Letters on an Elk Hunt

by Elinore Pruitt Stewart

The chain parts of the hobbles and halters made a clinking sound as the horses fed about. Presently we heard a rumbling just like distant thunder. The cowboys sprang into their saddles; we heard a shot, and then we knew the terrible truth,—the steers had stampeded. For me, the next few minutes were an eternity of frightful confusion. Mrs. O’Shaughnessy and I found ourselves with the children upon our largest wagon; that was absolutely all the protection to be had. It would have gone down like a house of cards if that heaving sea of destruction had turned our way. I was scared witless. Mrs. O’Shaughnessy knelt among the children praying with white lips. I stood up watching the terrible scene. The men hastily set the horses free. There was no time to mount them and ride to safety with so many little children, and as there was nothing to tie them to but the wagons; we had to let them go so as to have the wagons left for shelter. This is why cowboys are such well-loved figures of romance and in mentioning them romance is fact.

“Greater love hath no man than this: that he lay down his life for his brother.” They knew nothing about us only that we were defenseless. They rode boldly on their stanch little horses flanking the frenzied steers, shooting a leader here and there as they got a chance. If an animal stumbled it went down to its death, for hundreds of pounding hoofs would trample it to pulp. So it would have been with the boys if their horses had stepped into a badger hole or anything of the kind had happened. So the tide was turned, or the steers kept of themselves, I don’t know which, on up the valley instead of coming up our draw. The danger was past.

Presently the cowboys came straggling back. Mrs. O’Shaughnessy ran to meet them. So when two on one horse came with a third riding close beside, helping to hold an injured man on, we knew some one was hurt. Mrs. O’Shaughnessy was, as usual, ready and able to help.

But the freighter’s daughter was as quick and had a mattress ready beside the coaster by the time the cowboys came up with the wounded man. Gently the men helped their comrade to the mattress and gently Mrs. O’Shaughnessy and the girl began their work. I quieted the children and put them to bed. The men were busy rounding up the horses. The cowboys kept talking together in low tones and coming and going in twos and threes. They acted so queerly that I wondered if some one else was not hurt. I asked the boss if any more of his men were hurt. He said no, none of his men were. I knew none of our men or the freighter were harmed, so I dismissed fear and went to Mrs. O’Shaughnessy.

“Poor boy,” she said, “he has a broken thigh and he’s hurt inside. His belly is knocked into a cocked-hat. We will pull him through. A man has already gone back to Newfork to get an automobile. They will take him to Rock Springs to the hospital in the morning.”

Mrs. O’Shaughnessy and the girl were doing all that could be done; they sent me back to care for the children. To keep warm I crawled under the blankets, but not to sleep. It didn’t seem to me that I could ever sleep again. I could hear the men talking in subdued tones. The boss was dispatching men to different places. Presently I saw some men take a lantern and move off toward the valley. I could see the light twinkling in and out among the sage-brush. They stopped. I could see forms pass before the light. I wondered what could be the matter. The horses were all safe; even Boy, Mr. Haynes’s dog, was safe, shivering and whining on his master’s blankets. I could plainly hear the hiccoughs of the wounded man: the click-cluck, click-cluck, kept on with maddening persistence, but at last his nurses forced enough hot water down him to cause vomiting. The blood-clots came and the poor fellow fell asleep. A lantern was hung upon the wagon and the two women went into the coaster to make some coffee.

It was three o’clock in the morning when the men of our outfit came back. They put on their heavy coats and were seeing to their horses. I asked Clyde what was the matter.

“Hush,” he said; “lie still. It is Olaf.”

“But I want to help,” I said.

“You can’t help. It’s—all over,” he replied as he started again to where the lantern was gleaming like a star fallen among the sage.