CHAPTER XXI
THE YELLOWSTONE
The tramping of our _remuda_ as they came trotting up to the wagon thenext morning, and Honeyman's calling, "Horses, horses," brought us tothe realization that another day had dawned with its duty. McCann hadstretched the ropes of our corral, for Flood was as dead to the worldas any of us were, but the tramping of over a hundred and forty horsesand mules, as they crowded inside the ropes, brought him into actionas well as the rest of us. We had had a good five hours' sleep, whileour mounts had been transformed from gaunt animals to round-barreledsaddle horses,--that fought and struggled amongst themselves orartfully dodged the lariat loops which were being cast after them.Honeyman reported the herd quietly grazing across the river, and aftersecuring our mounts for the morning, we breakfasted before lookingafter the cattle. It took us less than an hour to round up and countthe cattle, and turn them loose again under herd to graze. Those of usnot on herd returned to the wagon, and our foreman instructed McCannto make a two hours' drive down the river and camp for noon, as heproposed only to graze the herd that morning. After seeing the wagonsafely beyond the rocky crossing, we hunted up a good bathing pool anddisported ourselves for half an hour, taking a much needed bath. Therewere trails on either side of the Powder, and as our course washenceforth to the northwest, we remained on the west side and grazedor trailed down it. It was a beautiful stream of water, having itssource in the Big Horn Mountains, frequently visible on our left. Forthe next four or five days we had easy work. There were range cattlethrough that section, but fearful of Texas fever, their owners gavethe Powder River a wide berth. With the exception of holding the herdat night, our duties were light. We caught fish and killed grouse; andthe respite seemed like a holiday after our experience of the past fewdays. During the evening of the second day after reaching the Powder,we crossed the Crazy Woman, a clear mountainous fork of the formerriver, and nearly as large as the parent stream. Once or twice weencountered range riders, and learned that the Crazy Woman was a stockcountry, a number of beef ranches being located on it, stocked withTexas cattle.
Somewhere near or about the Montana line, we took a left-hand trail.Flood had ridden it out until he had satisfied himself that it ledover to the Tongue River and the country beyond. While large trailsfollowed on down the Powder, their direction was wrong for us, as theyled towards the Bad Lands and the lower Yellowstone country. On thesecond day out, after taking the left-hand trail, we encountered somerough country in passing across a saddle in a range of hills formingthe divide between the Powder and Tongue rivers. We were nearly awhole day crossing it, but had a well-used trail to follow, and downin the foothills made camp that night on a creek which emptied intothe Tongue. The roughness of the trail was well compensated for,however, as it was a paradise of grass and water. We reached theTongue River the next afternoon, and found it a similar stream to thePowder,--clear as crystal, swift, and with a rocky bottom. As thesewere but minor rivers, we encountered no trouble in crossing them, thegreatest danger being to our wagon. On the Tongue we met range ridersagain, and from them we learned that this trail, which crossed theYellowstone at Frenchman's Ford, was the one in use by herds bound forthe Musselshell and remoter points on the upper Missouri. From onerider we learned that the first herd of the present season which wentthrough on this route were cattle wintered on the Niobrara in westernNebraska, whose destination was Alberta in the British possessions.This herd outclassed us in penetrating northward, though in distancethey had not traveled half as far as our Circle Dots.
After following the Tongue River several days and coming out on thatimmense plain tributary to the Yellowstone, the trail turned to thenorthwest, gave us a short day's drive to the Rosebud River, and afterfollowing it a few miles, bore off again on the same quarter. In ourrear hung the mountains with their sentinel peaks, while in our frontstretched the valley tributary to the Yellowstone, in extent, itself,an inland empire. The month was August, and, with the exception ofcool nights, no complaint could be made, for that rarefied atmospherewas a tonic to man and beast, and there was pleasure in the primitivefreshness of the country which rolled away on every hand. On leavingthe Rosebud, two days' travel brought us to the east fork of SweetGrass, an insignificant stream, with a swift current and rockycrossings. In the first two hours after reaching it, we must havecrossed it half a dozen times, following the grassy bottoms, whichshifted from one bank to the other. When we were full forty milesdistant from Frenchman's Ford on the Yellowstone, the wagon, incrossing Sweet Grass, went down a sidling bank into the bottom of thecreek, the left hind wheel collided with a boulder in the water,dishing it, and every spoke in the wheel snapped off at the shoulderin the felloe. McCann never noticed it, but poured the whip into themules, and when he pulled out on the opposite bank left the felloe ofhis wheel in the creek behind. The herd was in the lead at the time,and when Honeyman overtook us and reported the accident, we threw theherd off to graze, and over half the outfit returned to the wagon.
When we reached the scene, McCann had recovered the felloe, but everyspoke in the hub was hopelessly ruined. Flood took in the situation ata glance. He ordered the wagon unloaded and the reach lengthened, tookthe axe, and, with The Rebel, went back about a mile to a thicket oflodge poles which we had passed higher up the creek. While the rest ofus unloaded the wagon, McCann, who was swearing by both note andrhyme, unearthed his saddle from amongst the other plunder and cinchedit on his nigh wheeler. We had the wagon unloaded and had reloadedsome of the heaviest of the plunder in the front end of the wagon box,by the time our foreman and Priest returned, dragging from theirpommels a thirty-foot pole as perfect as the mast of a yacht. Weknocked off all the spokes not already broken at the hub of the ruinedwheel, and after jacking up the hind axle, attached the "crutch." Bycutting a half notch in the larger end of the pole, so that it fittedover the front axle, lashing it there securely, and allowing the otherend to trail behind on the ground, we devised a support on which thehub of the broken wheel rested, almost at its normal height. There wassufficient spring to the pole to obviate any jolt or jar, while therearrangement we had effected in distributing the load would relieveit of any serious burden. We took a rope from the coupling pole of thewagon and loosely noosed it over the crutch, which allowed leeway inturning, but prevented the hub from slipping off the support on ashort turn to the left. Then we lashed the tire and felloe to thefront end of the wagon, and with the loss of but a couple of hours ourcommissary was again on the move.
The trail followed the Sweet Grass down to the Yellowstone; and untilwe reached it, whenever there were creeks to ford or extra pulls onhills, half a dozen of us would drop back and lend a hand from oursaddle pommels. The gradual decline of the country to the river was inour favor at present, and we should reach the ford in two days at thefarthest, where we hoped to find a wheelwright. In case we did not,our foreman thought he could effect a trade for a serviceable wagon,as ours was a new one and the best make in the market. The next dayFlood rode on ahead to Frenchman's Ford, and late in the day returnedwith the information that the Ford was quite a pretentious frontiervillage of the squatter type. There was a blacksmith and a wheelwrightshop in the town, but the prospect of an exchange was discouraging, asthe wagons there were of the heavy freighting type, while ours was awide tread--a serious objection, as wagons manufactured for southerntrade were eight inches wider than those in use in the north, andtherefore would not track on the same road. The wheelwright hadassured Flood that the wheel could be filled in a day, with theexception of painting, and as paint was not important, he had decidedto move up within three or four miles of the Ford and lie over a dayfor repairing the wagon, and at the same time have our mules reshod.Accordingly we moved up the next morning, and after unloading thewagon, both box and contents, over half the outfit--the first andsecond guards--accompanied the wagon into the Ford. They were toreturn by noon, when the remainder of us were to have our turn inseeing the sights of Frenchman's Ford. The horse wrangler remainedbehind with us, to
accompany the other half of the outfit in theafternoon. The herd was no trouble to hold, and after watering aboutthe middle of the forenoon, three of us went into camp and got dinner.As this was the first time since starting that our cook was absent, werather enjoyed the opportunity to practice our culinary skill. Pridein our ability to cook was a weakness in our craft. The work wasdivided up between Joe Stallings, John Officer, and myself, Honeymanbeing excused on agreeing to rustle the wood and water. Stallingsprided himself on being an artist in making coffee, and while huntingfor the coffee mill, found a bag of dried peaches.
"Say, fellows," said Joe, "I'll bet McCann has hauled this fruit athousand miles and never knew he had it amongst all this plunder. I'mgoing to stew a saucepan full of it, just to show his royal nibs thathe's been thoughtless of his boarders."
Officer volunteered to cut and fry the meat, for we were eating straybeef now with great regularity; and the making of the biscuits fell tome. Honeyman soon had a fire so big that you could not have got nearit without a wet blanket on; and when my biscuits were ready for theDutch oven, Officer threw a bucket of water on the fire, remarking:"Honeyman, if you was _cusi segundo_ under me, and built up such a bigfire for the chef, there would be trouble in camp. You may be a goodenough horse wrangler for a through Texas outfit, but when it comes toplaying second fiddle to a cook of my accomplishments--well, yousimply don't know salt from wild honey. A man might as well try tocook on a burning haystack as on a fire of your building."
When the fire had burned down sufficiently, the cooks got theirrespective utensils upon the fire; I had an ample supply of live coalsfor the Dutch oven, and dinner was shortly afterwards announced asready. After dinner, Officer and I relieved the men on herd, but overan hour passed before we caught sight of the first and second guardsreturning from the Ford. They were men who could stay in town all dayand enjoy themselves; but, as Flood had reminded them, there wereothers who were entitled to a holiday. When Bob Blades and FoxQuarternight came to our relief on herd, they attempted to detain uswith a description of Frenchman's Ford, but we cut all conversationshort by riding away to camp.
"We'll just save them the trouble, and go in and see it forourselves," said Officer to me, as we galloped along. We had left wordwith Honeyman what horses we wanted to ride that afternoon, and lostlittle time in changing mounts; then we all set out to pay ourrespects to the mushroom village on the Yellowstone. Most of us hadmoney; and those of the outfit who had returned were clean shaven andbrought the report that a shave was two-bits and a drink the sameprice. The town struck me as something new and novel, two thirds ofthe habitations being of canvas. Immense quantities of buffalo hideswere drying or already baled, and waiting transportation as weafterward learned to navigable points on the Missouri. Large bulltrains were encamped on the outskirts of the village, while many suchoutfits were in town, receiving cargoes or discharging freight. Thedrivers of these ox trains lounged in the streets and thronged thesaloons and gambling resorts. The population was extremely mixed, andalmost every language could be heard spoken on the streets. The menwere fine types of the pioneer,--buffalo hunters, freighters, andother plainsmen, though hardly as picturesque in figure and costume asa modern artist would paint them. For native coloring, there weretypical specimens of northern Indians, grunting their jargon amid thebabel of other tongues; and groups of squaws wandered through theirregular streets in gaudy blankets and red calico. The onlycivilizing element to be seen was the camp of engineers, running thesurvey of the Northern Pacific railroad.
Tying our horses in a group to a hitch-rack in the rear of a salooncalled The Buffalo Bull, we entered by a rear door and lined up at thebar for our first drink since leaving Ogalalla. Games of chance wererunning in the rear for those who felt inclined to try their luck,while in front of the bar, against the farther wall, were a number ofsmall tables, around which were seated the patrons of the place,playing for the drinks. One couldn't help being impressed with theunrestrained freedom of the village, whose sole product seemed to bebuffalo hides. Every man in the place wore the regulation six-shooterin his belt, and quite a number wore two. The primitive law of natureknown as self-preservation, was very evident in August of '82 atFrenchman's Ford. It reminded me of the early days at home in Texas,where, on arising in the morning, one buckled on his six-shooter asthough it were part of his dress. After a second round of drinks, westrolled out into the front street to look up Flood and McCann, andincidentally get a shave. We soon located McCann, who had a hunk ofdried buffalo meat, and was chipping it off and feeding it to someIndian children whose acquaintance he seemed to be cultivating. Onsighting us, he gave the children the remainder of the jerked buffalo,and at once placed himself at our disposal as guide to Frenchman'sFord. He had been all over the town that morning; knew the name ofevery saloon and those of several barkeepers as well; pointed out thebullet holes in a log building where the last shooting scrapeoccurred, and otherwise showed us the sights in the village which wemight have overlooked. A barber shop? Why, certainly; and he led theway, informing us that the wagon wheel would be filled by evening,that the mules were already shod, and that Flood had ridden down tothe crossing to look at the ford.
Two barbers turned us out rapidly, and as we left we continued to takein the town, strolling by pairs and drinking moderately as we went.Flood had returned in the mean time, and seemed rather convivial andquite willing to enjoy the enforced lay-over with us. While taking adrink in Yellowstone Bob's place, the foreman took occasion to callthe attention of The Rebel to a cheap lithograph of General Grantwhich hung behind the bar. The two discussed the merits of thepicture, and Priest, who was an admirer of the magnanimity as well asthe military genius of Grant, spoke in reserved yet favorable terms ofthe general, when Flood flippantly chided him on his eulogisticremarks over an officer to whom he had once been surrendered. TheRebel took the chaffing in all good humor, and when our glasses werefilled, Flood suggested to Priest that since he was such an admirer ofGrant, possibly he wished to propose a toast to the general's health.
"You're young, Jim," said The Rebel, "and if you'd gone through what Ihave, your views of things might be different. My admiration for thegenerals on our side survived wounds, prisons, and changes of fortune;but time has tempered my views on some things, and now I don't enthuseover generals when the men of the ranks who made them famous areforgotten. Through the fortunes of war, I saluted Grant when we weresurrendered, but I wouldn't propose a toast or take off my hat now toany man that lives."
During the comments of The Rebel, a stranger, who evidently overheardthem, rose from one of the tables in the place and sauntered over tothe end of the bar, an attentive listener to the succeedingconversation. He was a younger man than Priest,--with a head of heavyblack hair reaching his shoulders, while his dress was largely ofbuckskin, profusely ornamented with beadwork and fringes. He wasarmed, as was every one else, and from his languid demeanor as well asfrom his smart appearance, one would classify him at a passing glanceas a frontier gambler. As we turned away from the bar to an unoccupiedtable, Priest waited for his change, when the stranger accosted himwith an inquiry as to where he was from. In the conversation thatensued, the stranger, who had noticed the good-humored manner in whichThe Rebel had taken the chiding of our foreman, pretending to take himto task for some of his remarks. But in this he made a mistake. Whathis friends might safely say to Priest would be treated as an insultfrom a stranger. Seeing that he would not stand his chiding, the otherattempted to mollify him by proposing they have a drink together andpart friendly, to which The Rebel assented. I was pleased with thefavorable turn of affairs, for my bunkie had used some rather severelanguage in resenting the remarks of the stranger, which now had thepromise of being dropped amicably.
I knew the temper of Priest, and so did Flood and Honeyman, and wewere all anxious to get him away from the stranger. So I asked ourforeman as soon as they had drunk together, to go over and tell Priestwe were waiting for him to make up a game of cards. The two werestanding
at the bar in a most friendly attitude, but as they raisedtheir glasses to drink, the stranger, holding his at arm's length,said: "Here's a toast for you: To General Grant, the ablest"--
But the toast was never finished, for Priest dashed the contents ofhis glass in the stranger's face, and calmly replacing the glass onthe bar, backed across the room towards us. When half-across, a suddenmovement on the part of the stranger caused him to halt. But it seemedthe picturesque gentleman beside the bar was only searching hispockets for a handkerchief.
"Don't get your hand on that gun you wear," said The Rebel, whoseblood was up, "unless you intend to use it. But you can't shoot aminute too quick to suit me. What do you wear a gun for, anyhow? Let'ssee how straight you can shoot."
As the stranger made no reply, Priest continued, "The next time youhave anything to rub in, pick your man better. The man who insultsme'll get all that's due him for his trouble." Still eliciting noresponse, The Rebel taunted him further, saying, "Go on and finishyour toast, you patriotic beauty. I'll give you another: Jeff Davisand the Southern Confederacy."
We all rose from the table, and Flood, going over to Priest, said,"Come along, Paul we don't want to have any trouble here. Let's goacross the street and have a game of California Jack."
But The Rebel stood like a chiseled statue, ignoring the friendlycounsel of our foreman, while the stranger, after wiping the liquorfrom his face and person, walked across the room and seated himself atthe table from which he had risen. A stillness as of death pervadedthe room, which was only broken by our foreman repeating his requestto Priest to come away, but the latter replied, "No; when I leave thisplace it will not be done in fear of any one. When any man goes out ofhis way to insult me he must take the consequences, and he can alwaysfind me if he wants satisfaction. We'll take another drink before wego. Everybody in the house, come up and take a drink with PaulPriest."
The inmates of the place, to the number of possibly twenty, who hadbeen witness to what had occurred, accepted the invitation, quittingtheir games and gathering around the bar. Priest took a position atthe end of the bar, where he could notice any movement on the part ofhis adversary as well as the faces of his guests, and smiling on them,said in true hospitality, "What will you have, gentlemen?" There was aforced effort on the part of the drinkers to appear indifferent to thesituation, but with the stranger sitting sullenly in their rear and aniron-gray man standing at the farther end of the line, hungering foran opportunity to settle differences with six-shooters, theirindifference was an empty mockery. Some of the players returned totheir games, while others sauntered into the street, yet Priest showedno disposition to go. After a while the stranger walked over to thebar and called for a glass of whiskey.
The Rebel stood at the end of the bar, calmly rolling a cigarette, andas the stranger seemed not to notice him, Priest attracted hisattention and said, "I'm just passing through here, and shallonly be in town this afternoon; so if there's anything between us thatdemands settlement, don't hesitate to ask for it."
The stranger drained his glass at a single gulp, and with admirablecomposure replied, "If there's anything between us, we'll settle it indue time, and as men usually settle such differences in this country.I have a friend or two in town, and as soon as I see them, you willreceive notice, or you may consider the matter dropped. That's all Icare to say at present."
He walked away to the rear of the room, Priest joined us, and westrolled out of the place. In the street, a grizzled, gray-beardedman, who had drunk with him inside, approached my bunkie and said,"You want to watch that fellow. He claims to be from the Gallatincountry, but he isn't, for I live there. There 's a pal with him, andthey've got some good horses, but I know every brand on the headwatersof the Missouri, and their horses were never bred on any of its threeforks. Don't give him any the best of you. Keep an eye on him,comrade." After this warning, the old man turned into the first opendoor, and we crossed over to the wheelwright's shop; and as the wheelwould not be finished for several hours yet, we continued our surveyof the town, and our next landing was at The Buffalo Bull. On enteringwe found four of our men in a game of cards at the very first table,while Officer was reported as being in the gambling room in the rear.The only vacant table in the bar-room was the last one in the farcorner, and calling for a deck of cards, we occupied it. I sat with myback to the log wall of the low one-story room, while on my left andfronting the door, Priest took a seat with Flood for his pardner,while Honeyman fell to me. After playing a few hands, Flood suggestedthat Billy go forward and exchange seats with some of our outfit, soas to be near the door, where he could see any one that entered, whilefrom his position the rear door would be similarly guarded. Under thischange, Rod Wheat came back to our table and took Honeyman's place. Wehad been playing along for an hour, with people passing in and out ofthe gambling room, and expected shortly to start for camp, whenPriest's long-haired adversary came in at the front door, and, walkingthrough the room, passed into the gambling department.
John Officer, after winning a few dollars in the card room, wasstanding alongside watching our game; and as the stranger passed by,Priest gave him the wink, on which Officer followed the stranger and aheavy-set companion who was with him into the rear room. We had playedonly a few hands when the heavy-set man came back to the bar, took adrink, and walked over to watch a game of cards at the second tablefrom the front door. Officer came back shortly afterward, andwhispered to us that there were four of them to look out for, as hehad seen them conferring together. Priest seemed the least concernedof any of us, but I noticed he eased the holster on his belt forward,where it would be ready to his hand. We had called for a round ofdrinks, Officer taking one with us, when two men came out of thegambling hell, and halting at the bar, pretended to divide some moneywhich they wished to have it appear they had won in the card room.Their conversation was loud and intended to attract attention, butOfficer gave us the wink, and their ruse was perfectly understood.After taking a drink and attracting as much attention as possible overthe division of the money, they separated, but remained in the room.
I was dealing the cards a few minutes later, when the long-haired manemerged from the gambling hell, and imitating the maudlin, saunteredup to the bar and asked for a drink. After being served, he walkedabout halfway to the door, then whirling suddenly, stepped to the endof the bar, placed his hands upon it, sprang up and stood upright onit. He whipped out two six-shooters, let loose a yell which caused acommotion throughout the room, and walked very deliberately the lengthof the counter, his attention centred upon the occupants of our table.Not attracting the notice he expected in our quarter, he turned, andslowly repaced the bar, hurling anathemas on Texas and Texans ingeneral.
I saw The Rebel's eyes, steeled to intensity, meet Flood's across thetable, and in that glance of our foreman he evidently read approval,for he rose rigidly with the stealth of a tiger, and for the firsttime that day his hand went to the handle of his six-shooter. One ofthe two pretended winners at cards saw the movement in our quarter,and sang out as a warning, "Cuidado, mucho." The man on the barwhirled on the word of warning, and blazed away with his two guns intoour corner. I had risen at the word and was pinned against the wall,where on the first fire a rain of dirt fell from the chinking in thewall over my head. As soon as the others sprang away from the table, Ikicked it over in clearing myself, and came to my feet just as TheRebel fired his second shot. I had the satisfaction of seeing hislong-haired adversary reel backwards, firing his guns into the ceilingas he went, and in falling crash heavily into the glassware on theback bar.
The smoke which filled the room left nothing visible for a fewmoments. Meantime Priest, satisfied that his aim had gone true,turned, passed through the rear room, gained his horse, and wasgalloping away to the herd before any semblance of order was restored.As the smoke cleared away and we passed forward through the room, JohnOfficer had one of the three pardners standing with his hands to thewall, while his six-shooter lay on the floor under Officer's foot. Hehad
made but one shot into our corner, when the muzzle of a gun waspushed against his ear with an imperative order to drop his arms,which he had promptly done. The two others, who had been under thesurveillance of our men at the forward table, never made a move oroffered to bring a gun into action, and after the killing of theirpicturesque pardner passed together out of the house. There had beenfive or six shots fired into our corner, but the first double shot,fired when three of us were still sitting, went too high for effect,while the remainder were scattering, though Rod Wheat got a bulletthrough his coat, close enough to burn the skin on his shoulder.
The dead man was laid out on the floor of the saloon; and throughcuriosity, for it could hardly have been much of a novelty to theinhabitants of Frenchman's Ford, hundreds came to gaze on the corpseand examine the wounds, one above the other through his vitals, eitherof which would have been fatal. Officer's prisoner admitted that thedead man was his pardner, and offered to remove the corpse ifreleased. On turning his six-shooter over to the proprietor of theplace, he was given his freedom to depart and look up his friends.
As it was after sundown, and our wheel was refilled and ready, we setout for camp, where we found that Priest had taken a fresh horse andstarted back over the trail. No one felt any uneasiness over hisabsence, for he had demonstrated his ability to protect himself; andtruth compels me to say that the outfit to a man was proud of him.Honeyman was substituted on our guard in The Rebel's place, sleepingwith me that night, and after we were in bed, Billy said in hisenthusiasm: "If that horse thief had not relied on pot shooting, andhad been modest and only used one gun, he might have hurt some of youfellows. But when I saw old Paul raising his gun to a level as heshot, I knew he was cool and steady, and I'd rather died right therethan see him fail to get his man."