Chapter XIX. Forty Islands Ford

by Andy Adams

　　After securing a count on the herd that morning and finding nothingshort, we trailed out up the North Platte River. It was an easycountry in which to handle a herd; the trail in places would run backfrom the river as far as ten miles, and again follow close in near theriver bottoms. There was an abundance of small creeks putting intothis fork of the Platte from the south, which afforded water for theherd and good camp grounds at night. Only twice after leaving Ogalallahad we been compelled to go to the river for water for the herd, andwith the exception of thunderstorms and occasional summer rains, theweather had been all one could wish. For the past week as we trailedup the North Platte, some one of us visited the river daily to noteits stage of water, for we were due to cross at Forty Islands, abouttwelve miles south of old Fort Laramie. The North Platte was verysimilar to the South Canadian,--a wide sandy stream without banks; andour experience with the latter was fresh in our memories. The stage ofwater had not been favorable, for this river also had its source inthe mountains, and as now midsummer was upon us, the season of heavyrainfall in the mountains, augmented by the melting snows, theprospect of finding a fordable stage of water at Forty Islands was notvery encouraging.We reached this well-known crossing late in the afternoon the thirdday after leaving the Wyoming line, and found one of the PrairieCattle Company's herds water-bound. This herd had been wintered on oneof that company's ranges on the Arkansaw River in southern Colorado,and their destination was in the Bad Lands near the mouth of theYellowstone, where the same company had a northern range. Flood knewthe foreman, Wade Scholar, who reported having been waterbound over aweek already with no prospect of crossing without swimming. Scholarknew the country thoroughly, and had decided to lie over until theriver was fordable at Forty Islands, as it was much the easiestcrossing on the North Platte, though there was a wagon ferry at FortLaramie. He returned with Flood to our camp, and the two talked overthe prospect of swimming it on the morrow."Let's send the wagons up to the ferry in the morning," said Flood,"and swim the herds. If you wait until this river falls, you areliable to have an experience like we had on the South Canadian,--lostthree days and bogged over a hundred cattle. When one of these sandyrivers has had a big freshet, look out for quicksands; but you knowthat as well as I do. Why, we've swum over half a dozen riversalready, and I'd much rather swim this one than attempt to ford itjust after it has fallen. We can double our outfits and be safelyacross before noon. I've got nearly a thousand miles yet to make, andhave just got to get over. Think it over to-night, and have yourwagon ready to start with ours."Scholar rode away without giving our foreman any definite answer as towhat he would do, though earlier in the evening he had offered tothrow his herd well out of the way at the ford, and lend us anyassistance at his command. But when it came to the question ofcrossing his own herd, he seemed to dread the idea of swimming theriver, and could not be induced to say what he would do, but said thatwe were welcome to the lead. The next morning Flood and I accompaniedour wagon up to his camp, when it was plainly evident that he did notintend to send his wagon with ours, and McCann started on alone,though our foreman renewed his efforts to convince Scholar of thefeasibility of swimming the herds. Their cattle were thrown well awayfrom the ford, and Scholar assured us that his outfit would be on handwhenever we were ready to cross, and even invited all hands of us tocome to his wagon for dinner. When returning to our herd, Flood toldme that Scholar was considered one of the best foremen on the trail,and why he should refuse to swim his cattle was unexplainable. He musthave time to burn, but that didn't seem reasonable, for the earlierthrough cattle were turned loose on their winter range the better. Wewere in no hurry to cross, as our wagon would be gone all day, and itwas nearly high noon when we trailed up to the ford.With the addition to our force of Scholar and nine or ten of his men,we had an abundance of help, and put the cattle into the wateropposite two islands, our saddle horses in the lead as usual. Therewas no swimming water between the south shore and the first island,though it wet our saddle skirts for some considerable distance, thischannel being nearly two hundred yards wide. Most of our outfit tookthe water, while Scholar's men fed our herd in from the south bank, anumber of their men coming over as far as the first island. The secondisland lay down the stream some little distance; and as we pushed thecattle off the first one we were in swimming water in no time, but thesaddle horses were already landing on the second island, and our leadcattle struck out, and, breasting the water, swam as proudly as swans.The middle channel was nearly a hundred yards wide, the greaterportion of which was swimming, though the last channel was much wider.But our saddle horses had already taken it, and when within fiftyyards of the farther shore, struck solid footing. With our own outfitwe crowded the leaders to keep the chain of cattle unbroken, andbefore Honeyman could hustle his horses out of the river, our leadcattle had caught a foothold, were heading up stream and edging outfor the farther shore.I had one of the best swimming horses in our outfit, and Flood put mein the lead on the point. As my horse came out on the farther bank, Iam certain I never have seen a herd of cattle, before or since, whichpresented a prettier sight when swimming than ours did that day. Therewas fully four hundred yards of water on the angle by which wecrossed, nearly half of which was swimming, but with the two islandswhich gave them a breathing spell, our Circle Dots were taking thewater as steadily as a herd leaving their bed ground. Scholar and hismen were feeding them in, while half a dozen of our men on each islandwere keeping them moving. Honeyman and I pointed them out of theriver; and as they grazed away from the shore, they spread outfan-like, many of them kicking up their heels after they left thewater in healthy enjoyment of their bath. Long before they were halfover, the usual shouting had ceased, and we simply sat in our saddlesand waited for the long train of cattle to come up and cross. Withinless than half an hour from the time our saddle horses entered theNorth Platte, the tail end of our herd had landed safely on thefarther bank.As Honeyman and I were the only ones of our outfit on the north sideof the river during the passage, Flood called to us from across thelast channel to graze the herd until relieved, when the remainder ofthe outfit returned to the south side to recover their discardedeffects and to get dinner with Scholar's wagon. I had imitatedHoneyman, and tied my boots to my cantle strings, so that my effectswere on the right side of the river; and as far as dinner wasconcerned,--well, I'd much rather miss it than swim the Platte twicein its then stage of water. There is a difference in daring in one'sduty and in daring out of pure venturesomeness, and if we missed ourdinners it would not be the first time, so we were quite willing tomake the sacrifice. If the Quirk family never achieve fame for daringby field and flood, until this one of the old man's boys brings thefamily name into prominence, it will be hopelessly lost to posterity.We allowed the cattle to graze of their own free will, and merelyturned in the sides and rear, but on reaching the second bottom of theriver, where they caught a good breeze, they lay down for theirnoonday siesta, which relieved us of all work but keeping watch overthem. The saddle horses were grazing about in plain view on the firstbottom, so Honeyman and I dismounted on a little elevation overlookingour charges. We were expecting the outfit to return promptly afterdinner was over, for it was early enough in the day to have trailedeight or ten miles farther. It would have been no trouble to send someone up the river to meet our wagon and pilot McCann to the herd, forthe trail left on a line due north from the river. We had beenlounging about for an hour while the cattle were resting, when ourattention was attracted by our saddle horses in the bottom. They werelooking at the ford, to which we supposed their attention had beenattracted by the swimming of the outfit, but instead only two of theboys showed up, and on sighting us nearly a mile away, they rodeforward very leisurely. Before their arrival we recognized them bytheir horses as Ash Borrowstone and Rod Wheat, and on their riding upthe latter said as he dismounted,--"Well, they're going to cross the other herd, and they want you tocome back and point the cattle with that famous swimming horse ofyours. You'll learn after a while not to blow so much about yourmount, and your cutting horses, and your night horses, and yourswimming horses. I wish every horse of mine had a nigger brand on him,and I had to ride in the wagon, when it comes to swimming theserivers. And I'm not the only one that has a distaste for a wetproposition, for I wouldn't have to guess twice as to what's thematter with Scholar. But Flood has pounded him on the back ever sincehe met him yesterday evening to swim his cattle, until it's eitherswim or say he's afraid to,--it's 'Shoot, Luke, or give up the gun'with him. Scholar's a nice fellow, but I'll bet my interest in gooseheaven that I know what's the matter with him. And I'm not blaminghim, either; but I can't understand why our boss should take such aninterest in having him swim. It's none of his business if he swimsnow, or fords a month hence, or waits until the river freezes over inthe winter and crosses on the ice. But let the big augers wrangle itout; you noticed, Ash, that riot one of Scholar's outfit ever said aword one way or the other, but Flood poured it into him until heconsented to swim. So fork that swimming horse of yours and wet yourbig toe again in the North Platte."As the orders had come from the foreman, there was nothing to do butobey. Honeyman rode as far as the river with me, where after sheddingmy boots and surplus clothing and secreting them, I rode up above theisland and plunged in. I was riding the gray which I had tried in theRio Grande the day we received the herd, and now that I understoodhandling him better, I preferred him to Nigger Boy, my night horse. Wetook the first and second islands with but a blowing spell between,and when I reached the farther shore, I turned in my saddle and sawHoneyman wave his hat to me in congratulation. On reaching theirwagon, I found the herd was swinging around about a mile out from theriver, in order to get a straight shoot for the entrance at the ford.I hurriedly swallowed my dinner, and as we rode out to meet the herd,asked Flood if Scholar were not going to send his wagon up to theferry to cross, for there was as yet no indication of it. Floodreplied that Scholar expected to go with the wagon, as he needed somesupplies which he thought he could get from the sutler at FortLaramie.Flood ordered me to take the lower point again, and I rode across thetrail and took my place when the herd came within a quarter of a mileof the river, while the remainder of the outfit took positions nearthe lead on the lower side. It was a slightly larger herd thanours,--all steers, three-year-olds that reflected in their glossycoats the benefits of a northern winter. As we came up to the water'sedge, it required two of their men to force their remuda into thewater, though it was much smaller than ours,--six horses to the man,but better ones than ours, being northern wintered. The cattle werewell trail-broken, and followed the leadership of the saddle horsesnicely to the first island, but they would have balked at this secondchannel, had it not been for the amount of help at hand. We lined themout, however, and they breasted the current, and landed on the secondisland. The saddle horses gave some little trouble on leaving for thefarther shore, and before they were got off, several hundred head ofcattle had landed on the island. But they handled obediently and weresoon trailing out upon terra firma, the herd following across withouta broken link in the chain. There was nothing now to do but keep thetrain moving into the water on the south bank, see that they did notcongest on the islands, and that they left the river on reaching thefarther shore. When the saddle horses reached the farther bank, theywere thrown up the river and turned loose, so that the two men wouldbe available to hold the herd after it left the water. I had crossedwith the first lead cattle to the farther shore, and was turning themup the river as fast as they struck solid footing on that side. Butseveral times I was compelled to swim back to the nearest island, andreturn with large bunches which had hesitated to take the lastchannel.The two outfits were working promiscuously together, and I never knewwho was the directing spirit in the work; but when the last two orthree hundred of the tail-enders were leaving the first island for thesecond, and the men working in the rear started to swim the channel,amid the general hilarity I recognized a shout that was born of fearand terror. A hushed silence fell over the riotous riders in theriver, and I saw those on the sand bar nearest my side rush down thenarrow island and plunge back into the middle channel. Then it dawnedon my mind in a flash that some one had lost his seat, and thatterrified cry was for help. I plunged my gray into the river and swamto the first bar, and from thence to the scene of the trouble. Horsesand men were drifting with the current down the channel, and as Iappealed to the men I could get no answer but their blanched faces,though it was plain in every countenance that one of our number wasunder water if not drowned. There were not less than twenty horsemendrifting in the middle channel in the hope that whoever it was wouldcome to the surface, and a hand could be stretched out in succor.About two hundred yards down the river was an island near the middleof the stream. The current carried us near it, and, on landing, Ilearned that the unfortunate man was none other than Wade Scholar, theforeman of the herd. We scattered up and down this middle island andwatched every ripple and floating bit of flotsam in the hope that hewould come to the surface, but nothing but his hat was seen. In thedisorder into which the outfits were thrown by this accident, Floodfirst regained his thinking faculties, and ordered a few of us tocross to either bank, and ride down the river and take up positions onthe other islands, from which that part of the river took its name. Ahundred conjectures were offered as to how it occurred; but no one saweither horse or rider after sinking. A free horse would be hard todrown, and on the nonappearance of Scholar's mount it was concludedthat he must have become entangled in the reins or that Scholar hadclutched them in his death grip, and horse and man thus met deathtogether. It was believed by his own outfit that Scholar had nointention until the last moment to risk swimming the river, but whenhe saw all the others plunge into the channel, his better judgment wasovercome, and rather than remain behind and cause comment, he hadfollowed and lost his life.We patrolled the river until darkness without result, the two herds inthe mean time having been so neglected that they had mixed. Our wagonreturned along the north bank early in the evening, and Flood orderedPriest to go in and make up a guard from the two outfits and hold theherd for the night. Some one of Scholar's outfit went back and movedtheir wagon up to the crossing, within hailing distance of ours. Itwas a night of muffled conversation, and every voice of the night orcry of waterfowl in the river sent creepy sensations over us. The longnight passed, however, and the sun rose in Sabbath benediction, for itwas Sunday, and found groups of men huddled around two wagons insilent contemplation of what the day before had brought. A more brokenand disconsolate set of men than Scholar's would be hard to imagine.Flood inquired of their outfit if there was any sub-foreman, orsegundo as they were generally called. It seemed there was not, buttheir outfit was unanimous that the leadership should fall to aboyhood acquaintance of Scholar's by the name of Campbell, who wasgenerally addressed as "Black" Jim. Flood at once advised Campbell tosend their wagon up to Laramie and cross it, promising that we wouldlie over that day and make an effort to recover the body of thedrowned foreman. Campbell accordingly started his wagon up to theferry, and all the remainder of the outfits, with the exception of afew men on herd, started out in search of the drowned man. Within amile and a half below the ford, there were located over thirty of theforty islands, and at the lower end of this chain of sand bars webegan and searched both shores, while three or four men swam to eachisland and made a vigorous search.The water in the river was not very clear, which called for a closeinspection; but with a force of twenty-five men in the hunt, wecovered island and shore rapidly in our search. It was about eight inthe morning, and we had already searched half of the islands, when JoeStallings and two of Scholar's men swam to an island in the riverwhich had a growth of small cottonwoods covering it, while on theupper end was a heavy lodgment of driftwood. John Officer, The Rebel,and I had taken the next island above, and as we were riding theshallows surrounding it we heard a shot in our rear that told us thebody had been found. As we turned in the direction of the signal,Stallings was standing on a large driftwood log, and signaling. Westarted back to him, partly wading and partly swimming, while fromboth sides of the river men were swimming their horses for the brushyisland. Our squad, on nearing the lower bar, was compelled to swimaround the driftwood, and some twelve or fifteen men from either shorereached the scene before us. The body was lying face upward, in abouteighteen inches of eddy water. Flood and Campbell waded out, andtaking a lariat, fastened it around his chest under the arms. ThenFlood, noticing I was riding my black, asked me to tow the bodyashore. Forcing a passage through the driftwood, I took the loose endof the lariat and started for the north bank, the double outfitfollowing. On reaching the shore, the body was carried out of thewater by willing hands, and one of our outfit was sent to the wagonfor a tarpaulin to be used as a stretcher.Meanwhile, Campbell took possession of the drowned foreman's watch,six-shooter, purse, and papers. The watch was as good as ruined, butthe leather holster had shrunk and securely held the gun from beinglost in the river. On the arrival of the tarpaulin, the body was laidupon it, and four mounted men, taking the four corners of the sheet,wrapped them on the pommels of their saddles and started for ourwagon. When the corpse had been lowered to the ground at our camp, alook of inquiry passed from face to face which seemed to ask, "Whatnext?" But the inquiry was answered a moment later by Black JimCampbell, the friend of the dead man. Memory may have dimmed thelesser details of that Sunday morning on the North Platte, for overtwo decades have since gone, but his words and manliness have lived,not only in my mind, but in the memory of every other survivor ofthose present. "This accident," said he in perfect composure, as hegazed into the calm, still face of his dead friend, "will impose on mea very sad duty. I expect to meet his mother some day. She will wantto know everything. I must tell her the truth, and I'd hate to tellher we buried him like a dog, for she's a Christian woman. And whatmakes it all the harder, I know that this is the third boy she haslost by drowning. Some of you may not have understood him, but amongthose papers which you saw me take from his pockets was a letter fromhis mother, in which she warned him to guard against just what hashappened. Situated as we are, I'm going to ask you all to help me givehim the best burial we can. No doubt it will be crude, but it will besome solace to her to know we did the best we could."Every one of us was eager to lend his assistance. Within five minutesPriest was galloping up the north bank of the river to intercept thewagon at the ferry, a well-filled purse in his pocket with which tosecure a coffin at Fort Laramie. Flood and Campbell selected a burialplace, and with our wagon spade a grave was being dug on a near-bygrassy mound, where there were two other graves.There was not a man among us who was hypocrite enough to attempt toconduct a Christian burial service, but when the subject came up,McCann said as he came down the river the evening before he noticed anemigrant train of about thirty wagons going into camp at a grove aboutfive miles up the river. In a conversation which he had had with oneof the party, he learned that they expected to rest over Sunday. Theirrespect for the Sabbath day caused Campbell to suggest that theremight be some one in the emigrant camp who could conduct a Christianburial, and he at once mounted his horse and rode away to learn.In preparing the body for its last resting-place we were badlyhandicapped, but by tearing a new wagon sheet into strips about a footin width and wrapping the body, we gave it a humble bier in the shadeof our wagon, pending the arrival of the coffin. The features were soashened by having been submerged in the river for over eighteen hours,that we wrapped the face also, as we preferred to remember him as wehad seen him the day before, strong, healthy, and buoyant. During theinterim, awaiting the return of Campbell from the emigrant camp and ofthe wagon, we sat around in groups and discussed the incident. Therewas a sense of guilt expressed by a number of our outfit over theirhasty decision regarding the courage of the dead man. When weunderstood that two of his brothers had met a similar fate in RedRiver within the past five years, every guilty thought or hasty wordspoken came back to us with tenfold weight. Priest and Campbellreturned together; the former reported having secured a coffin whichwould arrive within an hour, while the latter had met in the emigrantcamp a superannuated minister who gladly volunteered his services. Hehad given the old minister such data as he had, and two of theminister's granddaughters had expressed a willingness to assist bysinging at the burial services. Campbell had set the hour for four,and several conveyances would be down from the emigrant camp. Thewagon arriving shortly afterward, we had barely time to lay the corpsein the coffin before the emigrants drove up. The minister was a tall,homely man, with a flowing beard, which the frosts of many a winterhad whitened, and as he mingled amongst us in the final preparations,he had a kind word for every one. There were ten in his party; andwhen the coffin had been carried out to the grave, the twogranddaughters of the old man opened the simple service by singingvery impressively the first three verses of the Portuguese Hymn. I hadheard the old hymn sung often before, but the impression of the lastverse rang in my ears for days afterward."When through the deep waters I call thee to go,The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;For I will be with thee thy troubles to bless,And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress."As the notes of the hymn died away, there was for a few momentsprofound stillness, and not a move was made by any one. The touchingwords of the old hymn expressed quite vividly the disaster of theprevious day, and awakened in us many memories of home. For a time wewere silent, while eyes unused to weeping filled with tears. I do notknow how long we remained so. It may have been only for a moment, itprobably was; but I do know the silence was not broken till the agedminister, who stood at the head of the coffin, began his discourse. Westood with uncovered heads during the service, and when the oldminister addressed us he spoke as though he might have been holdingfamily worship and we had been his children. He invoked Heaven tocomfort and sustain the mother when the news of her son's deathreached her, as she would need more than human aid in that hour; heprayed that her faith might not falter and that she might again meetand be with her loved ones forever in the great beyond. He then tookup the subject of life,--spoke of its brevity, its many hopes that arenever realized, and the disappointments from which no prudence orforesight can shield us. He dwelt at some length on the strangemingling of sunshine and shadow that seemed to belong to every life;on the mystery everywhere, and nowhere more impressively than inourselves. With his long bony finger he pointed to the cold, mute formthat lay in the coffin before us, and said, "But this, my friends, isthe mystery of all mysteries." The fact that life terminated in death,he said, only emphasized its reality; that the death of our companionwas not an accident, though it was sudden and unexpected; that thedifficulties of life are such that it would be worse than folly in usto try to meet them in our own strength. Death, he said, might change,but it did not destroy; that the soul still lived and would liveforever; that death was simply the gateway out of time into eternity;and if we were to realize the high aim of our being, we could do so bycasting our burdens on Him who was able and willing to carry them forus. He spoke feelingly of the Great Teacher, the lowly Nazarene, whoalso suffered and died, and he concluded with an eloquent descriptionof the blessed life, the immortality of the soul, and the resurrectionof the body. After the discourse was ended and a brief and earnestprayer was covered, the two young girls sang the hymn, "Shall we meetbeyond the river?" The services being at an end, the coffin waslowered into the grave.Campbell thanked the old minister and his two granddaughters on theirtaking leave, for their presence and assistance; and a number of usboys also shook hands with the old man at parting.