The Free Range

by Francis William Sullivan

  CHAPTER XXIII

  THE CROSSING

  Darkness had scarcely fallen over the Larkin flocks and herd when theformer were set in motion. The bells had been removed and the sheep wereurged forward at the fastest possible pace.

  Riders going by long detours had found a spot on the banks of the rivertwo miles up from the camp of the cowmen where the water was not more thanfive or six feet deep at most, though of considerable swiftness. It washere that it had been determined the sheep should cross. So, when the lastmarch was begun, the animals were driven at an angle, avoiding all thepits and defenses of the cowmen's ingenuity.

  The herders, some of them on horseback and others on foot, did not speak.The only sounds that rose from the densely packed flocks were the clatterof their hard feet on the earth, the cracking of their ankle bones, and anoccasional bawl of protest. But even this last was rare, for the sheep,worn with fast traveling and ignorant of the meaning of the strangethings that were happening to them, were half-frightened; and onlycontented flocks blether much.

  Bud Larkin and Sims rode back and forth, one on each side of the dim,heaving line, seeing that the herders and dogs kept their places andpreventing any tendency to bolt.

  An hour after the start half the distance was accomplished. It was just atthis time that Larkin, looking northeast toward the camp of the cowmen,saw a sudden brilliant flash of light, and knew that Lester had succeededin his daring project. A moment later and the distant rumble of the earthtold him of the stampeded horses.

  In depriving the cowboys of their ponies Larkin had accomplished amaster-stroke, for he had played upon the one weakness of their equipment.A cowboy without his horse is less effective than a seal on land. Hisboots, tight-fitting and with high heels, make walking not only adifficult operation, but a painful one. Unaccustomed to this means oflocomotion, a puncher is weary and footsore within two miles.

  Aside from this fact, a cowboy disdains setting his foot on the groundexcept in a cow town, and even there daring ones sometimes rode theiranimals into saloons and demanded their drinks. It is a saying that apuncher will chase his horse half a mile in order to ride a quarter of amile on an errand.

  The _coup_ of Lester Larkin had, therefore, left the camp of the cowmen inserious straits. Afraid to chase their animals and leave the campdeserted, as soon as they recovered enough sight to recognize theirsurroundings they took their places in the trenches to carry on theirdefense as best they could.

  Busy as Larkin's thoughts were with the duty of getting his sheep safelyacross the river, his mind occasionally flashed back to the rear of theflock where the cook-wagons were trailing, for there in the company of afriendly sheepman rode Juliet Bissell.

  Only that afternoon she had left the Bar T ranch-house, and, directed byone of the men guarding the rustlers there, had set out to find thesheepmen's camp. Not realizing how fast the outfit was traveling, she hadstruck the trail far to the rear, and had not overtaken Larkin until justat the time when the sheep were set in motion.

  Then she realized her mission would have to wait until a later time. Butso sweet and full-hearted had been Bud's joyful greeting that her faith inhim had again returned, and she rode along meekly where he placed her,fond and comforted.

  The proprieties of the situation never occurred to her. She knew that shewas safe in his hands, and only bided the time when she could pour out hersorrow and pain to him after all this struggle was over.

  To Bud her coming had been inexpressibly sweet. He knew by her face thatsome great necessity had driven her to him, but he did not question her,and with the undisturbed security of a clean conscience he wonderedanxiously what had occurred.

  At the time when the sheep were half-way to the river-bank there wasanother movement back at the camp where the cattle had been left. Menthere working on schedule started the cattle-drive. But this drive was notat any diverging angle. It led straight forward to the pits and sharpenedstakes of the cowmen's defenses.

  Presently the outposts of the force by the ford heard a distant rumblingof the earth. These men on their horses--for they had not been in camp atthe time of the flashlight--rode slowly forward and waited. But not long.Nearer and nearer came the sound until there was no more doubt that ananimal-drive was headed in their direction.

  Slowly they retreated to the camp and gave the warning. Immediately thefire was extinguished, and the punchers, still cursing over theirmisfortune, loaded every available weapon, breathing a hot and completevengeance against the men that had outwitted them. Much to their chagrinthey now recognized that Skidmore was but a clever member of the enemy,for if he had not been they felt that he would not have accomplished sucha speedy and well-planned escape.

  Now, as the sheepmen drove their animals nearer and nearer to the pits,they urged them faster until the unhappy creatures, besides themselves atthe weird occurrences of a night of terror, were at a headlong gallop.

  Suddenly one of the punchers heard that unmistakable accompaniment ofrunning steers and the clashing of horns as the animals with lowered headscharged the works.

  "They're cows!" he yelled. "Don't shoot!"

  But it was too late. The maddened cattle were already at the first pits,plunging in with terrified bellows, or being transfixed on the stakes bythe onrush of those behind. The pits were not more than ten feet deep,and only served to check the herd until they were full. Then thosefollowing trampled over their dying companions and charged the trencheswhere the cowboys lay.

  "Fire!" yelled Bissell, who was in command, and the guns of nearly seventymen poured a leaden hail of death into the forefront of the heedlesscattle.

  Larkin's men by this time had drawn off to see that the havoc ran itscourse, and when they heard the desperate volleys they turned and rodesouthwest along the river-bank to the point where the sheep expected tocross.

  The cattle, which had been driven in a rather narrow column, continued tocome on endlessly. The leaders dropped in windrows, but the followersleaped over them only to fall a little farther on.

  Driven by the resistless impulse of these behind, the animalsunconsciously appeared like a charging regiment. Nearer and nearer thetide approached the cowboys' defenses; but now it was coming more slowlybecause of the dead bodies and the wounded animals that dragged themselveshere and there, bellowing with pain and terror.

  At last, at the very mouths of the spitting guns the last of the steersdropped, and the few that remained alive turned tail and fled wildly backthe way they had come. In front of the trenches was a horrible tangle oftrampled, wounded creatures, rearing as best they could and stabbing oneanother with their long, sharp horns.

  "Everybody out an' kill the ones that ain't dead!" yelled Bissell, and thecowboys leaped over the breastworks on this hazardous errand of mercy.

  "Where are the sheep?" was the question every man asked himself and hisneighbor, but no one could reply.

  It had been reported to Bissell by the scouts that with the sheep were abody of cattle. Consequently when the steers charged all had expected thesheep to follow. But in all that grisly battle-field there was not a headof mutton to be found, and the punchers looked at one another in mystifiedwonder.

  "They must be crossin' somewheres else," said Bissell, wringing his handsin despair. "Oh, blast that man that stampeded them horses!"

  The thought was in every man's mind, for here the beauty of that strategywas made manifest. Uninjured, full of fight, and furious, the forces ofthe cowmen were helpless because they had nothing to ride, and wereutterly useless on foot.

  Two miles away on the bank of the river another scene was being enacted.

  Here the eight thousand sheep had come to a halt with the leaders on thevery bank, and the herders walking back and forth talking to them to keepthem quiet. The river was not more deep than the height of a man, but thecurrent was swift and icy with the snows of the far-off ShoshoneMountains.

  "Are you ready, boys?" sang out Larkin.

  "All ready."

  "Strip
and into it, then," and, the first to obey his own command, hehurried off his clothes and plunged into the frigid river.

  Sims, who had devised this scheme from memory of an Indian custom, stoodat the head of the leaders to superintend the crossing.

  Now the men entered the water by tens, and stretched out in a double lineall the way from bank to bank, facing each other and leaving but a scantyard between them.

  "Ready?" yelled Sims.

  "Ready! Let 'em go!" sang out Larkin.

  The chief herder and others heaved the leading sheep into the waterbetween the first two men. These lifted it along to the next pair whoshoved it on, swimming all the time. So it came snorting and blatting tothe other side and climbed up the bank.

  After it came the next, and then the next, and as the work became easierthe sheep caught the notion that man had suggested and incorporated itinto the flock mind. They took to the water because their predecessorshad.

  And now the stream of sheep was steady and continuous. The current wasswift and the men's bodies ached and grew numb in the intense cold, butthey stood their ground. Only in one place was the water too deep to work,and here they lost a few terror-stricken animals who turned aside from thechain and were swept downstream.

  The river between the men was churned like that of a rapid; there washeard the constant _slap-slap!_ of their arms as they smote the water inpushing the sheep along. A man took cramp and clung to a companion untilhe could kick it out of himself.

  At last, though, all the sheep had passed over the river, and Bud Larkinhad won!

  Then came the getting over of the wagons and camp outfits, all done in thedark, and with scarcely sound enough to be heard a furlong away. As somemen worked, others dressed and swam the horses over, leading them inbunches.

  Presently, dressed, happy, and glowing with the reaction from his icybath, Bud Larkin appeared out of the dark beside Juliet Bissell.

  "You are the one who has enabled me to do all this," he said gently. "Now,will you go over with me or will you go down the river to your father twomiles away?"

  She looked up at him proudly.

  "To the victor belongs the spoils," she said, and lifted her face to him."Are you going to make me go?"

  "Darling!" he cried in the sweet, low voice she loved and drew her to him.