The veteran cowman assumed
control, and I returned to the home ranch, where a horse had been left
on which to overtake the trail herd. My wife caught several glimpses
of me that spring; with stocking a new ranch and starting a herd on
the trail I was as busy as the proverbial cranberry-merchant. Where
a year before I was moneyless, now my obligations were accepted for
nearly fourteen thousand dollars.
I overtook the herd within one day's drive of Red River. Everything
was moving nicely, the cattle were well trail-broken, not a run had
occurred, and all was serene and lovely. We crossed into the Nations
at the regular ford, nothing of importance occurring until we reached
the Washita River. The Indians had been bothering us more or less, but
we brushed them aside or appeased their begging with a stray beef.
At the crossing of the Washita quite an encampment had congregated,
demanding six cattle and threatening to dispute our entrance to the
ford. Several of the boys with us pretended to understand the sign
language, and this resulted in an animosity being engendered between
two of the outfit over interpreting a sign made by a chief. After we
had given the Indians two strays, quite a band of bucks gathered on
foot at the crossing, refusing to let us pass until their demand had
been fulfilled. We had a few carbines, every lad had a six-shooter or
two, and, summoning every mounted man, we rode up to the ford.
Pages:
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134