The Great Cattle Trail Part 22

"That's right, pard. I'm mighty glad to see you; you must take supper with us."

"Thank you, I guess I will," replied Sclevinger, dismounting and accepting the invitation as readily as it was given; "I tried to run in my herd ahead of you this afternoon," he added, with a twinkle of his fine eyes, "but I couldn't quite make it."

"We saw what you were up to, and we had to bestir ourselves to head you off. How many have you, colonel?"

"Only about twelve hundred--that is, I _had_ twelve hundred, when I started from the ranch two days ago, but we lost nearly a hundred yesterday."

"How was that?" asked the captain, as they reached the provision wagon, and paused while the cook made their meal ready.

"A confounded lot of Comanches cut out some of our cattle, and, despite all we could do, got off with them."

"They have been hanging round us, but didn't do anything. Seems to me, colonel, you shouldn't have allowed that."

"That's what makes me so mad," was the bluff response of the guest. "It was just after crossing the creek to the southwest, which doesn't lie in your way. A lot of the beasts took fright at something, and away they went on a bee line for Arizona. I thought a couple of the boys would be able to bring them back, and I sent them off, while the other four looked after the main herd. Thank you," said the colonel, as he took the hot coffee from the hand of his host.

"Well, I judge from what you said, they didn't bring back the hoofs,"

observed the captain, interested in the narrative of his friend.

"No, by George, it was worse than that. Three or four hours after the stampede, one of the men came in sight, riding like mad. There were no cattle with him, and he was alone. I saw that one of his hands was bleeding badly, and he had a woful story to tell. He said he and the other fellow were working like the mischief to turn the animals back, and had almost succeeded, when the first they knew a dozen whooping Comanches were right upon them.

"It was bang, bang, shoot, cut, yell, and whoop her up again, with no thought of doing anything but save themselves. The other chap fought like a Trojan, but his horse was killed and he went down with half the fiends on him, fighting as long as the breath remained in his body.

"The one who came back with the news was pretty badly cut up and had the closest kind of a call, but his horse was better than any of the others and he managed to escape."

"Of course it was idle to think of getting your cattle after that,"

remarked the captain.

"I was so infuriated that I gathered the rest of the men, intending to take the trail, but by the time I was ready, I became cooler, and saw it would never do. Haven't you been troubled with the redskins?"

"Not in the manner that you have, but they stirred things up for us last night."

Thereupon, Captain Shirril gave an account of his own experience in his cabin. His friend listened attentively to his story, for it was interesting. He remarked, at its conclusion, that the Indians had been more troublesome that spring than he had ever known them. Twice, within the preceding month, they attempted to steal a number of his cattle, but failed in each instance, with the loss of several of their warriors.

"And in my opinion we are likely to have more trouble before we get through the Indian country," added the colonel.

"I think so, too; it will be well for us to get not too far from each other, for we ought to be in shape to give mutual support."

"Of course; there must be other droves on the march, and we ought to get a twist on them that will make them squeal."

The supper being finished, the two leading cattlemen sat down under the shelter of the covered wagon and smoked their pipes. They had been old army officers, though Colonel Sclevinger fought on the Union side in the war. The singular feature (and yet it was not so singular either), was that they had come in contact more than once during that period. It fell to the lot of the colonel to take the captain prisoner. He treated the brave Texan with so much consideration that a strong friendship was formed, which remained uninterrupted to the present time.

It was by Captain Shirril's invitation that Colonel Sclevinger came to Texas on the return of peace. The Northern man felt an interest in the ranch business, but followed the counsel of the Texan, who warned him against going blindly into it. He took pains to give him points, and, when the proper time arrived, helped him to that extent that the gentleman avoided the disastrous blunders committed by those who fancy the ranch business offers a straight avenue to wealth, without any preliminary training in its many difficulties.

Enough has been told to explain the friendship between the two men. The colonel intended to make only a brief call, but he so enjoyed the company of his old friend that he sat a long time in the wagon, smoking and exchanging reminiscences of the war times, which theme must ever be deeply entertaining to those who were actors in that tremendous epoch of our nation's history.

Finally the visitor bade his friend good-night, and, mounting his horse, galloped off in the night.

Avon Burnet had listened to a part of the conversation, for he was always interested in what this occasional visitor to their cabin had to say, but he could not remain as long as he wished. It was arranged that he should a.s.sume his place in helping to watch the herd, Ballyhoo Gleeson being one of those sharing the duty with him.

So it was that the youth rode out in the dismal rainy night to make a "full hand" at the calling of a cattleman.

CHAPTER XXVI.

A SHOT FROM THE DARKNESS.

It was singular that Avon Burnet's most humiliating experience overtook him on his first night in helping to watch his uncle's herd of cattle, while following the Great Cattle Trail toward Kansas.

The starting point was so far north in Texas that the first day carried them close to the Indian Nation, through whose territory they expected to tramp for several days.

The night, as has been explained, was raw, with a fine, misty rain and a cutting wind. The youth was seated on his fleet-footed and intelligent Thunderbolt, with his back to the wind, after the fashion not only of all cowboys, under such circ.u.mstances, but of the animals themselves, who sometimes drift many miles before a driving storm.

He had his thick army blanket gathered about his body and shoulders, and, though the night was dismal and his situation far from pleasant, it still lacked the discomfort of many hours spent on the vast plains of the Lone Star State.

The young man had held his position for less than an hour when the wind changed, veering completely around, so that, instead of being in front of the herd and edging gradually from it, he was thrown behind the cattle, for they immediately faced about and began moving away from him.

The situation of the young herdsman became a delicate one at once. His proper place was in front, and to reach that point, he must ride around the animals, and not among them. One of the many singular features of herding and driving cattle is the wonderful sensitiveness shown at times by them. While there is nothing extraordinary in the wild panic often created by a thunderstorm, there are occasions when a whole herd is stampeded by a cause too trifling to be understood.

Our experience leads us to agree with many veteran cowboys that the cattle, when lying on the ground asleep, are sometimes troubled with bad dreams which cause such fright on their part that their excitement becomes contagious. Then again the electrical conditions produce a morbid uneasiness among them as well as among men, and there seem to be times when they are simply awaiting a pretext for dashing off in uncontrollable panic.

Avon Burnet's fear was that if he rode directly after the cattle, the sound of his mustang's hoofs would cause alarm, since it was too dark for them to identify him. A stampede is the terror of the cowmen's life, and no labor or trouble is too great to avert it. He, therefore, checked Thunderbolt and waited a few minutes until the cattle were so far off that he could wheel and gallop around their flank without frightening them.

When he thought sufficient time had elapsed, he decided to wait a brief while longer. His dread of a stampede was so strong that he was unusually careful, but with no thought of shirking any duty, he twitched the reins of his horse, spoke sharply, and without touch of spur, was off like an arrow.

Although not an animal was visible, the rider had the contour of the herd so vividly impressed on his mind that he felt no misgiving, when he began edging his steed more to the left, and finally brought him to a stand-still, as he believed, at the very front of the collection.

Indeed, his confidence would not have been greater had the sun been shining.

But when he halted and listened he failed to hear anything of them.

"I must have ridden too far ahead," was his conclusion, as he started his horse on a walk to meet them; "but they are surely near by."

Five, ten, fifteen minutes pa.s.sed, and then he drew rein with an exclamation of amazement, for his keen sense of hearing did not catch the first sound of the cattle.

"I have lost the herd!" he muttered in dismay, and such was the fact.

His cheeks burned with chagrin at the consciousness of what at first thought seems an impossible error on the part of man or youth with any experience in attending cattle.

It was Avon's first mishap of the kind, and he felt as though he could never face his comrades again, if they should discover the blunder, which, after all, was not so striking, when the attendant circ.u.mstances are borne in mind.

But if excuse could be accepted for his slip, there was none for inaction after its discovery. It was not to be supposed that the animals would set out to hunt him, nor that any knowledge could be gained of them by idleness. There were other men on duty, and he shouted at the top of his voice, in the hope of receiving a response, but there was none.

Slipping from his saddle, he knelt down and placed his ear to the ground. He fancied he detected faint sounds, such as are made by mult.i.tudinous hoofs on the soft, wet earth, but the noises were so slight that he could not identify the direction whence they came, and he hastily climbed into the saddle again.

He realized that he was lost, and well aware that at such times it is useless to puzzle one's brains about the point of the compa.s.s, he dashed in the direction which seemed to be the right one. Of course, as in his recent experience, it proved to be wrong, and he now spurred toward the top of the ridge or hill, which it was easy to identify under the tread of his mustang. He was confident that this elevation would yield the key to the situation and he was not mistaken.

From the crest he observed the starlike glimmer of a lantern, and no sight, except that of the herd itself, could have been more welcome. It was the signal suspended every night from the front bow of the wagon, to guide the men whenever they needed guidance.