When possible, we always preferred watering the herd between three and four o'clock in the afternoon.But by holding our course, we were certain to intersect the creek at about the usual hour for the cattle's daily drink, and besides, as the creek neared the river, it ran through an alkali flat for dome distance.But before the time arrived to intersect the creek on our course, the herd turned out of the trail, determined to go to the creek and quench their thirst.The entire outfit, however, massed on the right flank, and against their will we held them on their course.As their thirst increased with travel, they made repeated attempts to break through our cordon, requiring every man to keep on the alert.But we held them true to the divide, and as we came to the brow of a small hill within a quarter-mile of the water, a stench struck us until we turned in our saddles, gasping for breath.I was riding third man in the swing from the point, and noticing something wrong in front, galloped to the brow of the hill.The smell was sickening and almost unendurable, and there before us in plain view lay hundreds of dead cattle, bloated and decaying in the summer sun.
I was dazed by the awful scene.A pretty, greenswarded little valley lay before me, groups of cottonwoods fringed the stream here and there, around the roots of which were both shade and water.The reeking stench that filled the air stupefied me for the instant, and I turned my horse from the view, gasping for a mouthful of God's pure ozone.But our beeves had been scenting the creek for hours, and now a few of the leaders started forward in a trot for it.Like a flash it came to me that death lurked in that water, and summoning every man within hearing, I dashed to the lead of our cattle to turn them back over the hill.Jack Splann was on the point, and we turned the leaders when within two hundred yards of the creek, frequently jumping our horses over the putrid carcasses of dead cattle.The main body of the herd were trailing for three quarters of a mile in our rear, and none of the men dared leave their places.Untying our slickers, Splann and I fell upon the leaders and beat them back to the brow of the hill, when an unfortunate breeze was wafted through that polluted atmosphere from the creek to the cattle's nostrils.
Turning upon us and now augmented to several hundred head, they sullenly started forward.But in the few minutes' interim, two other lads had come to our support, and dismounting we rushed them, whipping our slickers into ribbons over their heads.The mastery of man again triumphed over brutes in their thirst, for we drove them in a rout back over the divide.
Our success, however, was only temporary.Recovering our horses we beat the cattle back, seemingly inch by inch, until the rear came up, when we rounded them into a compact body.They quieted down for a short while, affording us a breathing spell, for the suddenness of this danger had not only unnerved me but every one of the outfit who had caught a glimpse of that field of death.
The wagon came up, and those who needed them secured a change of horses.Leaving the outfit holding the herd, Splann and I took fresh mounts, and circling around, came in on the windward side of the creek.As we crossed it half a mile above the scene of disaster, each of us dipped a hand in the water and tasted it.
The alkali was strong as concentrated lye, blistering our mouths in the experiment.The creek was not even running, but stood in long, deep pools, clear as crystal and as inviting to the thirsty as a mountain spring.As we neared the dead cattle, Splann called my attention to the attitude of the animals when death relieved them, the heads of fully two thirds being thrown back on their sides.Many, when stricken, were unable to reach the bank, and died in the bed of the stream.Making a complete circle of the ghastly scene, we returned to our own, agreeing that between five and six hundred cattle had met their fate in those death-dealing pools.
We were not yet out of the woods.On our return, many of the cattle were lying down, while in the west thunder-clouds were appearing.The North Fork of the Canadian lay on our left, which was now our only hope for water, yet beyond our reach for the day.Keeping the slight divide between us and the creek, we started the herd forward.Since it was impossible to graze them in their thirsty condition, I was determined to move them as far as possible before darkness overtook us.But within an hour we crossed a country trail over which herds had passed on their way northwest, having left the Chisholm after crossing the North Fork.At the first elevation which would give me a view of the creek, another scene of death and desolation greeted my vision, only a few miles above the first one.Yet from this same hill Icould easily trace the meanderings of the creek for miles as it made a half circle in our front, both inviting and defying us.
Turning the herd due south, we traveled until darkness fell, going into camp on a high, flat mesa of several thousand acres.
