By this time the cook, who had driven the chuck wagon ahead of the drive, was well on his way to finishing supper. The staples of the trail–beans, cornmeal, sowbelly and biscuits–got old after a while, and on the rare occasion when a beef was killed for the crew, the cook was sure to prepare a dutch oven of Sonofabitch Stew. This mysterious concoction used parts of the animal not ordinarily eaten–brains, tongue, liver, kidneys, lungs and marrow gut. As one inventive cook said, ‘throw ever’thing in the pot but the hair, horns, and holler.’

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The cowboys ate their supper in shifts, each man hobbling his string from the remuda and saddling his night horse. The cowboys chose the most surefooted, trustworthy animals from their strings as night horses; a cowboy on night guard often had to trust the horse’s instincts more than his own senses. White horses were never used as night horses–the old-timers said they attracted lightning.

After supper the hands might play cards around the dying embers of the campfire, but they soon went to bed, for each man had to stand a two-hour watch as night guard. They stood watch in pairs, slowly riding around the entire herd in opposite directions.

As the drive moved north, the frequency and severity of thunderstorms seemed to increase. As one cowboy put it, ‘Only one who has been in a Kansas storm can realize what it means.’ Distant rumblings and an occasional glimmer of blue light on the northern horizon usually meant one thing to the cowboy–the prospect of a cold, wet night in the saddle, followed by a day or more of rounding up strays from the inevitable stampede. The Longhorns drifted before the storm, slowly moving away from the approaching weather front. As conditions grew blustery the cowboys on watch began calling the ‘Texas Lullaby,’ an incoherent mix of high tones and syllable intended to calm the animals. As the weather deteriorated, the cowboys’ song took on a more desperate pleading tone. First one steer, then another, then the whole herd began sniffing the air and standing motionless. Sometimes a hazy, light glow of static electricity–St. Elmo’s Fire–spread through the herd, settling on the tips of the animals’ horns. The animals began moving quietly at first, milling. A searing flash of light followed by a crack of thunder would galvanize the herds into action. One old trail driver described the event as ‘one jump to their feet and another jump to Hell.’

Here the night horse proved its worth. The rider might be still recovering his night vision, while the horse bolted for the head of the moving mass of cattle. During a’stompede,’ as on the trail, the animals spaced themselves out in a rough column. After the first mile or so, the herd might be strung out enough for the cowboys to turn and mill it, breaking the momentum of the stampede. Most of the riders kept well clear of the herd; one or two skilled cowboys could turn a herd faster than a gaggle of yelling, whooping riders closing in from all sides.

Stampedes–especially at night, when they most often occurred–could be very costly. Lame, injured or old cattle were knocked down and trampled. Long, sharp horns sometimes maimed other animals. The Longhorns would not bellow or bleat on the run; only the high-pitched click-clack-pop of horn on horn sounded above the rumble of hooves.On occasion an entire herd might run headlong into a ravine or gully, the momentum pushing the leaders over the edge.

The problem was compounded considerably when several herds bedded down near each other and got mixed together in a a stampede. In such a situation the men would let the cattle scatter, for too large and fast a mill would crush those animals in the center. After one stampede of 11 herds waiting to cross the swollen Red River, it took 120 men ten days to cut the 33,000 animals back into their proper herds. Even on the rare stampede with no casualties, among animal or men, the price could be high; a four-mile run on a hot night might burn 50 pounds off a large steer. After a stamped all hands turned out at dawn to round up stragglers. It could be a tough chore, as a well-scared animal might run and walk 10 miles from the bed ground before dawn.

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