THE HERO OF THE STAMPEDE.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XIX, Issue 49, 11 September 1891, Page 3

THE HERO OF THE STAMPEDE.

(By Thomas F. Montfobd, in the Detroit Free Press.) In the year 18 I was employed as herder at Merrill's ranch, oat in Western Kanßas. Oim was one of the most extenseve ranches in the State, and there was quite a little army of men and boys in connection with it. One of the duties with which we were charged was that of keeping the range, which was government land, free of set tiers. " When you see a covered waggon," said our manager, " keep your eyes on it, and take care that it don't stop on our grazing lands." " But suppose," questioned one, " the owner of theiwaggon should refuse to move on. Then what are we to do ?" " 1 guess there's enough of us here," replied the manager, •' to see that be does move. If any man should be foolhardy enough to squat here after being notified not to do bo, it will be our business to rout him out. We'll kill his horses, burn his waggon, and, if he'STery obstreperous we'll hang him a little. Our instructions from Mr Merrill are to keep this range clear of settlers, and we've got to do it or else lose our jobs." I did not look with favour on this arrangement. And neither did the majority of tbe herders. Our sympathy was with the poor home seekers, and we koew that both the law and justice gave them the right to own the land of which our range was composed. However, we said nothing at the time, but continued about our duties. During the next month several waggons drove across our range, but none of tbem halted within our limits. Then one day, late in the afternoon, there cnme an old canvas-covered waggon, dilapidated to tbe last degiee, drawn by a span of poor, bony horses, that could scarcely more \han creep. I saw the poor outfit crawliDg along the edge of tbe timber and I watched it until I saw it halt at a point less than a quarter of a mile from the ranch. I saw a man come out of the waggon, and after looking about for a minute or bo, proceed to unhitch his team and turn them out to graze. I felt it my duty to warn him to move on, so I rode up to the waggon for that purpose. The man was a tall, thin, eickly-looking person, whose surroundings proclaimed him to be a victim of extreme poverty. I was tonched by his appearance, and as gently as I could I informed him of the necessity of immediately vacating the spot. As I spoke his palt, sharp features lighted up with the fire of indignation, and in reply he said :—: — " I've made my last move, unless I'm driven by force. I've been run about from place to place by the cattlemen till I've got nothing left, and I'm tired of it. This land is open for settlement and I have a right to claim here, and 1 propose to have it." " But you can't hold it," I reasoned. " They'll burn your waggon and kill your boraes." " Just let tbem try it," be replied, laying his hand on his pistol which hung at bis side. " I've got this left, and I'm desperate enough to use it. Some of them wouldn't burn any more waggons.' I reasoned with ihe man as best I could, but he refused to move on, and at last I turned away from him hopiDg his presence might not be noticed that evening by any of our people, and that by the following morning he might sea the wisdom of moving on. I had only gone a short distance when I met a little boy running across the prairie, and as he stopped to admire my gaudy ' cowboy , attire and trappings, I spoke to him and naked him bis name. " I'm Johnnie Merrill," he answered. Men my pa just came down here to-day, an' my pa he's gone to look at the cattle an' I'm goin' down there to that waggon. My pa owns Ihia ranch, you know, an' he let me come down with him this time." " I had not gone far, after leaving the boy, when I met a man canteiing along on horseback, and as be was a stranger, and well dressed, I rightly judged that he was Mr Merrill. Just as we met he happened to notice the old waggon, and reining in his horse, he said : " What is that over there by the timber 1" " A borne-seeker," 1 replied. " Oh, a squatter, eb ? Well go over and tell him to move on." " I've already warned him," I answered. " Is he going away, then ?" " I don't know. lie is very poor, and is very sick, bat I think he'll go to-morrow." Mr Merrill saw at once ihit I was attempiiag to screen the man a; d wita a flash of hnger be said : " You go down and tell the boys that I said that squatter mast not be there at sundown. Do you understand me?"

" I do," said I, as I turned away. I rode leisurely down in the nirection of the herd and I found the boys working the cattle back towards tbe ranch. " There's goin' to be a storm," old like Sampson announced as I rode up . " These blamed cattle air the most restless and' oneasy critters I ever see, an* that's a shore sign somethin' is brewin' in the air. For a cent the whole pack of 'em 'ud go on a stampede." I informed old like, who was the leader among the " boys,'' of what Merrill had said, and tbe whole force gathered to listen. I als° told of my interview with the squatter. Old like scratched his head for a moment, them slowly said : " Wai, here's a nice mess, shore. I'm agin runnin' them settlers off in any sech way, but I reckon we'll haft to do it. Orders is orders, an' we've got toobey or else hunt another job." " That's a fact," replied Jabe Morgan. " The feller has got to go, or else we've got to go."' •• Yep," agreed like. " That's the size un shape of it. Bat, by gum, it mayn't be no easy matter to trot that chap off. He " pears sorter game, an' like enough he'll pump some of us full lead." " The ' boys ' were still discussing the matter, when before we were hardly aware of it the whole herd broke into a stampede and went crashing away, hugging close to the timber and making the very earth tremble beneath their feet. Directly toward the squatter's waggon they went, and it was a sight to sicken one when he looked upon that vast sea of cattle and realised how irresistible was the mad rush, and how defenceless was anyone who stoo \in the way. I knew that the old waggon and its contents would be literally blotted out of existence, and I knew no means of escape for the poor squatter. Merrill saw the stampede and came riding down towards us, but at once he stopped as if rooted to the ground. He wag near me, and I saw a deathly whiteness come his face while he stared fixedly ia the direction of the waggon. I looked, too, and at a glanca I comprehended it all. Merrill's little boy had evidently started away from the waggon, and having gone a dczen yards or so, had stopped directly in the track of the cattle. He stood eazing at the advancing herd, making no effort to escape, and it Beemed inevitable that he must be trampled to death in another minute. To attempt the child's rescue was useless, for we were near a half mile away from him while thecattie were but a few yards, and long before we could have reached him the mad herd would have swept by. " My God, men," Merrill cried, " can't something ba done to save my child ? It's awful, awful 1" On and on swept the herd. Less than twenty steps lay between the child and destruction. We held our breath and waited in terrible suspense. Merrill covered his eyes and groaned in the deepest anguish. A moment passed. Then a murmur of applause ran throughout our circle — a murmur Bcarcely more than a whisperAnother moment of suspense, then a shout long, loud, and hearty. The child was safe. Tbe squatter had come around the waggon, and at the riak of his own life had saved the child. He had rushed forward and snatched the boy from under the feet of the cattle, and running back a few steps had taken shelter behind a tree, pushing the boy up among the boughs beyond danger. Another minute and the heard had passed, and we were on the spot. The child was unhurt, but the equatter was less fortunate. He was bruised and torn by the horns and hoofs of the cattle that passed near him. The tree was small and affordei bat little protection, and one or twice he was knocked down. His injuries, however, were not serious, as we were all glad to know, and none of us more glad than Merrill. When the squatter's eyes wandered to the spot where his waggon had been, and he saw the complete wreck of all his possessions, he groaned and a dimness cams to his eyes. •' It's all right, my friend," said Merrill, laying bis hand gently on the man's shoulder ; " you shall lose nothing. You shall have a claim here and I will make up to you ten times over all you have lost. You shall make the ranch your home." Merrill kept his promises, and after the squatter had selected a claim he helped him to build a house and furnish it, and besides loaned him money to send back east to pay passage for his wife and children. The employees of the ranch made up a purse to present the squatter, and when the donations were all in it was found tbit we had the neat little sum of 130 dols. " Enough," as like sai 1, "to sorter bridge over in case of sickness or somethin'." Old like put the money in a purse, labelled it with a card on which 1 o had scrawled with a pencil these words : " A present from the cowpuncbers of Merrill's ranch to th.- man who, though a squatter, ia a bet'er man than any of us." The purse was duly presented to tbe squatter, with a v il ; presentation speech from like, which was an uuiqui; ns :\ proj- i t \ Every man on the ranch received strict onicrs from v in ill not to molest or interfere in any way with any homeaecker who hnp'iened to strike our part of the country, and we never did from that day.