After dinner at Warner’s, I turned to the left across the plains, towards the stage road again, not seeing any stop for me nearer than the Wyoming stage station at Antelope Springs. On the ranges adjacent to Bear Creek and Stinking Water I came across many carcasses and bones of dead Texan cattle, which had been unable to pull through the severe winter, and as I turned north on the stage road I saw a lone buffalo.
The sun had disappeared behind a lofty range of the Rockies as I pulled up at the ranch at Antelope Springs, with only ninety miles ahead of me to Buffalo. After supper the stock-tender suddenly asked for my rifle, and almost within a second fired down the creek, where we found that he had killed an enormous gray wolf. He then bought my rifle for $15.00. I was told here that sixteen miles to the northwest I could find a cow-camp, which would not make my journey more than five miles longer, and would save an expensive stop on the stage road. I could see no ranch designated on the map in that direction, but supposed that it was a new outfit. So, the next morning I turned to the left, and followed a very narrow and almost indistinct trail till late in the afternoon, making fully twenty-five miles, without seeing any sign whatever of a human habitation, when, upon looking ahead of me at the sun, now near the horizon, I found that I was traveling due west instead of going northwest, as I should have gone. The trail had been growing much more indistinct for the last hour, so much so that it was with great difficulty I could distinguish it at all. Near by was a high bluff, which I ascended, and from which I had an extended view in all directions—north, south, east and west, as far as my eyes could reach. Not a sign of human life met my gaze. A few cattle in the foot-hills, that was all.
Lost!
I thought it could not be more than twenty-five miles northeast to the stage road, but was afraid that poor Terry would not be able to make it with ten miles more to the ranch. Besides, as darkness came on, I might get lost and turned about worse than ever. The best and only course for me was to camp out all night and wait till morning.
Acting on this decision, I descended into a ravine, beside a small stream, which I found by looking at the map was probably a “dry” fork of the Powder River, so called because during the summer months the water dries up. Now, however, it was quite a creek, from whose cold, clear water both Terry and I gathered much refreshment. Dry cottonwood timber lay about in considerable quantity, and I soon had a fire. I had been advised, if night should overtake me, to picket my horse near what grass he could reach, with a chance of his being devoured by wild beasts, rather than to let him run on the plains with a greater chance of his getting away. The old frontier saying is, “It is better to count bones than tracks.” I had about thirty feet of rope, with which I securely fastened Terry to a scrub pine not far from the fire, where he could partially satisfy himself with the bunch and buffalo grass that abounds in the foot-hills. I piled on the wood for a big, rousing fire, for as the night came on it grew very cold, though fortunately it was clear.
The night continued to grow cold, and I found it impossible to get any sleep with my simple coverings of overcoat and slicker. Finally I built two fires, and lying between them at length managed to get warm, and was just falling into a gentle sleep when my ears were greeted with the unearthly yelp of the coyote, or timber-wolf, which soon grew louder and nearer, till apparently I was surrounded by hundreds of them. I started up in alarm, drawing my revolver, and assumed a position of defense, for I momentarily expected they would close in on me. But my being awake, and the light of the fire, kept them at a safe distance, though the yells and cries were kept up till late in the night. To add to my misfortune, poor Terry, frightened at the uproar, broke his fastenings and decamped. I was not supremely happy at the serenade, but when I saw my faithful horse disappear in the darkness, my heart sank within me. Even if I should live through the night, how could I get out and reach food and shelter without Terry? I hoped, however, that I might find him the next morning, as he had grown to be very affectionate of late, so much so that he would eat out of my hand and follow me at my bidding. Knowing that my only safety was in keeping a bright fire steadily burning, I piled on the wood, plenty of which was fortunately near at hand. Toward daybreak the wolves began to disperse, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I heard their distant yelps, thanking God that danger from that source was now over.
As soon as the daylight enabled me to distinguish objects, my thoughts were bent on finding Terry. I had hardly left the camp-fire when he made his appearance through the timber, running directly towards me, neighing, whinnying, and apparently much pleased to find me safe.
I saddled, and, breakfastless, struck out northeast by the compass, knowing that if I kept on in that direction I was bound to reach the road. I pushed ahead as fast as possible, but my progress was necessarily very slow, as my route lay through frozen mud, fallen timber and gulches. Suddenly the horse stopped at a sandy place. I urged him with whip and spur. He would not budge an inch. I jumped off and tried to lead him over, but he would only pull back. I remounted to see what he would do, and much to my surprise he went round and crossed where the water was nearly three feet deep. “There must be something the matter with the sand,” I said to myself. To satisfy my curiosity, I rode back on the opposite side, and as the gray tinge of the breaking day lighted up the surroundings, I was astonished to discover, a few feet ahead of me, the horns of a cow sticking out of the sand. It instantly flashed across me why the horse refused to cross.
Late in the afternoon I arrived at Seventeen-mile Ranch, horse and rider hungry, sleepy, and utterly exhausted. As soon as I lay down on a rude bunk I fell into a sleep from which I did not awake till early the next morning, with a little headache, but in other respects feeling first-rate. I found that the boys at Antelope Springs bulldozed me into leaving the road, as there was no cow-camp for a hundred miles in the direction I had taken.
