THE RODEO.
As the remaining weeks of the summer passed, Patches spent the days
riding the range with Phil, and, under the careful eye of that
experienced teacher, made rapid progress in the work he had chosen to
master. The man's intense desire to succeed, his quick intelligence,
with his instinct for acting without hesitation, and his reckless
disregard for personal injury, together with his splendid physical
strength, led him to a mastery of the details of a cowboy's work with
remarkable readiness.
Occasionally the two Cross-Triangle riders saw the men from Tailholt
Mountain, sometimes merely sighting them in the distance, and, again,
meeting them face to face at some watering place or on the range. When
it happened that Nick Cambert was thus forced to keep up a show of
friendly relations with the Cross-Triangle, the few commonplaces of the
country were exchanged, but always the Tailholt Mountain man addressed
his words to Phil, and, save for surly looks, ignored the foreman's
companion. He had evidently--as Patches had said that he would--come to
realize that he could not afford to arouse the cattlemen to action
against him, as he would certainly have done, had he attempted to carry
out his threat to "get" the man who had so humiliated him.
But Patches' strange interest in Yavapai Joe in no way lessened. Always
he had a kindly word for the poor unfortunate, and sought persistently
to win the weakling's friendship. And Phil seeing this wondered, but
held his peace.
Frequently Kitty Reid, sometimes alone, often with the other members of
the Reid household, came across the big meadow to spend an evening at
the neighboring ranch. Sometimes Phil and Patches, stopping at the
Pot-Hook-S home ranch, at the close of the day, for a drink at the
windmill pump, would linger a while for a chat with Kitty, who would
come from the house to greet them. And now and then Kitty, out for a
ride on Midnight, would chance to meet the two Cross-Triangle men on the
range, and so would accompany them for an hour or more.
And thus the acquaintance between Patches and the girl grew into
friendship; for Kitty loved to talk with this man of the things that
play so large a part in that life which so appealed to her; and, with
Phil's ever-ready and hearty endorsement of Patches, she felt safe in
permitting the friendship to develop. And Patches, quietly observing,
with now and then a conversational experiment--at which game he was an
adepts--came to understand, almost as well as if he had been told,
Phil's love for Kitty and her attitude toward the cowboy--her one-time
schoolmate and sweetheart. Many times when the three were together, and
the talk, guided by Kitty, led far from Phil's world, the cowboy would
sit a silent listener, until Patches would skillfully turn the current
back to the land of Granite Mountain and the life in which Phil had so
vital a part.
In the home-life at the Cross-Triangle, too, Patches gradually came to
hold his own peculiar place. His cheerful helpfulness, and gentle,
never-failing courtesy, no less than the secret pain and sadness that
sometimes, at some chance remark, drove the light from his face and
brought that wistful look into his eyes, won Mrs. Baldwin's heart. Many
an evening under his walnut trees, with Stella and Phil and Curly and
Bob and Little Billy near, the Dean was led by the rare skill and ready
wit of Patches to open the book of his kindly philosophy, as he talked
of the years that were past. And sometimes Patches himself, yielding to
temptation offered by the Dean, would speak in such vein that the older
man came to understand that this boy, as he so often called him, had
somewhere, somehow, already experienced that Gethsemane which soon or
late--the Dean maintains--leaves its shadow upon us all. The cowboys,
for his quick and genuine appreciation of their skill and knowledge, as
well as for his unassuming courage, hearty good nature and ready laugh,
took him into their fellowship without question or reserve, while Little
Billy, loyal ever to his ideal, "Wild Horse Phil," found a large place
in his boyish heart for the tenderfoot who was so ready always to
recognize superior wisdom and authority.
So the stranger found his place among them, and in finding it, found
also, perhaps, that which he most sorely needed.
[Illustration:]
When rodeo time came Patches was given a "string" of horses and, through
the hard, grilling work that followed, took his place among the riders.
There was no leisurely roaming over the range now, with only an
occasional short dash after some animal that needed the "iron" or the
"dope can;" but systematically and thoroughly the thirty or forty
cowboys covered the country--mountain and mesa and flat, and wash and
timbered ridge and rocky pass--for many miles in every direction.
In this section of the great western cattle country, at the time of my
story, the round-ups were cooperative. Each of the several ranchers
whose cattle, marked by the owner's legally recorded brand, ranged over
a common district that was defined only by natural boundaries, was
represented in the rodeo by one or two or more of his cowboys, the
number of his riders being relative to the number of cattle marked with
his iron. This company of riders, each with from three to five saddle
horses in his string, would assemble at one of the ranches participating
in the rodeo. From this center they would work until a circle of country
within riding distance was covered, the cattle gathered and
"worked"--or, in other words, sorted--and the animals belonging to the
various owners disposed of as the representatives were instructed by
their employers. Then the rodeo would move to another ranch, and would
so continue until the entire district of many miles was covered. The
owner or the foreman of each ranch was in charge of the rodeo as long as
the riders worked in his territory. When the company moved to the next
point, this loader took his place in the ranks, and cheerfully received
his orders from some comrade, who, the day before, had been as willingly
obedient to him. There was little place in the rodeo for weak,
incompetent or untrustworthy men. Each owner, from his long experience
and knowledge of men, sent as his representatives the most skillful and
conscientious riders that he could secure. To make a top hand at a rodeo
a man needed to be, in the truest sense, a man.
Before daylight, the horse wrangler had driven in the saddle band, and
the men, with nose bags fashioned from grain sacks, were out in the
corral to give the hard-working animals their feed of barley. The gray
quiet of the early dawn was rudely broken by the sounds of the crowding,
jostling, kicking, squealing band, mingled with the merry voices of the
men, with now and then a shout of anger or warning as the cowboys moved
here and there among their restless four-footed companions; and always,
like a deep undertone, came the sound of trampling, iron-shod hoofs.
Before the sky had changed to crimson and gold the call sounded from the
ranch house, "Come and get it!" and laughing and joking in friendly
rivalry, the boys rushed to breakfast. It was no dainty meal of toast
and light cereals that these hardy ones demanded. But huge cuts of
fresh-killed beef, with slabs of bread, and piles of potatoes, and
stacks of hot cakes, and buckets of coffee, and whatever else the
hard-working Chinaman could lay his hands on to satisfy their needs. As
soon as each man reached the utmost limit of his capacity, he left the
table without formality, and returned to the corral, where, with riata
or persuasion, as the case demanded, he selected from his individual
string of horses his first mount for the day.
By the time the sun was beginning to gild the summit of old Granite
Mountain's castle-like walls, and touch with glorious color the peaks of
the neighboring sentinel hills, the last rider had saddled, and the
company was mounted and ready for their foreman's word. Then to the
music of jingling spurs, tinkling bridle chains, squeaking saddle
leather, and the softer swish and rustle and flap of chaps, romals and
riatas, they rode forth, laughing and joking, still, with now and then a
roaring chorus of shouting comment or wild yells, as some half-broken
horse gave an exhibition of his prowess in a mad effort to unseat his
grinning rider.
Soon the leader would call the name of a cowboy, known to be
particularly familiar with the country which was to be the scene of that
day's work, and telling him to take two or three or more men, as the
case might be, would direct him to ride over a certain section,
indicating the assigned territory by its natural marks of valley or flat
or wash or ridge, and designating the point where the cattle would first
be brought together. The cowboy named would rein his horse aside from
the main company, calling the men of his choice as he did so, and a
moment later with his companions would be lost to sight. A little
farther, and again the foreman would name a rider, and, telling him to
pick his men, would assign to him another section of the district to be
covered, and this cowboy, with his chosen mates, would ride away. These
smaller groups would, in their turn, separate, and thus the entire
company of riders would open out like a huge fan to sweep the
countryside.
It was no mere pleasure canter along smoothly graded bridle paths or
well-kept country highways that these men rode. From roughest
rock-strewn mountain side and tree-clad slope, from boulder-piled
watercourse and tangled brush, they must drive in the scattered cattle.
At reckless speed, as their quarry ran and turned and dodged, they must
hesitate at nothing. Climbing to the tops of the hills, scrambling
catlike to the ragged crests of the ridges, sliding down the bluffs,
jumping deep arroyos, leaping brush and boulders, twisting, dodging
through the timber, they must go as fast as the strength and endurance
of their mounts would permit. And so, gradually, as the sun climbed
higher above the peaks and crags of Old Granite, the great living fan of
men and horses closed, the courses of the widely scattered riders
leading them, with the cattle they had found, to the given point.
And now, the cattle, urged by the active horsemen, came streaming from
the different sections to form the herd, and the quiet of the great
range was broken by the bawling of confused and frightened calves, the
lowing of anxious mothers, the shrill, long-drawn call of the steers,
and the deep bellowing of the bulls, as the animals, so rudely driven
from their peaceful feeding grounds, moved restlessly within the circle
of guarding cowboys, while cows found their calves, and the monarchs of
the range met in fierce combat.
A number of the men--those whose mounts most needed the rest--were now
left to hold the herd, or, perhaps, to move it quietly on to some other
point, while the others were again sent out to cover another section of
the territory included in that day's riding. As the hours passed, and
the great fan of horsemen opened and closed, sweeping the cattle
scattered over the range into the steadily growing herd, the rodeo moved
gradually toward some chosen open flat or valley that afforded a space
large enough for the operations that followed the work of gathering. At
this "rodeo ground" a man would be waiting with fresh mounts for the
riders, and, sometimes, with lunch. Quickly, those whose names were
called by the foreman would change their saddles from dripping,
exhausted horses to fresh animals from their individual strings, snatch
a hasty lunch--often to be eaten in the saddle--and then, in their turn,
would hold the cattle while their companions followed their example.
Then came the fast, hot work of "parting" the cattle. The
representatives from one of the ranches interested would ride in among
the cattle held by the circle of cowboys, and, following their
instructions, would select such animals bearing their employer's brand
as were wanted, cutting them out and passing them through the line of
guarding riders, to be held in a separate group. When the
representatives of one owner had finished, they were followed by the men
who rode for some other outfit; and so on, until the task of "parting"
was finished.
As the afternoon sun moved steadily toward the skyline of the western
hills, the tireless activity of men and horses continued. The cattle,
as the mounted men moved among them, drifted about, crowding and
jostling, in uneasy discontent, with sometimes an indignant protest, and
many attempts at escape by the more restless and venturesome. When an
animal was singled out, the parting horses, chosen and prized for their
quickness, dashed here and there through the herd with fierce leaps and
furious rushes, stopping short in a terrific sprint to whirl, flashlike,
and charge in another direction, as the quarry dodged and doubled. And
now and then an animal would succeed for the moment in passing the guard
line, only to be brought back after a short, sharp chase by the nearest
cowboy. From the rodeo ground, where for long years the grass had been
trampled out, the dust, lifted by the trampling thousands of hoofs in a
dense, choking cloud, and heavy with the pungent odor of warm cattle and
the smell of sweating horses, rising high into the clear air, could be
seen from miles away, while the mingled voices of the bellowing, bawling
herd, with now and then the shrill, piercing yells of the cowboys, could
be heard almost as far.
When this part of the work was over, some of the riders set out to drive
the cattle selected to the distant home ranch corrals, while others of
the company remained to brand the calves and to start the animals that
were to have their freedom until the next rodeo time back to the open
range. And so, at last--often not until the stars were out--the riders
would dismount at the home corrals of the ranch that, at the time, was
the center of their operations, or, perhaps, at some rodeo camping
ground.
At supper the day's work was reviewed with many a laugh and jest of
pointed comment, and then, those whose horses needed attention because
of saddle sores or, it might be, because of injuries from some fall on
the rocks, busied themselves at the corral, while others met for a
friendly game of cards, or talked and yarned over restful pipe or
cigarette. And then, bed and blankets, and, all too soon, the reveille
sounded by the beating hoofs of the saddle band as the wrangler drove
them in, announced the beginning of another day.
Not infrequently there were accidents--from falling horses--from angry
bulls--from ill-tempered steers, or excited cows--or, perhaps, from a
carelessly handled rope in some critical moment. Horses were killed; men
with broken limbs, or with bodies bruised and crushed, were forced to
drop out; and many a strong horseman who rode forth in the morning to
the day's work, laughing and jesting with his mates, had been borne by
his grave and silent comrades to some quiet resting place, to await, in
long and dreamless sleep, the morning of that last great rodeo which, we
are told, shall gather us all.
Day after day, as Patches rode with these hardy men, Phil watched him
finding himself and winning his place among the cowboys. They did not
fail, as they said, to "try him out." Nor did Phil, in these trials,
attempt in any way to assist his pupil. But the men learned very
quickly, as Curly had learned at the time of Patches' introduction,
that, while the new man was always ready to laugh with them when a joke
was turned against himself, there was a line beyond which it was not
well to go. In the work he was, of course, assigned only to such parts
as did not require the skill and knowledge of long training and
experience. But he did all that was given him to do with such readiness
and skill, thanks to Phil's teaching, that the men wondered. And this,
together with his evident ability in the art of defending himself, and
the story of his strange coming to the Cross-Triangle, caused not a
little talk, with many and varied opinions as to who he was, and what it
was that had brought him among them. Strangely enough, very few believed
that Patches' purpose in working as a cowboy for the Dean was simply to
earn an honest livelihood. They felt instinctively--as, in fact, did
Phil and the Dean--that there was something more beneath it all than
such a commonplace.
Nick Cambert, who, with Yavapai Joe, rode in the rodeo, carefully
avoided the stranger. But Patches, by his persistent friendly interest
in the Tailholt Mountain man's follower, added greatly to the warmth of
the discussions and conjectures regarding himself. The rodeo had reached
the Pot-Hook-S Ranch, with Jim Reid in charge, when the incident
occurred which still further stimulated the various opinions and
suggestions as to the new man's real character and mission.
They were working the cattle that day on the rodeo ground just outside
the home ranch corral. Phil and Curly were cutting out some
Cross-Triangle steers, when the riders, who were holding the cattle, saw
them separate a nine-months-old calf from the herd, and start it, not
toward the cattle they had already cut out, but toward the corral.
Instantly everybody knew what had happened.
The cowboy nearest the gate did not need Phil's word to open it for his
neighbor next in line to drive the calf inside.
Not a word was said until the calves to be branded were also driven into
the corral. Then Phil, after a moment's talk with Jim Reid, rode up to
Nick Cambert, who was sitting on his horse a little apart from the group
of intensely interested cowboys. The Cross-Triangle foreman's tone was
curt. "I reckon I'll have to trouble you to vent your brand on that
Cross-Triangle calf, Nick."
The Tailholt Mountain man made no shallow pretense that he did not
understand. "Not by a damn sight," he returned roughly. "I ain't raisin'
calves for Bill Baldwin, an' I happen to know what I'm talkin' about
this trip. That's a Four-Bar-M calf, an' I branded him myself over in
Horse Wash before he left the cow. Some of your punchers are too damned
handy with their runnin' irons, Mr. Wild Horse Phil."
For a moment Phil looked at the man, while Jim Reid moved his horse
nearer, and the cowboys waited, breathlessly. Then, without taking his
eyes from the Tailholt Mountain man's face, Phil called sharply:
"Patches, come here!"
There was a sudden movement among the riders, and a subdued murmur, as
Patches rode forward.
"Is that calf you told me about in the corral, Patches?" asked Phil,
when the man was beside him.
"Yes, sir; that's him over there by that brindle cow." Patches indicated
the animal in question.
"And you put our iron on him?" asked Phil, still watching Nick.
"I did," returned Patches, coolly.
"Tell us about it," directed the Dean's foreman.
And Patches obeyed, briefly. "It was that day you sent me to fix the
fence on the southwest corner of the big pasture. I saw a bunch of
cattle a little way outside the fence, and went to look them over. This
calf was following a Cross-Triangle cow."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir. I watched them for half an hour."
"What was in the bunch?"
"Four steers, a Pot-Hook-S bull, five cows and this calf. There were
three Five-Bar cows, one Diamond-and-a-Half and one Cross-Triangle. The
calf went to the Cross-Triangle cow every time. And, besides, he is
marked just like his mother. I saw her again this afternoon while we
were working the cattle."
Phil nodded. "I know her."
Jim Reid was watching Patches keenly, with a quiet look now and then at
Nick.
The cowboys were murmuring among themselves.
"Pretty good work for a tenderfoot!"
"Tenderfoot, hell!"
"They've got Nick this trip."
"Got nothin'! Can't you see it's a frame-up?"
Phil spoke to Nick. "Well, are satisfied? Will you vent your brand?"
The big man's face was distorted with passion. "Vent nothin'," he
roared. "On the word of a damned sneakin' tenderfoot! I--"
He stopped, as Patches, before Phil could check the movement, pushed
close to his side.
In the sudden stillness the new man's cool, deliberate voice sounded
clearly. "I am positive that you made a mistake when you put your iron
on that calf, Mr. Cambert. And," he added slowly, as though with the
kindest possible intention, "I am sure that you can safely take my word
for it without further question."
For a moment Nick glared at Patches, speechless. Then, to the amazement
of every cowboy in the corral, the big man mumbled a surly something,
and took down his riata to rope the calf and disclaim his ownership of
the animal.
Jim Reid shook his head in puzzled doubt.
The cowboys were clearly divided.
"He's too good a hand for a tenderfoot," argued one; "carried that off
like an old-timer."
"'Tain't like Nick to lay down so easy for anybody," added another.
"Nick's on to something about Mr. Patches that we ain't next to,"
insisted a third.
"Or else we're all bein' strung for a bunch of suckers," offered still
another.
"You boys just hold your horses, an' ride easy," said Curly. "My money's
still on Honorable Patches."
And Bob added his loyal support with his cheerful "Me, too!"
"It all looked straight enough," Jim Reid admitted to the Dean that
evening, "but I can't get away from the notion that there was some sort
of an understanding between your man an' that damned Tailholt Mountain
thief. It looked like it was all too quiet an' easy somehow; like it had
been planned beforehand."
The Dean laughingly told his neighbor that he was right; that there was
an understanding between Patches and Nick, and then explained by
relating how Patches had met the Tailholt Mountain men that day at the
spring.
When the Dean had finished the big cowman asked several very suggestive
questions. How did the Dean know that Patches' story was anything more
than a cleverly arranged tale, invented for the express purpose of
allaying any suspicion as to his true relationship with Nick? If
Patches' character was so far above suspicion, why did he always dodge
any talk that might touch his past? Was it necessary or usual for men to
keep so close-mouthed about themselves? What did the Dean, or anyone
else, for that matter, really know about this man who had appeared so
strangely from nowhere, and had given a name even that was so plainly a
ridiculous invention? The Dean must remember that the suspicion as to
the source of Nick's too rapidly increasing herds had, so far, been
directed wholly against Nick himself, and that the owner of the
Four-Bar-M iron was not altogether a fool. It was quite time, Reid
argued, for Nick to cease his personal activities, and to trust the
actual work of branding to some confederate whose movements would not be
so closely questioned. In short, Reid had been expecting some stranger
to seek a job with some of the ranches that were in a position to
contribute to the Tailholt Mountain outfit, and, for his part, he would
await developments before becoming too enthusiastic over Honorable
Patches.
All of which the good Dean found very hard to answer.
"But look here, Jim," he protested, "don't you go makin' it unpleasant
for the boy. Whatever you think, you don't know any more than the rest
of us. If we're guessin' on one side, you're guessin' on the other. I
admit that what you say sounds reasonable; but, hang it, I like Patches.
As for his name--well--we didn't use to go so much on names, in this
country, you know. The boy may have some good reason for not talkin'
about himself. Just give him a square chance; don't put no burrs under
his saddle blanket--that's all I'm askin'."
Jim laughed. The speech was so characteristic of the Dean, and Jim Reid
loved his old friend and neighbor, as all men did, for being, as was
commonly said, "so easy."
"Don't worry, Will," he answered. "I'm not goin' to start anything. If I
should happen to be right about Mr. Honorable Patches, he's exactly
where we want him. I propose to keep my eye on him, that's all. And I
think you an' Phil had better do the same."