to be given the marble heart. Oneoutfit loose-herded the new cattle, the other two going home, andabout the middle of the month, my brother and The Rebel cametrailing in with the last two herds. I was delighted to meet myold bunkie, and had him remain over until the last outfit wenthome, when we reluctantly parted company. Not so, however, withBob Quirk, who haughtily informed me that he came near slappingmy cook for his effrontery. "So you are another one of theselousy through outfits that think we ought to make a fuss overyou, are you?" I retorted. "Just you wait until we do. Every oneof you except old Paul had the idea that we ought to give you areception and ask you to sleep in our beds. I'm glad that Parenthad the gumption to give you a mean look; he'll ride for me nextyear."The month of October finished the shipping. There was a magic inthat Northern climate that wrought wonders in an animal from theSouth. Little wonder that the buffalo could face the blizzard, ina country of his own choosing, and in a climate where the frostking held high revel five months out of the twelve. There was atonic like the iron of wine in the atmosphere, absorbed alike byman and beast, and its possessor laughed at the fury of thestorm. Our loss of cattle during the first winter, traceable toseason, was insignificant, while we sold out over two hundredhead more than the accounts called for, due to the presence ofstrays, which went to Buford. And when the last beef was shipped,the final delivery concluded to the army, Don Lovell was aquarter-million dollars to the good, over and above the contractprice at which he failed to deliver the same cattle to thegovernment the fall before.As foreman of Lovell's beef ranch on the Little Missouri I spentfive banner years of my life. In '89 the stock, good-will, andrange were sold to a cattle syndicate, who installed asuperintendent and posted rules for the observance of itsemployees. I do not care to say why, but in a stranger's hands itnever seemed quite the same home to a few of us who were presentwhen it was transformed into a cattle range. Late that fall, somehalf-dozen of us who were from Texas asked to be relieved andreturned to the South. A traveler passing through that countryto-day will hear the section about the mouth of the Beaver calledonly by the syndicate name, but old-timers will always lovinglyrefer to it as the Don Lovell Ranch.