XVIYANK RAISES TROUBLE
The bull train plodded on and on, day by day, across the rolling prairies, whose soil, black, made blackish dust. One day was much like another. The principal excitement was the passing of the stages. The Leavenworth & Pike’s Peak Express Company had changed from the Smoky Hill route to Denver, and were running on the famous Platte trail now: by the Government road from Leavenworth to the Platte at Fort Kearney, thence up the Platte and the South Platte—the same road that the bull train was taking.
Regularly once a day the stage from the east and the stage from the west passed the train, which, like everything else, drew aside at the sign of the well-known dust ahead or behind, and with wave of whip and shout of voice greeted the flight of the four mules and the heavy coach. At gallop or brisk trot the stage swept by—the driver scarcely deigning a glance at bull whackers—and disappeared in its own cloud.
For the bull train there were two halts each day: at noon and at evening, when the wagons were corralled, usually by the right and left wing, the oxen unyoked, and camp made for rest and meals. Then,about one o’clock and about six in the morning, the march was resumed. The men walked beside their wheel cattle and by stepping out a little and “throwing” the whip to the full extent of lash, stock and arm, they could flick the backs of their lead cattle.
However, they rarely needed to use the whip as a punishment. The whole train maintained the pace set by Joel’s lead team and followed that. Each team kept close behind the wagon in front of them, so that the lead yoke’s noses almost touched the rear end. It was a close formation, preserved by the bulls themselves without urging. The teamsters really had little to do while on the level trail. But when the trail was very soft, or creeks or gullies had to be crossed, then there was work for all. Sometimes the teams were doubled, until ten or twelve yoke of bulls were stretched as one team, hauling the heavy wagons across in turn.
It was a great sight—the long line of panting, puffing oxen, with nostrils wide and eyes bulging and muscles of neck and back knotted, tugging all together, while the whips cracked and the men shouted, and slowly the huge white-topped wagon, swaying and creaking, and weighing, with its load, five tons or more, rolled onward out of difficulty.
At such times Davy felt like giving the sweaty bulls a cheer.
In the morning early, before the sun blazed and the dust and wind gathered, the plains were wonderfullypeaceful, and in the clear air the flowers seemed many and the antelope and rabbits and prairie dogs more lively. In the evening the men joked and told stories and sang songs around their camp-fire ashes. The favorite songs appeared to be one called “Days of Forty-nine,” another called “Betsy From Pike,” and another called “Joe Bowers.” This was a very long song, especially when the men made up verses to fit it. Charley said that anybody could begin it at Leavenworth and end it at the mountains. But the song that Davy liked the best was sung by “Sailor Bill,” one of the bull whackers. It was “The Bay of Biscay, O!” and in a deep bass voice Bill sang it finely, because he had been a sailor:
Loud roared the dreadful thunder,The rain a deluge show’rs;The clouds were rent asunderBy lightning’s vivid pow’rs.The night both drear and darkOur poor devoted bark,Till next dayThere she lay,In the Bay of Biscay O!
Loud roared the dreadful thunder,The rain a deluge show’rs;The clouds were rent asunderBy lightning’s vivid pow’rs.The night both drear and darkOur poor devoted bark,Till next dayThere she lay,In the Bay of Biscay O!
Loud roared the dreadful thunder,
The rain a deluge show’rs;
The clouds were rent asunder
By lightning’s vivid pow’rs.
The night both drear and dark
Our poor devoted bark,
Till next day
There she lay,
In the Bay of Biscay O!
It was a strange song to sing out here in the midst of the dry plains; but with Bill booming and his comrades joining in the chorus it sounded particularly good.
The trail was divided off by various names, as city blocks are divided off by streets. Most of the men could call the route by heart. There was Salt Creekand Grasshopper Creek and Walnut Creek and Elm Creek and the Big Blue, and the Big and Little Sandy, and Ash Point and the Little Blue and Thirty-two Mile Creek and Sand Hill Pond and the Platte River and then Fort Kearney, where, 294 miles from Leavenworth, the main Overland Trail to Denver and Salt Lake was struck.
On the Little Blue, before reaching Fort Kearney, the train had its first accident—and a peculiar accident that was. Davy first learned of it when, as he came riding back from an errand for Charley to another train behind, he saw a wagon at the middle of his train pull short and heard a shout and saw teamsters, their teams also halted, go running to the place.
“What’s the matter? Rattlers?” This was the first thought—that the teamster had been bitten by a rattlesnake.
“No. Somebody run over!”
The rear half of the train had stopped, of course; the fore half, after pulling on a little way, also had stopped. Charley came galloping back, Yank galloped forward, and so did Davy. The men ahead had gathered in a group and were carrying something out from under the wagons. It was Sailor Bill, poor fellow. He had been riding sitting on the pole of his wagon behind his wheel yoke, and he must have dozed, for he had fallen off and the wheels of his wagon had passed over him.
“My old lead bulls snorted and jumped like as ifthey’d stepped on a rattler,” was explaining the teamster who had shouted and halted his team. “I thought itwasa rattler, of course; but when I looked I sawhim! Right under my second swing team’s hoofs! But he was done breathing before ever we got to him. I’m sartin of that. His own wagon did for him; and mighty quick.”
“Yes,” they all nodded soberly, “poor Bill like as not never knew what was happening to him.”
“Anybody know who his folks are or where?” demanded Charley.
Heads were shaken.
“Never heard him say. He ran away to sea when he was a kid and never went home again, I reckon.”
“Well,” uttered Charley, “we’ll do the best we can.”
It was a solemn company which with bared heads stood about the spot where they laid Sailor Bill. A deep hole was dug beside the trail, and what was left of Sailor Bill, wrapped in a blanket, was lowered into it. Charley read a chapter from the Bible, the hole was filled, and the wagons made a little detour to drive across the spot and pack the soil so that the coyotes would not be tempted to dig there.
“We’ll certainly miss Bill and his ‘Bay of Biscay, O!’” said the men; and they did.
Henry Renick was appointed by Charley to Sailor Bill’s wagon and team, and the train rolled on.
Fort Kearney was four days, or fifty miles, ahead.On the fourth day a great dust, crossing the Leavenworth trail, made a cloud against the horizon; and Charley, pointing, remarked to Davy: “There’s the Platte trail. We’ll be in Kearney to-night.”
Fort Kearney was located on the south bank of the Platte River, at the head of a large island thirty miles long, which was called Grand Island. The military reservation extended on both sides of the river. The fort was not nearly so pleasant or so well built as Fort Leavenworth. The bluffs and the country around were bare and gray, and the buildings were old frame buildings, rather tumble-down. The only timber was on Grand Island, which made a green spot in the landscape.
Fort Kearney was a division point on the Overland Trail for Russell, Majors & Waddell. Charley reported to the company agent here, and the train laid up for a day to rest and restock with what provisions were needed. The meat was running short, for buffalo had been scarce all the way from Leavenworth.
At Fort Kearney the Leavenworth trail joined the main trail that came in from Omaha and Nebraska City. That trail crossed the Platte just above Fort Kearney, and there met the Leavenworth trail; and as one they proceeded west up the south bank of the Platte.
People at Fort Kearney claimed that on some days 500 wagons passed, headed either west or east. Joel Badger started in to count the number of teams insight throughout an hour, but quit tired. And truly, the scene at old Fort Kearney was a stirring one: the long lines of white-topped wagons slowly toiling in from the east and the southeast, and, uniting above the fort, toiling on out, under their dust cloud, up the river course into the west.
Charley did not delay here longer than was absolutely necessary, and Davy, as well as others in the train, was glad to be away on the trail again. Yank, the assistant wagon boss, and Charley, his chief, almost had a fight, despite the pledge that they had taken, for Yank had begun drinking in the groggeries of vicious Dobytown on the edge of the post and was uglier than usual.
“You hear what I say,” spoke up Charley loud enough for everybody else to hear, too. “Any more of this and you’re discharged without pay. Those are company orders and you knew it when you signed the roll.”
“The company that discharges me without pay I’ve earned will wish it hadn’t,” snarled Yank.
“I’ll take the responsibility,” retorted Charley, angrily. “If you don’t obey company rules you’re discharged; see? And if I can’t enforce those rules I’ll discharge myself.”
Yank said “Bah!” and swaggered off; but he stayed away from Dobytown.
Fort Kearney seemed to mark a dividing point of the country as well as of the great trail. The countryfrom Leavenworth up through Kansas had been prairie-like, with many wooded streams and considerable green meadows. But here at the Platte the greenness dwindled, and the trail wound along amidst sand and clay which grew chiefly sage brush and buffalo grass.
The Platte was a shallow, shifty stream, full of quicksands, so that drivers must be very careful in crossing. Charley told of a time when he saw a whole freight wagon, load and all, sink and disappear in what looked to be hard sand under only two inches of water! The trees in sight were for the most part on the islands in the river, for all timber within easy reach along the trail had long ago been cut and burned by the emigrants. Even buffalo chips were very scarce, so that Charley took pains to camp on the sites of previous camps, where cattle had left fuel similar to buffalo chips, although not so good.
The buffalo chips burned slowly and held the fire a long time, making splendid coals. The men seemed to think that this was because they had been lying out for years, maybe, and were well baked; whereas the cow chips and the bull chips were newer.
The Platte was frequently bordered by high clay bluffs; and where the road climbed or descended the scene at night was very pretty, with all the camp-fires of the emigrants and other bull trains sparkling high and low. The bluffs also were good coverts for Indians; and Charley ordered that each mess have a manon guard all night. Fort Kearney was considered the jumping-off place for the Indian country and the buffalo country. Beyond, the country was, as Charley said, “wide open.”
“To-morrow we’ll cross Plum Creek,” quoth Joel to Davy on the second day out from Kearney. “We ought to see buffalo at Plum Creek; ’most always do.”
Plum Creek was 330 miles from Leavenworth and thirty-six out of Fort Kearney. As they approached it, Charley and others uttered a glad cry, for buffalo were in sight by the hundreds. They were grazing on the hills and flats north of the river. Some emigrants already were among them, chasing them hither and thither; so Captain Charley ordered Andy Johnson and another teamster called “Kentuck” (because he was from Kentucky) to take Davy’s and Yank’s mules and go with him after meat.
That was as quickly done as said. Away the three spurred through the shallow water and on.
“We’ll have short ribs and roast hump to-night, boys,” shouted back Charley. He and Andy and Kentuck were good hunters.
This left Yank in charge of the train. He had not been pleasant since that scene at Kearney, when he and Charley had the row; just now he was more irritable and mean, because he had to walk. He grumbled and snarled, and said a number of unkind things about Charley which Dave knew were not true.
“Wants to take the huntin’ himself, that fellerdoes,” grumbled Yank, “an’ leaves us other fellers to hoof it. Who ever heard of an assistant wagon boss havin’ to walk? I didn’t hire out to walk, you bet.” And he yelped out to Joel: “Hurry on your bulls there, you lead team man. Give ’em the gad or you’ll get stuck.”
For the head of the train had reached a sandy hollow, and Joel’s team were tugging through it. The sand rolled in a stream from the tires and from half way up the spokes; but the twelve bulls—the ten blacks, and the two burly reds forming the pole yoke—were pulling together nobly.
“They don’t need it,” returned Joel, shortly. “They’re doing well. Let ’em alone.”
“You’ve held the lead so long and done as you please that you’ve got sassy,” sneered Yank. “You need a new boss, an’ now you’ve got him, see? I tell you to hustle those fat pets o’ yourn along an’ give somebody else a chance in here. Do you call that pullin’? Which way you movin’? Touch ’em up, my man; touch ’em up.”
“I’m driving this team,” answered Joel, roundly, “and I don’t need advice from any assistant wagon master as tohowto drive. They pull better without the lash.” And he sung out vigorously: “Buck! Muley! Hep, now! Hep with you!”
The wagon moved steadily, ploughing through the sand and encouraging the teams behind. But Joel’sreply seemed to enrage Yank—who had been waiting for just such a chance.
“Oh, gimme that whip!” he snarled, and snatched it from Joel’s hand. “Get out o’ there with you!” he yelled. The lash flew hissing; the snapper landed with a distinct “thut!” on the haunch of the right lead ox; it jerked smartly back and out-sprang at the spot where it had struck a rim of blood on the sweaty, dusty black hide. The whip end had cut through to the quick!
As fast as lash could travel (and that was fast indeed) the other lead ox felt like smart and humiliation. With frenzied, panting snort and groan the yoke quivered and strained, setting shoulders forward and fairly jerking the swing yokes after them. It was an unnecessary strain and Davy knew it.
“Whoa-oa-oa, boys!” soothed Joel. “Easy now!” And turning like a tiger on Yank, who again was swinging the whip, he knocked him flat on his back.
The team went toiling on but Joel stood, panting, over Yank, and watched him scramble up. Yank’s hand flew to his revolver butt—and there it stopped; for when he got that far he was looking into the big muzzle of Joel’s own Colt’s navy.
“None o’ that either!” growled Joel, boiling mad. “Gimme that whip,” and he snatched it back again. “I’ve a notion to lay it onyourback. You call yourself a man and abuse dumb beasts that are doing thebest they can and doing it well?” He shook his big fist in Yank’s evil face, which was turning from the red of anger to the white of fierce hate. “You touch my team again and I’llkillyou!” roared Joel. “I told you they were to be let alone and I mean it. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.”
Yank said nothing. His eye, where Joel’s fist had thudded, was swollen shut, but out of the other he glared steadily; and while he did not move a muscle (he knew better than to move with that revolver muzzle trained upon him), if a look could have killed, then Joel would have dropped in his tracks.
Joel slowly backed away, keeping his Colt’s ready.
“Remember,” he warned. “Don’t try that again.” And finally, having backed far enough, beyond the fringe of men who had gathered, he hastened after his wagon. Davy’s heart could beat again.
“Joel was right in this,” proclaimed a teamster. “You may be assistant wagon boss but even the boss himself has no business whipping another man’s bulls.” And as the men resought their wagons heads wagged and voices murmured in agreement therewith.
As for Yank, he was growing red again; he cautiously wiped his injured eye, his hand twitched upon the butt of his revolver, and picking up his hat he stumbled forward as if in a dream. The way he acted was more dangerous, it seemed to Davy, than if he had stormed and threatened. And Davy was afraid for Joel.
The train passed through the sandy hollow without further mishap; and when they climbed out and pulled on over the next rise they met the buffalo hunters returning. The mules’ saddles were red with meat, and the three riders were well pleased with their hunt.
The sun was low over the trail before, making golden the dust of travel.
“We’ll camp here, boys,” called Charley, cheerfully, “and do what butchering we need on those buffalo carcasses. Swing out, Joel. Whew, man! You must have had to lay on the lash a bit heavy, didn’t you?” For the haunches of the lead team were bloody welted. More than that, the cracker seemed to have taken a piece of hide out the size of a quarter!
“No,” said Joel, briefly. “I didn’t.”
“Well,” continued Charley, “let’s corral where we are. Yank, you—what’s the matter with your eye, man?”
“I fell down,” answered Yank, steadily. And at the laugh which went up he reddened deeply again, and again his hand twitched.