DANGER IN THE EAST.
THE sun was no more than fairly above the horizon when the party were
on the move, headed in the direction named. The expected norther did
not come, the weather continuing as perfect as heart could wish. The
uneven ground rendered the progress slow for a couple of hours, the
horsemen being obliged to pick their way with care; but, by bearing
to the right, better ground was reached, and they struck into an easy
gallop which lasted for several hours.
“Strubell,” said Herbert, who with Nick was riding beside the Texan,
the other being at the rear with the pack animals, “do you expect to
find any use for that lasso?”
“You mean the _lariat_,” replied the cowboy, looking down at the rope
coiled at his saddle; “can’t say, but Baker and I make it a rule to go
prepared for business. We may strike a job in New Mexico, after taking
a look at the ranch for Mr. Lord.”
“But you could get them there.”
“Of course, but I’ve used this for years, just as Baker has his, and we
are so accustomed to them that we prefer to take them with us, just as
you will soon grow to prefer your pony and your Winchester above all
others.”
“When is the harvest time, as you may call it, for cattle?” asked Nick,
who was always on the lookout for a chance to increase his store of
knowledge.
“The spring; that’s when the big herds are put up for the drive, and
that’s the season too, when the yearly round-up takes place.”
“What’s that for?”
“To apportion the unmarked calves and yearlings among the owners of
stock on the range, so they can be branded.”
“I should think there would be a confusion of brands.”
“No; that can never happen, for the law requires the brand to be
recorded in the county clerk’s office. It is generally the initials
of the owner’s name, with perhaps some device to help distinguish it.
The county clerk sees to it that no two are the same. But,” added the
Texan, “the law compels every cattle owner to record also with the
county clerk the ear-marks, crops, half-crops, upper and under bits,
upper and under slopes, splits, swallow-forks, and jingle-bobs. When
all this is done, the ranchman can identify his property as easily as
you could pick out your own father in a crowd.”
“Suppose a lot of branded cattle are sold?” asked Nick.
“That seller is compelled to counterbrand them, and in case they are
driven from the State, the buyer is obliged to road-brand them with a
device different from his regular brand, and must record it in every
county through which he passes.”
“I should think some of the cattle would become pretty well covered
with brands.”
“So they do; after a few shiftings about, I have seen them so thickly
branded that there seemed no place for anything new in that line. It
doesn’t require many transfers to do this when the burned letters, as
I have seen them, are nearly a foot long.”
“How is the branding done?”
“When convenient, the animal is driven between two parallel lines of
fencing, called a chute, bars being placed before and behind him. He
is then helpless, and the operator does the work at his leisure. But
fences (except the wire kind that the big owners are stretching across
the country) are scarce, and we generally have to go to the help of the
brander.”
“How do you manage it?”
“Easily enough; slip about eight feet of the end of the lariat through
the ring, and, putting a loop at the other end, over the pommel of the
saddle, I gather the coils into my bridle hand, holding the noose in
my right, and start my pony on a gallop. The animal that I want breaks
into a run. I quickly get near enough to drop the noose over its head
or fore feet, and the pony wheels the other way and braces himself for
the shock that he knows is coming and which throws the animal to the
ground. The minute he goes down, the branders seize him by the head
and tail, and the hot iron does its work.”
“The operation must be painful,” suggested Herbert.
“Well,” replied Strubell, “I suppose the animal doesn’t enjoy it
overmuch, but it isn’t so bad as many think, for the brander must take
great care not to burn through the skin into the flesh.”
“What harm would be done by _that_?”
“The brand would be blotched, and a good many dishonest people would
find an excuse for getting their brands mixed; but that isn’t the worst
trouble,” added the cowboy, “for after the branding comes the blow-fly,
which is the pest of Texas.”
“What is his style of working?”
“He deposits his eggs under the raw sore, and, before long, thousands
of screw worms are eating their way toward the vitals of the animal.”
“What is done to check them?”
“We have different remedies, which only half do their work, but the
best that I know of is cresylic ointment. In order to apply it,
however, the animal must be roped and sometimes thrown down.”
“It looks as if the cowboy has more work than play in his business,”
said Nick, with a laugh.
Strubell turned and stared at him a moment, as if pitying his ignorance.
“If you have any doubt about it, just try it for six months or a year.
We spend most of our time in the saddle from daylight till dark. When
on the trail, our diet is bacon, bread, and coffee, and not overmuch
of that. I have gone twenty hours without a mouthful, for the simple
reason that I hadn’t the time to ride to the cook wagon to get it. When
one pony gave out, I jumped on another and rode him like a house afire.”
“What was the cause for such hard work?”
“Chiefly stampedes, which set the animals wild. When following the
Old Cattle Trail, northward through Texas and Kansas, I have had
five thousand cattle scattered to every point of the compass by a
thunder-storm, despite all we could do to keep them together. Sometimes
they become crazy for water, start bellowing on a full run, and crowd
into the first stream so fast that a hundred or two are drowned;
then, when the night is still and no air stirring, nor the slightest
cause, so far as you can see, exists for alarm, something will set them
off again. The only explanation that I could ever think of was that
the animals are troubled now and then with bad dreams, and by their
cavorting frighten the others out of their wits.”
“They must be guarded carefully at night?”
“Certainly; our men are divided into three reliefs, which makes it a
little harder than we have it now. When the stampede breaks out, the
riders have no let up night or day till the cattle are brought together
again. Then, too, the Kiowas or Comanches may take it into their heads
to try a little cattle speculation. They are all fine horsemen and
rifle-shots, and a half dozen of the scamps can make things as lively
on a dark night as a nest of hornets. However, we like it for all
that,” said the Texan, “because it’s the only business we know; but
these big cattle owners, that are fencing in most of Texas with their
barbed wire, will soon take it away from us.”
At this juncture, Lattin touched his pony with his spur, and placed him
alongside the others.
“I wish,” said he, “that you would p’int that machine of yours off
there to the east, and let us know what you make of it.”
His outstretched arm showed the direction named, and his friends
naturally turned their attention toward that point of the compass. They
were on the plain, where the grass grew plentifully, the hilly portions
being in sight several miles to their left.
Before the field glass was called into use, all saw, seemingly in the
very rim of the horizon, several horsemen moving apparently over a
course parallel with their own, since Lattin said they had been in
sight for nearly an hour, and were neither more nor less distinct than
when first observed.
The glasses were passed from one to the other, and the parties were
closely studied. The instruments were of great help, giving to our
friends a knowledge which otherwise they could not have obtained.
All agreed that there were three horsemen, and that one, possibly two,
were white men. The third might have belonged to the same race, but,
for some cause, the Texans declared that he was a half-breed, known as
Jim-John, one of the worst rogues in the Southwest.
“If you know _him_,” said Nick, “you ought to know the others.”
“So I do,” quietly replied Strubell; “one is Bell Rickard, that you
introduced to us last night. They’re a bad lot, and we’re bound to have
trouble with them before morning.”
Little did the sagacious Texan suspect the startling manner in which
his words were to be verified.