The Log of a Cowboy eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 355 pages of information about The Log of a Cowboy.
around the herd, and was reechoed by our wrangler and cook in the rear.  The spirits of the outfit instantly rose.  We halted the herd and camped for noon, and McCann set out his best in celebrating the occasion.  It was the most enjoyable meal we had had in the past ten days.  After a good noonday rest, we set out, and having entered the trail during the afternoon, crossed the North Fork late that evening.  As we were going into camp, we noticed a horseman coming up the trail, who turned out to be smiling Nat Straw, whom we had left on the Colorado River.  “Well, girls,” said Nat, dismounting, “I didn’t know who you were, but I just thought I’d ride ahead and overtake whoever it was and stay all night.  Indians?  Yes; I wouldn’t drive on a trail that hadn’t any excitement on it.  I gave the last big encampment ten strays, and won them all back and four ponies besides on a horse race.  Oh, yes, got some running stock with us.  How soon will supper be ready, cusi?  Get up something extra, for you’ve got company.”



That night we learned from Straw our location on the trail.  We were far above the Indian reservation, and instead of having been astray our foreman had held a due northward course, and we were probably as far on the trail as if we had followed the regular route.  So in spite of all our good maxims, we had been borrowing trouble; we were never over thirty miles to the westward of what was then the new Western Cattle Trail.  We concluded that the “Running W” herd had turned back, as Straw brought the report that some herd had recrossed Red River the day before his arrival, giving for reasons the wet season and the danger of getting waterbound.

About noon of the second day after leaving the North Fork of Red River, we crossed the Washita, a deep stream, the slippery banks of which gave every indication of a recent rise.  We had no trouble in crossing either wagon or herd, it being hardly a check in our onward course.  The abandonment of the regular trail the past ten days had been a noticeable benefit to our herd, for the cattle had had an abundance of fresh country to graze over as well as plenty of rest.  But now that we were back on the trail, we gave them their freedom and frequently covered twenty miles a day, until we reached the South Canadian, which proved to be the most delusive stream we had yet encountered.  It also showed, like the Washita, every evidence of having been on a recent rampage.  On our arrival there was no volume of water to interfere, but it had a quicksand bottom that would bog a saddle blanket.  Our foreman had been on ahead and examined the regular crossing, and when he returned, freely expressed his opinion that we would be unable to trail the herd across, but might hope to effect it by cutting it into small bunches.  When we came, therefore, within three miles of the river, we turned off the trail to a near-by creek and thoroughly watered the herd.  This was contrary to our practice, for we usually wanted the herd thirsty when reaching a large river.  But any cow brute that halted in fording the Canadian that day was doomed to sink into quicksands from which escape was doubtful.

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The Log of a Cowboy from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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