The Bozeman Trail

Chapter Thirteen

With the Golden Calf Cattle Company, mile 752

Friday, August 8, 1862:

From the moment they left Long Shadow, the possibility of a stampede was always in the back of everyone’s mind. The problem was, nobody could predict when a stampede might occur. Sometimes they would be so stable that not even a close-strike lightning bolt could set them off. At other times they could be startled by the snap of a twig.

The most effective way to stop a stampede was to have the flank rider on each side gradually turn the cows in front until they were moving in a wide circle. If a rider on one side saw the herd turning his way, then he would fall back and let the man on the other side tighten the turn of the leaders until he, too, was in position to help. Once the cows were running in a circle, they would run themselves down.

On this day, there had been no water since early in the morning, and they had pushed the herd hard to get them through a long dry passage. The cows were hot, tired, and thirsty. They began to get a little restless, and James and the others who were working around the perimeters were kept busy keeping them moving.

Then, at about three o’clock in the afternoon, Matthew Scattergood saw a rattlesnake.

“Rattler!” he shouted, as he pulled his pistol.

“No, Matthew, don’t!” Bob called to him.

Despite James’s warning, Matthew fired at the rattlesnake and, missing it, fired again and again, until the pistol was empty. Frightened, the cows jumped, then began to run. The terror spread throughout the herd and, like a wild prairie fire before the wind, the herd ran out of control.

“Stampede! Stampede!”

The warning was first issued by Bob, then picked up by the others, though as the herd was now in full gallop, there was no longer any need to issue the call.

“Stampede!”

Although there was terror in the cry, there was grim determination, too, for every man who issued the cry moved quickly to do what he could do to stop it.

James was riding in the right flank position when the herd started. Fortunately for him, the herd started to the left, a living tidal wave of thundering hoofbeats, millions of pounds of muscle and bone, horn and hair, red eyes and running noses. Over three thousand animals welded together as one, gigantic, raging beast.

A cloud of dust rose up from the herd and billowed high into the air. The air was so thick with it that within moments James could see nothing. It was as if he were caught in the thickest fog one could imagine, but this fog was brown and it burned the eyes and clogged the nostrils and stung the face with its fury.

James managed to overtake the herd, then seeing that the front had veered to the left, proceeded to tighten the turn, attempting to force them into a great churning circle. The cowboys were shouting and whistling and waving their hats and ropes at the herd, trying to get them to respond. That was when James caught, just out of the corner of his eye, Mark Scattergood falling from his horse. The stampeding cows altered their rush just enough to come toward the hapless cowboy and he stood up and tried to outrun them, though it was clear that he was going to lose the race.

James tried to get to him but it was too late. The herd rolled over him and Mark went down. If Mark screamed, his cry was drowned out by clacking horns and thundering hooves that shook the ground. James had time for only a passing thought as to Mark’s fate, before he turned back to the business at hand.

Finally, under the relentless pressure of the cowboys, the herd was twisted into a giant circle. They continued to run in the circle until, finally, they tired and slowed from a mad dash to a brisk trot, then from a trot to a walk. The stampede had at last run itself out, brought under control by the courage and will of a few determined men. An aggregate total of less than fifteen hundred pounds of men were once more in control of nearly two million pounds of cattle.

They buried Mark Scattergood’s mangled body under a small scrub tree, not too far from where he fell. Even as they were walking away from his grave, Luke and John were in an argument over his clothes.

“That there red-and-blue shirt of his’n is mine,” Luke insisted.

“What do you mean it’s yours?” John asked.

“ ’Cause Mark hisself told me,” Luke said. “He said, Luke, if’n anythin’ ever happens to me, I want you to have my red-and-blue shirt.”

“You’re a lyin’ son of a bitch. He never said such a thing.”

“Yes, he did.”

“Well, it don’t matter none, anyhow. You can have the shirt. I want his boots.”

“I want his pocketknife.”

“Listen to you two,” Revelation said, scolding them. “Mark isn’t cold in his grave yet, and you two are fighting over his things. Can’t you feel a moment of sorrow over his death?”

“Don’t know why you so broke up over it,” Luke said.

“Because he was our brother,” Revelation said. “Can’t you understand that?”

Luke and John looked at Revelation for a long moment, then John looked at Luke. “I get the saddle,” he said, completely ignoring his sister’s remarks.

“The hell you do. That saddle is mine,” Luke replied.

Realizing that her admonition had meant nothing to them, Revelation shook her head and walked away from her quarreling brothers.

Twenty miles northwest of the present location of the herd, with the Meechum Party Wednesday, August 13, 1862:

The wagon train was called the Meechum Party because it was under the command of Captain Louis Meechum. It was quite small when compared to the wagon trains of a decade earlier. Then, trains of more than one hundred wagons were not unusual. This train consisted of only twenty wagons.

The Meechum Party was one month out of Omaha, bound for Dakota, not for gold but for land. As the steel-rimmed wheels rolled across the hard-packed earth, they kicked up dirt, causing a rooster tail of dust to stream out behind them. The wood of the wagons was bleached white, and under the sun it gave off a familiar smell.

Young Millie Parker sat in the sun on the dried seat of the wagon, reading over the latest entry in her journal.

The Magnificent Adventure

of the Parker Family

by

Millie Parker, age 16

Our days begin before dawn. The wagons have been drawn into a circle for the night, because Captain Meechum says this is the most convenient way of encampment. We are greeted each morning with the whistles and shouts of those who have been standing the last hours of the night watch.

Sometimes I like to wake up early so I can watch as the men and women begin emerging from their night-quarters. It is interesting to watch the new day start.

Some sleep inside the wagons, but these are mostly very young children. Most sleep under the wagons. That’s where I sleep. Sometimes it is hard to get up in the morning, but we do it for we know we must get to our new homes before winter sets in.

The livestock spend the night inside the circle of wagons. They must be milked each morning, and that is the responsibility of the children.

I help the other women prepare the breakfast meal, which is eaten between the hours of six and seven. The men and older boys are busy during that time, too, connecting teams to the wagons, striking the tents, loading the wagons, and getting everything ready to begin the day’s journey. When it is nearly time, Captain Meechum climbs onto his horse, then examines the pocket watch he carries with him. At exactly seven o’clock he lets out with a mighty roar of “Move ’em out!”

Each day we change around who shall lead and who shall ride at the rear. Today, it is our turn to be the wagon in the rear. I don’t like it when it is our turn to be in the rear. If you are in the rear, dust gets in your clothes, hair, eyes, and in your nose. It is very uncomfortable, but we do it because we know that tomorrow we will go to the front and it will be several days before we work our way to the rear and have to do it again.

While we are underway, some ride in the wagons and some walk alongside. Captain Meechum rides on a magnificent horse, sometimes alongside, other times at the head, and sometimes way off, somewhere, scouting for us. The wagon train moves at a steady pace until noon. At noon, we stop for a meal and the teams are cut loose from the wagons to allow them to graze. They aren’t unyoked though, and this makes it easier to get underway again when the meal is over.

By evening, humans and animals are tired. We have been on the move since before dawn, and as the sun is sinking slowly before us, we look for a suitable place to spend the night. Each night we set our guards to watch for Indians, but though we were cautioned about the savages, we have, so far, seen not so much as one Indian.

Suddenly there was a creaking, snapping sound, and the wagon lurched so badly that Millie was nearly tossed out. She looked up from her journal, startled.

“Oh!” she gasped. “What was that?”

“Whoa, team,” Mrs. Parker shouted, pulling back on the reins. The team stopped and the wagon sat there, listing sharply to the right.

“Mama, what is it?” Millie asked.

“I think we’ve broken an axle,” Mrs. Parker said grimly. “Clyde! Clyde Parker!” she called to her husband, who was walking alongside one of the wagons ahead.

The wagons in front of them, unaware that they had stopped, continued on at their same dogged pace and were slowly but surely pulling away.

“They are leaving us,” Millie said.

“Clyde!” Mrs. Parker called again, and Millie added her own voice so that her father heard them and looked around.

“Louis! Louis, stop the train!” Clyde called.

Louis Meechum held up his hand and the wagons stopped. Clyde trotted back to his wagon and Meechum joined him on horseback.

“Oh damn,” Clyde said as he saw the broken axle. “I was afraid of this.”

“You were afraid of it,” Meechum asked. “You mean you knew the possibility of breaking an axle, but you came on without changing it?”

“I knew that the axle was cracked, but I didn’t want to spend the money for a new axle,” Clyde said. “I was hoping it would hold.”

“So, what are you going to do now?”

“Well, I did pick up a spare axle. It’s used, and is cracked nearly as badly as this one. But at least it isn’t completely broken. And if it will last as long as this one did, we will be there before we have any more trouble.”

“How long will it take to change it?” Meechum asked.

“Oh, ’bout half a day, I reckon.”

Meechum took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t hold up the train for you. If you want to, you can unload your wagon, maybe we can find enough space in some of the other wagons for your things.”

Clyde shook his head. “You know everyone is packed to the limit. No, I’m going to have to change the axle. It’s going to be a long day for us, but we’ll catch up with you after you’ve made camp tonight.”

“All right,” Meechum said. He looked around the horizon. “You should be all right, we haven’t seen any Indians, not even any sign of them.”

Mean To His Horses, an ambitious Cheyenne subchief, lay on the top of a nearby hill. He watched the wagon train pull away, leaving one wagon behind. It was obvious that the white eyes had no idea they were in danger. He slithered back down the hill to where the others were waiting.

“Did you see them?” one of the others asked.

“Yes.”

“When do we attack?”

“Now.”