The parting of the ways was reached.On the morning of July 12, the different outfits in charge of Lovell's drive in '84 started on three angles of the compass for their final destination.The Rosebud Agency, where Flood's herd was to be delivered on September 1, lay to the northeast in Dakota.The route was not direct, and the herd would be forced to make quite an elbow, touching on the different forks of the Loup in order to secure water.The Rebel and my brother would follow up on the south side of the North Platte until near old Fort Laramie, when their routes would separate, the latter turning north for Montana, while Priest would continue along the same watercourse to within a short distance of his destination.The Buford herds would strike due north from the first tributary putting in from above, which we would intercept the second morning out.
An early start was the order of the day.My beeves were pushed from the bed-ground with the first sign of dawn, and when the relief overtook them, they were several miles back from the river and holding a northwest course.My camp being the lowest one on the North Fork, Forrest and Sponsilier, also starting at daybreak, naturally took the lead, the latter having fully a five-mile start over my outfit.But as we left the valley and came up on the mesa, there on an angle in our front, Flood's herd snailed along like an army brigade, anxious to dispute our advance.The point-men veered our cattle slightly to the left, and as the drag-end of Flood's beeves passed before us, standing in our stirrups we waved our hats in farewell to the lads, starting on their last tack for the Rosebud Agency.Across the river were the dim outlines of two herds trailing upstream, being distinguishable from numerous others by the dust-clouds which marked the moving from the grazing cattle.The course of the North Platte was southwest, and on the direction which we were holding, we would strike the river again during the afternoon at a bend some ten or twelve miles above.
Near the middle of the forenoon we were met by Hugh Morris.He was discouraged, as it was well known now that his cattle would be tendered in competition with ours at Fort Buford.There was no comparison between the beeves, ours being much larger, more uniform in weight, and in better flesh.He looked over both Forrest's and Sponsilier's herds before meeting us, and was good enough judge of cattle to know that his stood no chance against ours, if they were to he received on tbeir merits.We talked matters over for fully an hour, and I advised him never to leave Keith County until the last dollar in payment for his beeves was in hand.Morris thought this was quite possible, as information had reached him that the buyers had recently purchased a remuda, and now, since they had failed to take possession of two of Lovell's herds, it remained to be seen what the next move would be.He thought it quite likely, though, that a settlement could be effected whereby he would be relieved at Ogalalla.Mutually hoping that all would turn out well, we parted until our paths should cross again.
We intercepted the North Fork again during the afternoon, watering from it for the last time, and the next morning struck the Blue River, the expected tributary.Sponsilier maintained his position in the lead, but I was certain when we reached the source of the Blue, David would fall to the rear, as thenceforth there was neither trail nor trace, map nor compass.The year before, Forrest and I had been over the route to the Pine Ridge Agency, and one or the other of us must take the lead across a dry country between the present stream and tributaries of the Niobrara.The Blue possessed the attributes of a river in name only, and the third day up it, Sponsilier crossed the tributary to allow either Forrest or myself to take the lead.Quince professed a remarkable ignorance and faulty memory as to the topography of the country between the Blue and Niobrara, and threw bouquets at me regarding my ability always to find water.
It is true that I had gone and returned across this arid belt the year before, but on the back trip it was late in the fall, and we were making forty miles a day with nothing but a wagon and remuda, water being the least of my troubles.But a compromise was effected whereby we would both ride out the country anew, leaving the herds to lie over on the head waters of the Blue River.There were several shallow lakes in the intervening country, and on finding the first one sufficient to our needs, the herds were brought up, and we scouted again in advance.The abundance of antelope was accepted as an assurance of water, and on recognizing certain landmarks, I agreed to take the lead thereafter, and we turned back.The seventh day out from the Blue, the Box Buttes were sighted, at the foot of which ran a creek by the same name, and an affluent of the Niobrara.Contrary to expectations, water was even more plentiful than the year before, and we grazed nearly the entire distance.The antelope were unusually tame; with six-shooters we killed quite a number by flagging, or using a gentle horse for a blind, driving the animal forward with the bridle reins, tacking frequently, and allowing him to graze up within pistol range.
