494 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Jan. 10, 1889. 



AFTER STOLEN HORSES. 



IT was beginning to get light. In at the small square 

 window, through the open chinks between the logs, 

 and especially through the doorless entrance to the cabin, 

 was struggling a faint, dull light, which told of the com- 

 ing day. A heavy gray mist hung over all the prairies, 

 and as yet objects fifty yards from the house could not be 

 distinguished. As the light grew stronger one of the 

 blanketed forms on the floor began to stir uneasily, 

 and then pushed down the covering from his face, 

 sat up, and after yawning cavernously once or twice, 

 shook off the sleep that oppressed him and sprang to his 

 feet. He ran his hands through his hair sleepily, 

 rubbed his eyes and slowly pulled on his trousers and 

 boots. Then he opened the door of the oven in the stovei 

 took thence half a dozen sticks of dry cedar which had 

 been put there the night before, and began to whittle 

 shavings for starting his fire. As soon as this was lighted 

 and going well he filled the coffee pot with water and put 

 it on the stove, and then called: "Come, boys, get up; 

 breakfast's nearly ready." 



No response more intelligent than few grunts of dis- 

 content greeted his call, but he seemed perfectly satisfied 

 with the impression that he had produced, and whistling 

 softly he drew a pipe and plug from his pocket and began 

 whittling some tobacco. After he had lighted his pipe he 

 stepped over to the stove, and, picking up the nearly 

 empty water bucket, walked toward the door to go down 

 to the spring. The light had grown stronger, and though 

 the sun had not yet risen it was nearly full day, and he 

 could see a long distance. The cook did not get beyond 

 the door. Before he had passed it he stopped suddenly, 

 and called out in a suppressed tone: 



"Here, boys, some of ye, get up quick and kill this coy- 

 ote. He's just in front of the bouse." 



Two piles of blankets suddenly sprang into life at these 

 words, and two scantily clad men seized their rifles and 

 ran to the door. The Chief got there first. There was the 

 coyote, with head and tail down, nosing about not 75yds. 

 from the door, after the sneaking, depressed fashion of 

 coyotes the world over. He would trot a few steps, then 

 stop, sniff, turn around, trot off another way, come back, 

 smell about again, and then move off in a new direction. 

 This did not continue long, however. The Chief's old 

 needlegun came down, rested for a moment, and then the 

 shot rang out. The coyote dropped to the ground, sprang 

 up again, yelling like a whipped cur, ran for a dozen 

 jumps 'at top speed, and then turned a summersault, his 

 bushy tail showing against the gray sky, and lay still. 

 "Good shot," said Yo, approvingly. 

 "Lord, didn't he yell!" remarked the cook with enthu- 

 siasm. 



"I always like to kill one of those fellows. They and 

 the grays make us lots of trouble," said the Small Chief, 

 as he set his gun down by the door and began to pull on 

 his trousers and boots. "I'll go down and get the fellow, 

 and you can skin him after breakfast," he said to the 

 cook. 



Yo finished dressing and stepped outside the door to 

 wash, and as he did so he saw the Small Chief walking, 

 rifle in hand, down toward where the wolf lay. Sud- 

 denly, just before he reached the spot, he was seen to 

 stop, stoop down and scrutinize the ground before him, 

 and then rising take a long look over the whole country. 

 Then he turned at right angles to his former direction 

 and walked on, occasionally stopping to look at the 

 ground, and once stooping to pick something up. Re- 

 tracing his steps, he went to where the wolf lay, picked 

 it up and strode toward the cabin. Arrived there, he 

 threw down his burden and, entering, said quickly: 

 "Buck, did you put the horses in the pasture last night?" 



Buck stared for a moment, and then replied: " 'Course 

 I did. Didn't you tell me to yourself?" 



"Then we're left afoot, I guess. Look at that I" and 

 he held up for our inspection a rag of calico. It was 

 perhaps fifteen inches long by two wide, and crumpled 

 across, as if it had been used as a string to tie about 

 something; a common enough strip of red calico with a 

 faded black figure running through it. The younger 

 , boys, perhaps, did not know what it meant, but to most 

 of us it told its own story. It was a rag such as is often 

 used by an Indian to tie up his tobacco sack. 



"Which way were they going?" said Frank, quickly. 



"Up the creek," replied the Chief. "There are tracks 

 of about twenty-five horses, some of them dragging raw- 

 hide ropes." 



"Buck, you take some breakfast in your hand and go 

 down as fast as you can to the lower ranch, and you and 

 Wes get together what horses and saddles you can, if 

 there are any left, and come up here with them on the 

 keen jump. Chief, you and Yo go down to the pasture 

 and see if they got all the horses. If they left any bring 

 them up here, and I'll stay here with Billy and wait. 

 They must have come from Red Cloud or Spotted Tail 

 Agencies, and if we can get the horses to follow them, 

 we may be able to catch them, though they have got all 

 the best ones." 



Eating as they went, the Chief and Yo, with full cart- 

 ridge belts and loaded rifles, trudged off through the 

 sand toward the pasture, while Buck's long figure grew 

 smaller and smaller as he went along the trail toward the 



other ranch, four miles down the stream. It seemed a 

 long and toilsome walk to the heavy Texas cowboy, who 

 was little used to any exercise save that of the saddle, 

 and he was heartily glad when he came in sight of the 

 low ranch building and saw near it a wagon with one 

 horse standing by the tongue and the other, led by Wes, 

 just coming out of the stable. Before the team was 

 hitched up Wes had caught sight of the solitary pedes- 

 trian, and had stopped his work to watch him and won- 

 der what he could possibly be doing afoot. 



"Where's yer horse?" was his salutation, as Buck came 

 up, and stopping, wiped the perspiration from his face. 



"Stolen, I guess," said Buck. "The durned Indians 

 took all the horses out of the pasture last night." 

 "Injuns! Thunder. How d'ye know." 

 "Chief picked up a rag that they dropped; and I see in 

 the trail near the house where their ropes drug in the 

 sand. What horses ye got here ?"' was Buck's reply. 



"Well, there's old Baldy and the bucking dun in the 

 stable, and I see eight or ten head last night on the hills 

 across the creek. Likely if yer ride up there you'll see 

 'em in sight somewheres." 



"Well," said Buck, "I'll go look for 'em, and if I can 

 find 'em I'll drive 'em right up to the upper ranch. You'd 

 better put your saddle on the wagon and take your gun 

 and go up there too. If I git there first, I'll tell 'em you're 

 comin', and if I ain't there by the time you are, I will be 

 soon after. You take old Baldy with you; I'll ride the 

 dun." 



The two disappeared in the low, dark hay-covered 

 stable, whence Wes at once emerged leading a bald-faced 

 bay horse, while the snorting, plunging and profane 

 shouts which came out of the darkness told that Buck 

 was at work at the always difficult task of saddling the 

 bucking dun. The noise continued for a few moments, 

 and then just as Wes, having tied Baldy behind the 

 wagon and placed his rifle on the seat, was about to 

 clamber into the vehicle, Buck came out of the stable 

 leading the dun, who came quietly enough, but you 

 could see from the way in which his full clear eyes rolled 

 about that he had a temper of his own, and would make 

 trouble for a timid rider, or one who was not used to the 

 vagaries of the cowpony. He was a medium-sized, short- 

 coupled clay-bank horse, with black mane, tail and legs; 

 one of those animals that seem a bunch of muscles and 

 wire; the very horse one would select if he had to make 

 a hard, quick ride of a hundred miles without change. 

 The only difficulty would be to start him. After he had 

 once got into his stride you could depend on him to last. 



Buck led him away from the stable a little distance, to 

 a place where the sand was soft, and not beaten down by 

 the feet of horses and the wheels of wagons, and then 

 facing him round, so that he looked up the flat, prepared 

 to mount. Buck was a cowboy of the cowboys — "born in 

 a cow camp, and raised on raw-hide," he would have said 

 himself; and, though occasionally thrown, he claimed 

 that he could ride anything that would stand up. He 

 gathered up the reins in his left hand, grasped the cheek- 

 piece of the bridle, and placing his right hand on the 

 horn of the saddle, put his foot in the stirrup and rested 

 a part of bis weight in it; as he did so the horse reared, 

 and quick as a flash threw himself over backward. Ashe 

 scrambled to Ms feet again, Buck, who had stepped back, 

 caught the bridle and again tried him. The horse threw 

 liimself again. The third time he stood to be mounted, but 

 the moment he felt the man's weight firmly upon him he 

 began a series of pitching and bucking which would have 

 soon deposited an ordinary horseman on the ground. 

 Plain, ordinary bucking was varied with whirling side- 

 winders, during which his head faced every point of the 

 compass in quick succession, while his muscular back 

 arched itself and straightened again with a vigor that 

 was appalling. Buck clung to him firmly, muttering 

 through his set teeth, "Pitch, blast ye, and get it over 

 with," and meantime plied quirt and spurs as hard as he 

 could. At length, after what seemed fully ten minutes 

 of this, the horse struck into a swift, swinging lope, and 

 dashed down across the creek and up the bluffs on the 

 other side. Not till then did Wes gather up his lines, and 

 remarking to himself, "Well, he is a tearer to buck, sure 

 enough." start his team toward the upper ranch. 



Meantime, theChief andYo had reachedthe pasture, and 

 had read the plain story that was written there. There 

 were moccasin tracks in plenty where the Indians had 

 stood near the bars, a red shred of blanket caught on a 

 rough post, the trail of a dragging rope over the horse 

 tracks where the animals had crowded through the bars, 

 and, most significant of all, an arrow stuck up by the 

 feather end in the trail, its iron head pointing backward 

 toward any one who might be following on the track of 

 the marauders. 



"There's going to be war if we follow 'em, eh, Chief?" 

 "Ye bet there'll be war if we can catch them," he re- 

 plied, grimly. "We didn't need them to tell tis that." 



An examination of the pasture showed that all the 

 horses were gone except one, "Old Whitey," an animal 

 which was too old and lazy to be worth taking along. 

 Returning to the cabin, some bread and meat was put up, 

 enough for four men for four days. Before these had 



and a little later Buck appeared, driving in eight head of 

 horses that had been out on the range, and so escaped 

 capture by the Indians. 



It was not long before four horses were saddled, and 

 Frank, Buck, the Small Chief and Yo ready for a start. 

 Wes and the cook were directed to load up the wagon 

 with what was in the house and move down to the lower 

 ranche, taking the horses with them, and there await the 

 return of the pursuing party. The horses they were to 

 herd during the day close to the house, and at night to 

 put in the stable, which was protected by a chain and 

 lock and could not be entered without making some 

 noise. 



They started on the trail at a good bard gallop, Small 

 Chief, as trailer, keeping about fifty yards ahead of the 

 others. It was nearly noon and the chances were that 

 the Indians had at least twelve hours start, for the trail 

 showed that it had been made not later than the middle 

 of the night. The way led up the creek for a mile and a 

 half, and then turned north through a broad draw 

 between two sand hills. It crossed the main Loup two 

 miles above Mead's ranch, kept on pretty near due north 

 for a while and then turned east. Just before dusk the 

 men stopped at a water hole to eat, and calculated that 

 they had come fifty miles. There would be a moon that 

 night, but only till ten o'clock, when it would set, and 

 the chances of following the trail in the dark were not 

 encouraging. The horses, after their drink and bite of 

 grass, were fresh enough, and could go all night. The 

 little party rode on through the gathering gloom, watch- 

 ing the shadowy form of the Small Chief, who still 

 rode ahead of them and seemid to have no difficulty in 

 following the trail in the bright moonlight. At length 

 the moon sank behind the western hills, the pace became 

 a walk, the trail was lost two or three times, and it was 

 determined that it would be better to wait for light before 

 going further. So the horses were unsaddled and 

 picketed, and the men, wrapping their saddle blankets 

 about them, lay down to get what sleep they could. 



Next morning by gray dawn they were in the saddle, 

 and before they had gone a mile they came upon some- 

 thing which filled their hearts with wrath. It was the 

 camp made by the Indians the night before. They had 

 traveled along slowly, not hurrying themselves, for they 

 supposed that the ranchmen had no horses left on which 

 to follow them, and had camped at evening. No doubt, 

 as a matter of precaution, they had left a watcher behind, 

 them on some high hill, who had descried the party of 

 pursuers and had gone on to tell the camp that they were 

 coming. There was evidence of a hasty start, and it 

 could be seen where they crossed the little stream that 

 the trail was twelve hours old. Now too they were 

 hurrying, as the deep tracks, the thrown up sand, and 

 horses all bunched together clearly showed. 



To have been so near to them and yet to have missed 

 them was enraging. All that day the pursuers followed 

 hard after them, riding patiently and swift under the 

 broiling sun and over the shimmering yellow sand hills 

 until toward night the trail crossed Running Water, and 

 the pursuit was given over. The Indians woidd reach 

 their agency at Whetstone before they could be over- 

 taken , the horses would be hidden and it would be im- 

 possible to recover them. The white men turned about 

 and rode gloomily back to the ranch. 



So much took place under Yo's eye, The sequel 

 was told him later one night in camp by the Chief, who 

 said: 



"After we got back I wrote to the agent at Whetstone, 

 giving him a full account of the occurrence, and a de- 

 scription of all the horses, and asked him to look out for 

 them. For some time I heard nothing from him, but in 

 the early part of the winter I got a letter saying that he 

 had two of the horses, one of mine and one that belonged 

 to Buck, and that he had sent them down to Fort Ran- 

 dall and turned them over to the quartermaster there, so 

 that they would be safe. 



"I started for Randall, and when I got there saw the 

 quartermaster and Colonel M., whom I knew, and who 

 was in command. They were both disposed to be kind 

 and helpful. The Colonel wanted the worst way to buy 

 my horse, but I told him there wasn't money enough in 

 the post to buy him, and that I would not part with him 

 under any circumstances. The quartermaster told me 

 that I would have to get an order from the agent at 

 Whetstone for the horses, as he had receipted for them 

 to him. Colonel M. suggested that instead of going up 

 to Whetstone with the horse that I had ridden in on, I 

 should take my own horse to ride. I was glad to accept 

 this suggestion, and next morning started for the agency. 

 It was a long cold ride, and when I got there it was dark. 

 I left my horse at a house across the river from the 

 agency and went over afoot and into the trader's store, 

 which stood on the edge of the bluff. The first person I 

 saw as I got inside the door was old Nick Jennisse, He 

 was cordial to effusiveness and wanted to know all about 

 the folks down in the lower country, and we walked to 

 the back of the store, and I sat down behind the stove to 

 warm myself, for the night was very cold. The counter 

 ran along the back of the store, but at one end it was cut 



passed they would either have overtaken the robbers or off and did not meet the side wall, leaving a space in 

 have given them up. Soon after, the team Came in sight I which stood the stove in the corner of the room. All 



