Essays
Moseying: History of the Southern Llano Estacado
Charlie Goodnight, Prairie Chickens, and Fire; It only could happen on the Llano Estacado
December 13, 2006
For as far as Charlie Goodnight could see flames danced. The sandy lands between the headwater streams of the Brazos River (just east of the Llano Estacado) were burning, the woody shinoak and sandsage fueling whirlwinds of fire. The resinous sandsage exploded like fireworks, sending sparks skittering into the sky which the howling wind of the blue norther carried far in advance of the fire line. New fires started and then were swallowed by the advancing fireline less than a mile away. The fire would be upon them in less than five minutes. The Texas Mounted Rifles had to find a place of safety quickly. Otherwise, the Comanches (who had probably set the fire) would celebrate, after the fire killed the men chasing them.
The man on watch had awakened them only ten minutes before. The order to break camp and mount up had been immediate, and now all of the men were ready to go. As Charlie had gathered his gear, his mind raced – what would offer them a way to escape the flames? Charlie strode to where the coals of the campfire glowed red, grabbing little bluestem grass stalks and the few sticks left from the evening’s wood gathering as he went. He built up the fire and within a minute flames began curling around the biggest of the sticks. He pulled it out of the fire and then lit the grass downwind of the camp, running along for fifty feet, setting many fires.
The new fires quickly grew, and as the flames scuttled downwind, he called to the men, “We have to ride behind the fire. We can only be safe where it has already burned!” Everyone immediately obeyed, but the horses fought the decision, some rearing, others pulling away from the direction their riders wished. The sounds of the panicked horses sent shivers up his spine. The embers of the fire would make their mounts tenderfooted, but they would live. Within three minutes, the group had forced their horses 150 yards from the campsite. Charlie stopped and turned his horse. The fire had reached the campsite and was sputtering where his fires had begun, but to the west and east the fire swept around their “island.” One horse panicked and reared, throwing its rider, and then ran into the flames. Its screams were mercifully brief.
When the fire had passed, Goodnight told the men, “We will be able to find the tracks of the Comanches where the bigger fire started, so let’s ride during the rest of the night, or at least until we get to unburned land.” He led the way, keeping the horses to a walk, straight into the northwest wind. Clouds hid the stars. After thirty minutes they ran into dense fog. “The cold front must be pushing west, as well as south. On through the fog, it may be clear, and warmer, if we are lucky, and are moving faster than the front is moving west.” Within the thirty minutes the skies began to lighten, but the fog remained.
“We have ridden five miles, and we still find burned prairie. Maybe the Comanches did not start the fire on purpose after all.” Just as Goodnight had mused about the origins of the fire, the men reached an area of unburned shinnery and sandsage. “Spread out, men, and look along the edge for tracks. Be careful though, for if the Comanches did set the fire, they might have left a few men behind to see if we survived.” Goodnight rode into the shinnery, to see how if there was more burned area beyond, and sure enough, after a narrow ridge of bare sand, he found more burned prairie.
He turned his horse around. As he faced the eastern light it brightened as much as could be expected in dense fog. He thought about pulling his rifle out of its scabbard and firing three times so that the other men would come, but thought better of it (the Comanches would hear.) Before he could do anything else, he noticed movement in the shinoak of the unburned area. Charlie froze – what was moving? He slowly leaned forward, his hand sliding down to the rifle butt. As his hand touched it, he realized that the movement came from a prairie chicken standing up from its nighttime roost under the dwarf trees .
His horse stepped sideways, shivering as a rivulet of condensed moisture ran down its side from where it formed under the saddle. The horse’s movement caused another prairie chicken to stand, and then another, and then another. Charlie looked in every direction but the burned land behind. The chickens were everywhere. Hundreds, no, thousands – he must have awakened the birds as he rode through before there had been enough light for them to see, but now, they knew he was there.
He gently poked his horse with the rowel of just one spur, and the horse took a step or two forwards. The horse’s ears twitched. Charlie knew the horse knew the chickens were there. He urged the horse forward again. As they neared the closest chicken, the bird did not panic, but merely walked out of the way of the horse. Goodnight tugged on the reins, stopping the horse. The chicken was just below him – if he took his boot out of the stirrup, he could probably kick the chicken. Instead, Charlie leaned over, sliding down until the other leg was hooked over the pommel. He reached out, trying to touch the chicken. It stared at him, unblinking.
“When animals are scared, they sometimes become catatonic. Did the fire scare these birds? Or, do they not recognize us as a threat because of the fog? Did they come here during the fire? Do they roost here at night, knowing that the bare sand will protect them from fire?” Charlie loved the puzzles presented to him by the actions of wildlife (and his strong sense of curiosity was why he was such a good scout.) His fingers touched the bird. Its only reaction was to close its eye. Goodnight straightened up, slowly, and after returning to an upright position, he scratched his chin as he stared at the chicken. After a minute, he grinned, and dismounted. The chicken did not move until his legs were within a foot of the bird. But then, it only moved a few feet. Charlie chuckled and began walking around. Every chicken that he approached only moved a few feet. Charlie began chuckling and shaking his head in amazement. “I feel like Moses parting the Red Sea!”
Related Photo Essay: The Lesser Prairie Chicken