The lead had been maintained, but in drifting at random
with the storm several contingents of beeves had cut off from the main
body, supposedly from the rear. When the sun rose, men were dispatched
in pairs and trios, the trail of the missing steers was picked up, and
by ten o'clock every hoof was in hand or accounted for. I came in with
the last contingent and found the camp in an uproar over the supposed
desertion of one of the hands. Yankee Bill, a sixteen-year-old boy,
and another man were left in charge of the herd when the rest of us
struck out to hunt the missing cattle. An hour after sunrise the boy
was seen to ride deliberately away from his charge, without cause or
excuse, and had not returned. Desertion was the general supposition.
Had he not been mounted on one of the firm's horses the offense might
have been overlooked. But the delivery of the herd depended on the
saddle stock, and two men were sent on his trail. The rain had
freshened the ground, and after trailing the horse for fifteen miles
the boy was overtaken while following cattle tracks towards the herd.
He had simply fallen asleep in the saddle, and the horse had wandered
away. Yankee Bill had made the trip to Sumner with us the fall before,
and stood well with his employers, so the incident was forgiven and
forgotten.
From Elm Creek to the beginning of the dry drive was one continual
struggle with stampeding cattle or warding off Indians.
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