A week later we crossed the Belle Fourche, sometimes called the North Fork of the Big Cheyenne.Like its twin sister on the south, it was a mountain river, having numerous affluents putting in from the Black Hills, which it encircled on the north and west.Between these two branches of the mother stream were numerous tributaries, establishing it as the best watered country encountered in our long overland cruise.Besides the splendid watercourses which marked that section, numerous wagontrails, leading into the hills, were peopled with freighters.Long ox trains, moving at a snail's pace, crept over hill and plain, the common carrier between the mines and the outside world.The fascination of the primal land was there; the buttes stood like sentinels, guarding a king's domain, while the palisaded cliffs frowned down, as if erected by the hand Omnipotent to mark the boundary of nations.
Our route, after skirting the Black Hills, followed up the Belle Fourche a few days, and early in August we crossed over to the Little Missouri River.The divide between the Belle Fourche and the latter stream was a narrow one, requiring little time to graze across it, and intercepting the Little Missouri somewhere in Montana.The course of that river was almost due north, and crossing and recrossing it frequently, we kept constantly in touch with it on our last northward tack.The river led through sections of country now known as the Bad Lands, but we found an abundance of grass and an easy passage.Sponsilier held the lead all the way down the river, though I did most of the advance scouting, sometimes being as much as fifty miles in front of the herds.Near the last of the month we sighted Sentinel Butte and the smoke of railroad trains, and a few days later all three of us foremen rode into Little Missouri Station of the Northern Pacific Railway.Our arrival was expected by one man at least;for as we approached the straggling village, our employer was recognized at a distance, waving his hat, and a minute later all three of us were shaking hands with Don Lovell.Mutual inquiries followed, and when we reported the cattle fine as silk, having never known a hungry or thirsty hour after leaving the North Platte, the old man brightened and led the way to a wellknown saloon.
"How did I fare at Omaha?" said old man Don, repeating Forrest's query."Well, at first it was a question if I would be hung or shot, but we came out with colors flying.The United States marshal who attempted to take possession of the cattle on the North Platte went back on the same train with us.He was feeling sore over his defeat, but Sutton cultivated his acquaintance, and in mollifying that official, showed him how easily failure could be palmed off as a victory.In fact, I think Mike overcolored the story at my expense.He and the marshal gave it to the papers, and the next morning it appeared in the form of a sensational article.According to the report, a certain popular federal officer had gone out to Ogalalla to take possession of two herds of cattle intended for government purposes; he had met with resistance by a lot of Texas roughs, who fatally shot one of his deputies, wounding several others, and killing a number of horses during the assault; but the intrepid officer had added to his laurels by arresting the owner of the cattle and leader of the resisting mob, and had brought him hack to face the charge of contempt in resisting service.The papers freely predicted that Iwould get the maximum fine, and one even went so far as to suggest that imprisonment might teach certain arrogant cattle kings a salutary lesson.But when the hearing came up, Sutton placed Jim Reed and me in the witness-box, taking the stand later himself, and we showed that federal court that it had been buncoed out of an order of injunctive relief, in favor of the biggest set of ringsters that ever missed stretching hemp.The result was, I walked out of that federal court scot free.And Judge Dundy, when he realized the injustice that he had inflicted, made all three of us take dinner with him, fully explaining the pressure which had been brought to bear at the time the order of relief was issued.Oh, that old judge was all right.I only hope we'll have as square a man as Judge Dundy at the final hearing at Fort Buford.Do you see that sign over there, where it says Barley Water and Bad Cigars? Well, put your horses in some corral and meet me there."There was a great deal of news to review.Lovell had returned to Ogalalla; the body of Tolleston had been recovered and given decent burial; delivery day of the three Indian herds was at hand, bringing that branch of the season's drive to a close.But the main thing which absorbed our employer was the quarantine that the upper Yellowstone country proposed enforcing against through Texas cattle.He assured us that had we gone by way of Wyoming and down the Powder River, the chances were that the local authorities would have placed us under quarantine until after the first frost.He assured us that the year before, Texas fever had played sad havoc among the native and wintered Southern cattle, and that Miles City and Glendive, live-stock centres on the Yellowstone, were up in arms in favor of a rigid quarantine against all through cattle.If this proved true, it was certainly an ill wind to drovers on the Powder River route; yet I failed to see where we were benefited until my employer got down to details.
"That's so," said he; "I forgot to tell you boys that when Reed and I went back to Ogalalla, we found Field, Radcliff & Co.
buying beeves.Yes, they had bought a remuda of horses, rigged up two wagons, and hired men to take possession of our 'Open A'
