“The lasso.”
Although, as I have said, there are few incidents to interrupt the monotony of the drive, the cattle-men sometimes meet with thrilling experiences. In former years Indian attacks were not infrequent, and many a brave band of herders has been surrounded and killed by the savages whose hunting-grounds were encroached upon by the droves. There is always danger, too, of stampedes in the herds, caused either by the terrific thunder-storms and tornadoes which burst upon the great plains without warning, or by the “cattle thieves,”—bands of white, Indian, or half-breed outlaws, who live by stealing stray cattle from the herds, and sell them or kill them for their hides. Having in his early life encountered one or more of the devastating prairie fires which sweep over the great, dry pastures almost every fall, the slightest smell of smoke or sight of flame will plunge the steer into a panic of fright, and this well-known circumstance is turned to advantage by the cattle thieves in securing their plunder.
Getting some distance to windward of a herd on a dark night, the rogues set fire to a buffalo robe, and the pungent smoke of the burning hair is borne down upon the reposing cattle by the wind. The first whiff gives the alarm, ten thousand pairs of horns are reared aloft in air, and one united snort of terror is heard. Before the herders can mount their horses and check the panic the herd is past control, and the maddened and terrified animals, trampling one another and whatever comes in their way under foot, dash frantically off in the darkness with a noise like the roll of distant thunder. They scatter beyond hope of recovery. In the confusion following upon the heels of the stampede the thieves succeed in driving off scores and sometimes hundreds of the stragglers.
“The Cow-Bird.”
There are other incidents that I could narrate of amusing and exciting adventures during the drive. One episode I now recall of my first trip over the great cattle trail, was the encountering of a large herd of buffaloes which became intermingled with our cattle just after we crossed the Arkansas River in Southern Kansas. The buffaloes became so bewildered that they marched along with the cattle, and the young Texans enjoyed rare sport for two days in lassoing them. We had a welcome variety in our scanty bill of fare by the addition of tongue and other choice tid-bits to our larder.
As the railroads are neared the drive becomes more and more tiresome, and the Texas herders, longing for the wider freedom of the plains, are not sorry to have it end. But the steer, if he could peep into the future, would be sorry to have the journey brought to a close, for with the railroad the romance of his career is over, and the last two weeks of his life are full of hunger, thirst and suffering. The great droves are divided into small herds, and distributed among the hundreds of stock pens. After a rest of a few days the last journey is begun. With eighteen or twenty of his companions the steer is taken from the pens and stowed away in the cattle-car—a sort of gigantic coop on wheels. There is neither room to turn around nor to lie down, so closely are the poor fellows wedged in. Now and then a steer contrives to get down on his knees at the risk of being trampled under the feet of his neighbors, but he gains little rest in this way.
The cattle trains run slowly, and from ten or twelve days are occupied in the journey from Central Kansas to New York. At intervals of three hundred miles the trains are stopped and the cattle are taken off, placed in pens and fed and watered. After a rest of twenty-four hours the journey is again resumed. During the continuous runs of three hundred miles—about thirty hours in time—the poor creatures are without food or drink, and their suffering, especially in warm weather, is intense. Is it a wonder that they lose on an average two hundred pounds in weight each between the Texas prairies and New York?
