IV. A FATAL TRIP

by Andy Adams

　　A FATAL TRIPBefore leaving Fort Sumner an agreement had been entered into betweenmy employers and the contractors for a third herd. The delivery wasset for the first week in September, and twenty-five hundred beeveswere agreed upon, with a liberal leeway above and below that numberin case of accident en route. Accordingly, on our return to Loving'sranch active preparations were begun for the next drive. Extra horseswere purchased, several new guns of the most modern make weresecured, and the gathering of cattle in Loving's brand began at once,continuing for six weeks. We combed the hills and valleys along themain Brazos, and then started west up the Clear Fork, carrying thebeeves with us while gathering. The range was in prime condition, thecattle were fat and indolent, and with the exception of Indian rumorsthere was not a cloud in the sky.Our last camp was made a few miles above Fort Griffin. Militaryprotection was not expected, yet our proximity to that post wasconsidered a security from Indian interference, as at times not overhalf the outfit were with the herd. We had nearly completed ournumbers when, one morning early in July, the redskins struck our campwith the violence of a cyclone. The attack occurred, as usual, abouthalf an hour before dawn, and, to add to the difficulty of thesituation, the cattle stampeded with the first shot fired. I was onlast guard at the time, and conscious that it was an Indian attack Iunslung a new Sharp's rifle and tore away in the lead of the herd.With the rumbling of over two thousand running cattle in my ears,hearing was out of the question, while my sense of sight was rendereduseless by the darkness of the morning hour. Yet I had some verydistinct visions; not from the herd of frenzied beeves, thundering atmy heels, but every shade and shadow in the darkness looked like apursuing Comanche. Once I leveled my rifle at a shadow, but hesitated,when a flash from a six-shooter revealed the object to be one of ourown men. I knew there were four of us with the herd when it stampeded,but if the rest were as badly bewildered as I was, it was dangerouseven to approach them. But I had a king's horse under me and trustedmy life to him, and he led the run until breaking dawn revealed ouridentity to each other.The presence of two other men with the running herd was thendiscovered. We were fully five miles from camp, and giving ourattention to the running cattle we soon turned the lead. The main bodyof the herd was strung back for a mile, but we fell on the leadersright and left, and soon had them headed back for camp. In the meantime, and with the breaking of day, our trail had been taken up byboth drovers and half a dozen men, who overtook us shortly aftersun-up. A count was made and we had every hoof. A determined fight hadoccurred over the remuda and commissary, and three of the Indians'ponies had been killed, while some thirty arrows had found lodgmentin our wagon. There were no casualties in the cow outfit, and if anyoccurred among the redskins, the wounded or killed were carried awayby their comrades before daybreak. All agreed that there were fullyone hundred warriors in the attacking party, and as we slowly driftedthe cattle back to camp doubt was expressed by the drovers whether itwas advisable to drive the herd to its destination in midsummer withthe Comanches out on their old hunting grounds.A report of the attack was sent into Griffin that morning, and acompany of cavalry took up the Indian trail, followed it untilevening, and returned to the post during the night. Approaching agovernment station was generally looked upon as an audacious actof the redskins, but the contempt of the Comanche and his ally forcitizen and soldier alike was well known on the Texas frontier andexcited little comment. Several years later, in broad daylight, theyraided the town of Weatherford, untied every horse from the hitchingracks, and defiantly rode away with their spoil. But the prevailingspirits in our camp were not the kind to yield to an inferior race,and, true to their obligation to the contractors, they pushed forwardpreparations to start the herd. Within a week our numbers werecompleted, two extra men were secured, and on the morning of July 14,1867, we trailed out up the Clear Fork with a few over twenty-sixhundred big beeves. It was the same old route to the southwest, therewas a decided lack of enthusiasm over the start, yet never a word ofdiscouragement escaped the lips of men or employers. I have never beena superstitious man, have never had a premonition of impending danger,always rather felt an enthusiasm in my undertakings, yet that morningwhen the flag over Fort Griffin faded from our view, I believe therewas not a man in the outfit but realized that our journey would bedisputed by Indians.Nor had we long to wait. Near the juncture of Elm Creek with the mainClear Fork we were again attacked at the usual hour in the morning.The camp was the best available, and yet not a good one for defense,as the ground was broken by shallow draws and dry washes. There wereabout one hundred yards of clear space on three sides of the camp,while on the exposed side, and thirty yards distant, was a slightdepression of several feet. Fortunately we had a moment's warning, byseveral horses snorting and pawing the ground, which caused Goodnightto quietly awake the men sleeping near him, who in turn were arousingthe others, when a flight of arrows buried themselves in the groundaround us and the war-whoop of the Comanche sounded. Ever cautious,we had studied the situation on encamping, and had tied our horses,cavalry fashion, to a heavy rope stretched from the protected side ofthe wagon to a high stake driven for the purpose. With the attack themajority of the men flung themselves into their saddles and started tothe rescue of the remuda, while three others and myself, detailed inanticipation, ran for the ravine and dropped into it about forty yardsabove the wagon. We could easily hear the exultations of the redskinsjust below us in the shallow gorge, and an enfilade fire was pouredinto them at short range. Two guns were cutting the grass fromunderneath the wagon, and, knowing the Indians had crept up thedepression on foot, we began a rapid fire from our carbines andsix-shooters, which created the impression of a dozen rifles on theirflank, and they took to their heels in a headlong rout.Once the firing ceased, we hailed our men under the wagon and returnedto it. Three men were with the commissary, one of whom was a mere boy,who was wounded in the head from an arrow during the first moment ofthe attack, and was then raving piteously from his sufferings. Thedarky cook, who was one of the defenders of the wagon, was consolingthe boy, so with a parting word of encouragement we swung into oursaddles and rode in the direction of dim firing up the creek. Thecattle were out of hearing, but the random shooting directed ourcourse, and halting several times, we were finally piloted to thescene of activity. Our hail was met by a shout of welcome, and thenext moment we dashed in among our own and reported the repulse of theIndians from the wagon. The remuda was dashing about, hither and yon,a mob of howling savages were circling about, barely within gunshot,while our men rode cautiously, checking and turning the frenziedsaddle horses, and never missing a chance of judiciously throwinga little lead. There was no sign of daybreak, and, fearful for thesafety of our commissary, we threw a cordon around the remuda andstarted for camp. Although there must have been over one hundredIndians in the general attack, we were still masters of the situation,though they followed us until the wagon was reached and the horsessecured in a rope corral. A number of us again sought the protectionof the ravine, and scattering above and below, we got in some tellingshots at short range, when the redskins gave up the struggle anddecamped. As they bore off westward on the main Clear Fork theirhilarious shoutings could be distinctly heard for miles on thestillness of the morning air.An inventory of the camp was taken at dawn. The wounded lad receivedthe first attention. The arrowhead had buried itself below and behindthe ear, but nippers were applied and the steel point was extracted.The cook washed the wound thoroughly and applied a poultice of meal,which afforded almost instant relief. While horses were being saddledto follow the cattle, I cast my eye over the camp and counted over twohundred arrows within a radius of fifty yards. Two had found lodgmentin the bear-skin on which I slept. Dozens were imbedded in therunning-gear and box of the wagon, while the stationary flashes fromthe muzzle of the cook's Creedmoor had concentrated an unusual numberof arrows in and around his citadel. The darky had exercised cautionand corded the six ox-yokes against the front wheel of the wagon insuch a manner as to form a barrier, using the spaces between thespokes as port-holes. As he never varied his position under the wagon,the Indians had aimed at his flash, and during the rather brief fighttwenty arrows had buried themselves in that barricade of ox-yokes.The trail of the beeves was taken at dawn. This made the fifthstampede of the herd since we started, a very unfortunate thing, forstampeding easily becomes a mania with range cattle. The steers hadleft the bed-ground in an easterly direction, but finding that theywere not pursued, the men had gradually turned them to the right, andat daybreak the herd was near Elm Creek, where it was checked. We rodethe circle in a free gallop, the prairie being cut into dust and thetrail as easy to follow as a highway. As the herd happened to land onour course, after the usual count the commissary was sent for, and itand the remuda were brought up. With the exception of wearing hobbles,the oxen were always given their freedom at night. This morning one ofthem was found in a dying condition from an arrow in his stomach. Ahumane shot had relieved the poor beast, and his mate trailed up tothe herd, tied behind the wagon with a rope. There were several oddoxen among the cattle and the vacancy was easily filled. If I amlacking in compassion for my red brother, the lack has been heightenedby his fiendish atrocities to dumb animals. I have been witness tothe ruin of several wagon trains captured by Indians, have seen theirashes and irons, and even charred human remains, and was scarce movedto pity because of the completeness of the hellish work. Death ismerciful and humane when compared to the hamstringing of oxen, gougingout their eyes, severing their ears, cutting deep slashes fromshoulder to hip, and leaving the innocent victim to a lingering death.And when dumb animals are thus mutilated in every conceivable formof torment, as if for the amusement of the imps of the evil one, mycompassion for poor Lo ceases.It was impossible to send the wounded boy back to the settlements, soa comfortable bunk was made for him in the wagon. Late in the eveningwe resumed our journey, expecting to drive all night, as it was goodstarlight. Fair progress was made, but towards morning a rainstormstruck us, and the cattle again stampeded. In all my outdoorexperience I never saw such pitchy darkness as accompanied that storm;although galloping across a prairie in a blustering rainfall, itrequired no strain of the imagination to see hills and mountains andforests on every hand. Fourteen men were with the herd, yet it wasimpossible to work in unison, and when day broke we had less than halfthe cattle. The lead had been maintained, but in drifting at randomwith the storm several contingents of beeves had cut off from the mainbody, supposedly from the rear. When the sun rose, men were dispatchedin pairs and trios, the trail of the missing steers was picked up, andby ten o'clock every hoof was in hand or accounted for. I came in withthe last contingent and found the camp in an uproar over the supposeddesertion of one of the hands. Yankee Bill, a sixteen-year-old boy,and another man were left in charge of the herd when the rest of usstruck out to hunt the missing cattle. An hour after sunrise the boywas seen to ride deliberately away from his charge, without cause orexcuse, and had not returned. Desertion was the general supposition.Had he not been mounted on one of the firm's horses the offense mighthave been overlooked. But the delivery of the herd depended on thesaddle stock, and two men were sent on his trail. The rain hadfreshened the ground, and after trailing the horse for fifteen milesthe boy was overtaken while following cattle tracks towards the herd.He had simply fallen asleep in the saddle, and the horse had wanderedaway. Yankee Bill had made the trip to Sumner with us the fall before,and stood well with his employers, so the incident was forgiven andforgotten.From Elm Creek to the beginning of the dry drive was one continualstruggle with stampeding cattle or warding off Indians. In spite ofcareful handling, the herd became spoiled, and would run from thehowl of a wolf or the snort of a horse. The dark hour before dawn wasusually the crucial period, and until the arid belt was reached allhands were aroused at two o'clock in the morning. The start was timedso as to reach the dry drive during the full of the moon, and althoughit was a test of endurance for man and beast, there was relief inthe desert waste--from the lurking savage--which recompensed for itsseverity. Three sleepless nights were borne without a murmur, and onour reaching Horsehead Crossing and watering the cattle they wereturned back on the mesa and freed for the time being. The presence ofIndian sign around the ford was the reason for turning loose, but atthe round-up the next morning the experiment proved a costly one, asthree hundred and sixty-three beeves were missing. The cattle werenervous and feverish through suffering from thirst, and had they beenbedded closely, stampeding would have resulted, the foreman choosingthe least of two alternatives in scattering the herd. That night weslept the sleep of exhausted men, and the next morning even awaitedthe sun on the cattle before throwing them together, giving the Indianthieves full ten hours the start. The stealing of cattle by theComanches was something unusual, and there was just reason forbelieving that the present theft was instigated by renegade Mexicans,allies in the war of '36. Three distinct trails left the range aroundthe Crossing, all heading south, each accompanied by fully fiftyhorsemen. One contingent crossed the Pecos at an Indian trail abouttwenty-five miles below Horsehead, another still below, while thethird continued on down the left bank of the river. Yankee Bill and"Mocho" Wilson, a one-armed man, followed the latter trail, sightingthem late in the evening, but keeping well in the open. When theComanches had satisfied themselves that but two men were followingthem, small bands of warriors dropped out under cover of the brokencountry and attempted to gain the rear of our men. Wilson was an oldplainsman, and once he saw the hopelessness of recovering the cattle,he and Yankee Bill began a cautious retreat. During the night and whenopposite the ford where the first contingent of beeves crossed, theywere waylaid, while returning, by the wily redskins. The nickering ofa pony warned them of the presence of the enemy, and circling wide,they avoided an ambush, though pursued by the stealthy Comanches.Wilson was mounted on a good horse, while Yankee Bill rode a mule, andso closely were they pursued, that on reaching the first broken groundBill turned into a coulee, while Mocho bore off on an angle, firinghis six-shooter to attract the enemy after him. Yankee Bill toldus afterward how he held the muzzle of his mule for an hour ondismounting, to keep the rascal from bawling after the departinghorse. Wilson reached camp after midnight and reported thehopelessness of the situation; but morning came, and with it no YankeeBill in camp. Half a dozen of us started in search of him, under theleadership of the one-armed plainsman, and an hour afterward Bill wasmet riding leisurely up the river. When rebuked by his comrade for notcoming in under cover of darkness, he retorted, "Hell, man, I wasn'tgoing to run my mule to death just because there were a few Comanchesin the country!"In trailing the missing cattle the day previous, I had accompanied Mr.Loving to the second Indian crossing. The country opposite the fordwas broken and brushy, the trail was five or six hours old, and,fearing an ambush, the drover refused to follow them farther. With thereturn of Yankee Bill safe and sound to camp, all hope of recoveringthe beeves was abandoned, and we crossed the Pecos and turned up thatriver. An effort was now made to quiet the herd and bring it back to anormal condition, in order to fit it for delivery. With Indian raids,frenzy in stampeding, and an unavoidable dry drive, the cattle hadgaunted like rails. But with an abundance of water and by merelygrazing the remainder of the distance, it was believed that the beeveswould recover their old form and be ready for inspection at the end ofthe month of August. Indian sign was still plentiful, but in smallerbands, and with an unceasing vigilance we wormed our way up the Pecosvalley.When within a day's ride of the post, Mr. Loving took Wilson with himand started in to Fort Sumner. The heat of August on the herd had maderecovery slow, but if a two weeks' postponement could be agreed on,it was believed the beeves would qualify. The circumstances wereunavoidable; the government had been lenient before; so, hopeful ofaccomplishing his mission, the senior member of the firm set out onhis way. The two men left camp at daybreak, cautioned by Goodnightto cross the river by a well-known trail, keeping in the open, eventhough it was farther, as a matter of safety. They were well mountedfor the trip, and no further concern was given to their welfare untilthe second morning, when Loving's horse came into camp, whinnying forhis mates. There were blood-stains on the saddle, and the story of aman who was cautious for others and careless of himself was easilyunderstood. Conjecture was rife. The presence of the horse admitted ofseveral interpretations. An Indian ambush was the most probable, anda number of men were detailed to ferret out the mystery. We were thenseventy miles below Sumner, and with orders to return to the herd atnight six of us immediately started. The searching party was dividedinto squads, one on either side of the Pecos River, but no resultswere obtained from the first day's hunt. The herd had moved up fifteenmiles during the day, and the next morning the search was resumed,the work beginning where it had ceased the evening before. Late thatafternoon and from the east bank, as Goodnight and I were scanning theopposite side of the river, a lone man, almost naked, emerged from acave across the channel and above us. Had it not been for his missingarm it is doubtful if we should have recognized him, for he seemeddemented. We rode opposite and hailed, when he skulked back into hisrefuge; but we were satisfied that it was Wilson. The other searcherswere signaled to, and finding an entrance into the river, we swam itand rode up to the cave. A shout of welcome greeted us, and the nextinstant Wilson staggered out of the cavern, his eyes filled withtears.He was in a horrible physical condition, and bewildered. We were anhour getting his story. They had been ambushed by Indians and ran forthe brakes of the river, but were compelled to abandon their horses,one of which was captured, the other escaping. Loving was woundedtwice, in the wrist and the side, but from the cover gained they hadstood off the savages until darkness fell. During the night Loving,unable to walk, believed that he was going to die, and begged Wilsonto make his escape, and if possible return to the herd. After makinghis employer as comfortable as possible, Wilson buried his own rifle,pistols, and knife, and started on his return to the herd. Beingone-armed, he had discarded his boots and nearly all his clothing toassist him in swimming the river, which he had done any number oftimes, traveling by night and hiding during the day. When found in thecave, his feet were badly swollen, compelling him to travel in theriver-bed to protect them from sandburs and thorns. He was taken upbehind one of the boys on a horse, and we returned to camp.Wilson firmly believed that Loving was dead, and described the sceneof the fight so clearly that any one familiar with the river wouldhave no difficulty in locating the exact spot. But the next morning aswe were nearing the place we met an ambulance in the road, the driverof which reported that Loving had been brought into Sumner by afreight outfit. On receipt of this information Goodnight hurried on tothe post, while the rest of us looked over the scene, recovered theburied guns of Wilson, and returned to the herd. Subsequently welearned that the next morning after Wilson left Loving had crawled tothe river for a drink, and, looking upstream, saw some one a mileor more distant watering a team. By firing his pistol he attractedattention to himself and so was rescued, the Indians having decampedduring the night. To his partner, Mr. Loving corroborated Wilson'sstory, and rejoiced to know that his comrade had also escaped.Everything that medical science could do was done by the post surgeonsfor the veteran cowman, but after lingering twenty-one days he died.Wilson and the wounded boy both recovered, the cattle were deliveredin two installments, and early in October we started homeward,carrying the embalmed remains of the pioneer drover in a lightconveyance. The trip was uneventful, the traveling was doneprincipally by night, and on the arrival at Loving's frontier home,six hundred miles from Fort Sumner, his remains were laid at rest withMasonic honors.Over thirty years afterward a claim was made against the governmentfor the cattle lost at Horsehead Crossing. Wilson and I were witnessesbefore the commissioner sent to take evidence in the case. The hearingwas held at a federal court, and after it was over, Wilson, whiledrinking, accused me of suspecting him of deserting his employer,--asuspicion I had, in fact, entertained at the time we discovered himat the cave. I had never breathed it to a living man, yet it was thetruth, slumbering for a generation before finding expression.