The Log of a Cowboy: A Narrative of the Old Trail DaysAdams, Andy
General
The Log of a Cowboy: A Narrative of the Old Trail Days
Adams, Andy
Cattle drives -- Fiction; Cowboys -- Fiction; Western stories
were ordered into action, a shell killed my horse under me and I was
left behind. I’ve had lots of such warnings, good and bad, and I’m
influenced by them. If we get off to-morrow, and I’m in the mood, I’ll
go back there and make some monte bank look sick.”
We reached the wagon in good time to be called on our guard, and after
it was over secured a few hours’ sleep before the foreman aroused us
in the morning. With herds above and below us, we would either have to
graze contrary to our course or cross the river. The South Platte was
a wide, sandy river with numerous channels, and as easily crossed as
an alkali flat of equal width, so far as water was concerned. The sun
was not an hour high when we crossed, passing within two hundred yards
of the business section of the town, which lay under a hill. The
valley on the north side of the river, and beyond the railroad, was
not over half a mile wide, and as we angled across it, the town seemed
as dead as those that slept in the graveyard on the first hill beside
the trail.
Finding good grass about a mile farther on, we threw the herd off the
trail, and leaving orders to graze until noon, the foreman with the
first and second guard returned to town. It was only about ten miles
over to the North Platte, where water was certain; and in the hope
that we would be permitted to revisit the village during the
afternoon, we who were on guard threw riders in the lead of the
grazing cattle, in order not to be too far away should permission be
granted us. That was a long morning for us of the third and fourth
guards, with nothing to do but let the cattle feed, while easy money
itched in our pockets. Behind us lay Ogalalla--and our craft did
dearly love to break the monotony of our work by getting into town.
But by the middle of the forenoon, the wagon and saddle horses
overtook us, and ordering McCann into camp a scant mile in our lead,
we allowed the cattle to lie down, they having grazed to contentment.
Leaving two men on guard, the remainder of us rode in to the wagon,
and lightened with an hour’s sleep in its shade the time which hung
heavy on our hands. We were aroused by our horse wrangler, who had
sighted a cavalcade down the trail, which, from the color of their
horses, he knew to be our outfit returning. As they came nearer and
their numbers could be made out, it was evident that our foreman was
not with them, and our hopes rose. On coming up, they informed us that
we were to have a half holiday, while they would take the herd over to
the North River during the afternoon. Then emergency orders rang out
to Honeyman and McCann, and as soon as a change of mounts could be
secured, our dinners bolted, and the herders relieved, we were ready
to go. Two of the six who returned had shed their rags and swaggered
about in new, cheap suits; the rest, although they had money, simply
had not had the time to buy clothes in a place with so many
attractions.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account