Buffalo Bill and the Overland Trail / Being the story of how boy and man worked hard and played hard to blaze the white trail, by wagon train, stage coach and pony express, across the great plains and the mountains beyond, that the American republic might expand and flourish

by Edwin L. Sabin

The chief annoyance was the rattlesnakes—although Sam and Hank and several others claimed that the emigrants and the cattle had cleaned about all the snakes out. However, on his first day Davy rode over two, and scarcely a day passed that he did not see three or four. He was told that he must not let one bite his mule, for mules often died from snake bite. Horses and cattle seemed stronger; anyway, the cattle of the bull herd seemed to be what Mr. Baxter called “snake educated”; Davy could tell from their movements that a rattlesnake was near them.

The most interesting part of herding was the sight of the travel on the great Overland Trail. The Trail entered the Salt Creek Valley by a hill on the east and left it by a hill on the west; and at any hour of the day the white-topped wagons of emigrant train and freight train could be seen descending and crossing and ascending, some bound to Leavenworth, but the majority bound westward for the plains trip.

Where they all were going Davy used to wonder. It seemed as though everybody from the East was moving into the far West. Of course, some of the emigrants were bound for western Kansas, where in Arapahoe County, at the base of the Rocky Mountains, people were seeking for gold. Some were hoping to take up farms in Kansas. Others were aiming for the Salt Lake region, where the Mormons under Brigham Young had settled. And others were bound clear across the continent to California for gold and for land. And many did not know exactly where they were going, except that they were moving west, ever west, to found new homes. The freight trains of the great Russell, Majors & Waddell Company were carrying government stores to Fort Kearney, in Nebraska, and Fort Laramie, also of Nebraska, on the North Platte, and Fort Bridger, in Utah, and Salt Lake, where troops had been sent last winter. The dusty trail, bordered by camps old and new, and by abandoned pots and pans and boxes and clothing and deserted skeletons of cattle and horses, was never vacant, night or day. Whenever the herding business led Davy near to it he viewed it with wonder.

Herding took all of Davy’s time. Occasionally Hank Bassett went into Leavenworth, and occasionally the other men rode in—all but Mr. Baxter. He and Davy stayed out. The weather continued clear and pleasant, with the days soft and sunny, and the nights crisp and still. Nobody paid much attention to Davy now, for he was proving a good herder, and was accepted as a member of the herding mess. He was as hard as nails, everything he ate tasted good, long hours on mule back did not stiffen him, and he thought that he knew every steer in the big herd.

One big steer he especially watched. It was a large red and white steer, with a sore hoof which did not heal. Every now and again a portion of the herd was separated and driven in to Fort Leavenworth for another trip across the plains; and new bunches took their places, to rest up again. But the old red and white steer stayed. He was foot sore, but he also was a wanderer, for he loved to stray. Several times during each day he would edge out farther and farther, leading some of his cronies; and in due time Davy must ride in front of him and turn him back. He was a pesky animal, and caused much trouble; the third herder wanted him killed, but Davy and Mr. Baxter only laughed and kept persuading Hank to save him. After all, he was only a steer, with a mind of his own. Maybe he would get well. Davy rather hoped that he wouldn’t; he seemed to have such a good time, and the worked cattle were so gaunt and scarred when they returned from their long, hard trips.

Now it was November of 1858. The days were shorter, the nights were colder, the grass was failing, and Indian summer was about to end. Soon the herds would be taken off the plains, for the snow was due and there would not be enough feed. One day Mr. Baxter was ill in camp; the other herder was off, and Davy found himself left on herd alone for a brief time. This he did not mind. He felt capable of handling the herd himself. So he slowly rode around and around, occasionally halting for a survey of the landscape.

This week the herd had drifted farther than usual from the trail and from the settlements, to the very edge of the Salt Creek Valley, where in numerous pockets amidst low hill the grass was still abundant. Davy never understood exactly how it happened, but all of a sudden he missed the red and white lame ox. His eyes ran rapidly over the herd, seeking the old fellow. The red and white ox was a “marker”; when he was present then the chances were that the herd was holding together, but when he was absent then something must be done at once.

Well, he was absent; he was not even in sight. This meant that probably he had led off a dozen or so followers. From his mule Davy cast keen gaze over the herd and over the surrounding rolling country.

“Gwan!” he ordered to his mouse-colored mule, and striking into a gallop he set off on a wide circle.

From the top of the nearest rise he saw nothing moving. But the top of the second gave him a wide view—and he saw something of much interest. There, about half a mile from him, and out in the open, was a line of moving dots. He made out the red and white steer—he recognized the color and the limp. At least a dozen other cattle were with him. They were strung out in a little group; and behind, several horsemen were driving them. Yes, actually driving them! Indians! Indians were driving off a bunch of strays!