RECEIVING
It was a nice ten days’ trip from the San Antonio to the Rio Grande
River. We made twenty-five to thirty miles a day, giving the saddle
horses all the advantage of grazing on the way. Rather than hobble,
Forrest night-herded them, using five guards, two men to the watch of
two hours each. “As I have little hope of ever rising to the dignity
of foreman,” said our _segundo_, while arranging the guards, “I’ll
take this occasion to show you varmints what an iron will I possess.
With the amount of help I have, I don’t propose to even catch a night
horse; and I’ll give the cook orders to bring me a cup of coffee and a
cigarette before I arise in the morning. I’ve been up the trail before
and realize that this authority is short-lived, so I propose to make
the most of it while it lasts. Now you all know your places, and see
you don’t incur your foreman’s displeasure.”
The outfit reached Brownsville on March 25th, where we picked up Flood
and Lovell, and dropping down the river about six miles below Fort
Brown, went into camp at a cattle ford known as Paso Ganado. The Rio
Grande was two hundred yards wide at this point, and at its then stage
was almost swimming from bank to bank. It had very little current, and
when winds were favorable the tide from the Gulf ran in above the
ford. Flood had spent the past two weeks across the river, receiving
and road-branding the herd, so when the cattle should reach the river
on the Mexican side we were in honor bound to accept everything
bearing the “circle dot” the left hip. The contract called for a
thousand she cattle, three and four years of age, and two thousand
four and five year old beeves, estimated as sufficient to fill a
million-pound beef contract. For fear of losses on the trail, our
foreman had accepted fifty extra head of each class, and our herd at
starting would number thirty-one hundred head. They were coming up
from ranches in the interior, and we expected to cross them the first
favorable day after their arrival. A number of different rancheros had
turned in cattle in making up the herd, and Flood reported them in
good, strong condition.
Lovell and Flood were a good team of cowmen. The former, as a youth,
had carried a musket in the ranks of the Union army, and at the end of
that struggle, cast his fortune with Texas, where others had seen
nothing but the desolation of war, Lovell saw opportunities of
business, and had yearly forged ahead as a drover and beef contractor.
He was well calculated to manage the cattle business, but was
irritable and inclined to borrow trouble, therefore unqualified
personally to oversee the actual management of a cow herd. In repose,
Don Lovell was slow, almost dull, but in an emergency was
astonishingly quick-witted and alert. He never insisted on temperance
among his men, and though usually of a placid temperament, when out of
tobacco--Lord!
Jim Flood, on the other hand, was in a hundred respects the antithesis
of his employer. Born to the soil of Texas, he knew nothing but
cattle, but he knew them thoroughly. Yet in their calling, the pair
were a harmonious unit. He never crossed a bridge till he reached it,
was indulgent with his men, and would overlook any fault, so long as
they rendered faithful service. Priest told me this incident: Flood
had hired a man at Red River the year before, when a self-appointed
guardian present called Flood to one side and said,--“Don’t you know
that that man you’ve just hired is the worst drunkard in this
country?”
“No, I didn’t know it,” replied Flood, “but I’m glad to hear he is. I
don’t want to ruin an innocent man, and a trail outfit is not supposed
to have any morals. Just so the herd don’t count out shy on the day of
delivery, I don’t mind how many drinks the outfit takes.”
The next morning after going into camp, the first thing was the
allotment of our mounts for the trip. Flood had the first pick, and
cut twelve bays and browns. His preference for solid colors, though
they were not the largest in the _remuda_, showed his practical sense
of horses. When it came the boys’ turn to cut, we were only allowed to
cut one at a time by turns, even casting lots for first choice. We had
ridden the horses enough to have a fair idea as to their merits, and
every lad was his own judge. There were, as it happened, only three
pinto horses in the entire saddle stock, and these three were the last
left of the entire bunch. Now a little boy or girl, and many an older
person, thinks that a spotted horse is the real thing, but practical
cattle men know that this freak of color in range-bred horses is the
result of in-and-in breeding, with consequent physical and mental
deterioration. It was my good fortune that morning to get a good mount
of horses,--three sorrels, two grays, two coyotes, a black, a brown,
and a _grulla_. The black was my second pick, and though the color is
not a hardy one, his “bread-basket” indicated that he could carry food
for a long ride, and ought to be a good swimmer. My judgment of him
was confirmed throughout the trip, as I used him for my night horse
and when we had swimming rivers to ford. I gave this black the name of
“Nigger Boy.”
For the trip each man was expected to furnish his own accoutrements.
In saddles, we had the ordinary Texas make, the housings of which
covered our mounts from withers to hips, and would weigh from thirty
to forty pounds, bedecked with the latest in the way of trimmings and
trappings.
Our bridles were in keeping with the saddles, the reins as long as
plough lines, while the bit was frequently ornamental and costly. The
indispensable slicker, a greatcoat of oiled canvas, was ever at hand,
securely tied to our cantle strings. Spurs were a matter of taste. If
a rider carried a quirt, he usually dispensed with spurs, though, when
used, those with large, dull rowels were the make commonly chosen. In
the matter of leggings, not over half our outfit had any, as a trail
herd always kept in the open, and except for night herding they were
too warm in summer. Our craft never used a cattle whip, but if
emergency required, the loose end of a rope served instead, and was
more humane.
Either Flood or Lovell went into town every afternoon with some of the
boys, expecting to hear from the cattle. On one trip they took along
the wagon, laying in a month’s supplies. The rest of us amused
ourselves in various ways. One afternoon when the tide was in, we
tried our swimming horses in the river, stripping to our
underclothing, and, with nothing but a bridle on our horses, plunged
into tidewater. My Nigger Boy swam from bank to bank like a duck. On
the return I slid off behind, and taking his tail, let him tow me to
our own side, where he arrived snorting like a tugboat.
One evening, on their return from Brownsville, Flood brought word that
the herd would camp that night within fifteen miles of the river. At
daybreak Lovell and the foreman, with “Fox” Quarternight and myself,
started to meet the herd. The nearest ferry was at Brownsville, and it
was eleven o’clock when we reached the cattle. Flood had dispensed
with an interpreter and had taken Quarternight and me along to do the
interpreting. The cattle were well shed and in good flesh for such an
early season of the year, and in receiving, our foreman had been
careful and had accepted only such as had strength for a long voyage.
They were the long-legged, long-horned Southern cattle, pale-colored
as a rule, possessed the running powers of a deer, and in an ordinary
walk could travel with a horse. They had about thirty vaqueros under a
corporal driving the herd, and the cattle were strung out in regular
trailing manner. We rode with them until the noon hour, when, with the
understanding that they were to bring the herd to Paso Ganado by ten
o’clock the following day, we rode for Matamoros. Lovell had other
herds to start on the trail that year, and was very anxious to cross
the cattle the following day, so as to get the weekly steamer--the
only mode of travel--which left Point Isabel for Galveston on the
first of April.
The next morning was bright and clear, with an east wind, which
insured a flood tide in the river. On first sighting the herd that
morning, we made ready to cross them as soon as they reached the
river. The wagon was moved up within a hundred yards of the ford, and
a substantial corral of ropes was stretched. Then the entire saddle
stock was driven in, so as to be at hand in case a hasty change of
mounts was required. By this time Honeyman knew the horses of each
man’s mount, so all we had to do was to sing out our horse, and Billy
would have a rope on one and have him at hand before you could
unsaddle a tired one. On account of our linguistic accomplishments,
Quarternight and I were to be sent across the river to put the cattle
in and otherwise assume control. On the Mexican side there was a
single string of high brush fence on the lower side of the ford,
commencing well out in the water and running back about two hundred
yards, thus giving us a half chute in forcing the cattle to take
swimming water. This ford had been in use for years in crossing
cattle, but I believe this was the first herd ever crossed that was
intended for the trail, or for beyond the bounds of Texas.
When the herd was within a mile of the river, Fox and I shed our
saddles, boots, and surplus clothing and started to meet it. The water
was chilly, but we struck it with a shout, and with the cheers of our
outfit behind us, swam like smugglers. A swimming horse needs freedom,
and we scarcely touched the reins, but with one hand buried in a mane
hold, and giving gentle slaps on the neck with the other, we guided
our horses for the other shore. I was proving out my black, Fox had a
gray of equal barrel displacement,--both good swimmers; and on
reaching the Mexican shore, we dismounted and allowed them to roll in
the warm sand.
Flood had given us general instructions, and we halted the herd about
half a mile from the river. The Mexican corporal was only too glad to
have us assume charge, and assured us that he and his outfit were ours
to command. I at once proclaimed Fox Quarternight, whose years and
experience outranked mine, the _gringo_ corporal for the day, at which
the vaqueros smiled, but I noticed they never used the word. On Fox’s
suggestion the Mexican corporal brought up his wagon and corralled his
horses as we had done, when his cook, to our delight, invited all to
have coffee before starting. That cook won our everlasting regards,
for his coffee was delicious. We praised it highly, whereupon the
corporal ordered the cook to have it at hand for the men in the
intervals between crossing the different bunches of cattle. A March
day on the Rio Grande with wet clothing is not summer, and the
vaqueros hesitated a bit before following the example of Quarternight
and myself and dispensing with saddles and boots. Five men were then
detailed to hold the herd as compact as possible, and the remainder,
twenty-seven all told, cut off about three hundred head and started
for the river. I took the lead, for though cattle are less gregarious
by nature than other animals, under pressure of excitement they will
follow a leader. It was about noon and the herd were thirsty, so when
we reached the brush chute, all hands started them on a run for the
water. When the cattle were once inside the wing we went rapidly, four
vaqueros riding outside the fence to keep the cattle from turning the
chute on reaching swimming water. The leaders were crowding me close
when Nigger breasted the water, and closely followed by several lead
cattle, I struck straight for the American shore. The vaqueros forced
every hoof into the river, following and shouting as far as the
midstream, when they were swimming so nicely, Quarternight called off
the men and all turned their horses back to the Mexican side. On
landing opposite the exit from the ford, our men held the cattle as
they came out, in order to bait the next bunch.
I rested my horse only a few minutes before taking the water again,
but Lovell urged me to take an extra horse across, so as to have a
change in case my black became fagged in swimming. Quarternight was a
harsh _segundo_, for no sooner had I reached the other bank than he
cut off the second bunch of about four hundred and started them.
Turning Nigger Boy loose behind the brush fence, so as to be out of
the way, I galloped out on my second horse, and meeting the cattle,
turned and again took the lead for the river. My substitute did not
swim with the freedom and ease of the black, and several times cattle
swam so near me that I could lay my hand on their backs. When about
halfway over, I heard shoutings behind me in English, and on looking
back saw Nigger Boy swimming after us. A number of vaqueros attempted
to catch him, but he outswam them and came out with the cattle; the
excitement was too much for him to miss.
Each trip was a repetition of the former, with varying incident. Every
hoof was over in less than two hours. On the last trip, in which there
were about seven hundred head, the horse of one of the Mexican
vaqueros took cramps, it was supposed, at about the middle of the
river, and sank without a moment’s warning. A number of us heard the
man’s terrified cry, only in time to see horse and rider sink. Every
man within reach turned to the rescue, and a moment later the man rose
to the surface. Fox caught him by the shirt, and, shaking the water
out of him, turned him over to one of the other vaqueros, who towed
him back to their own side. Strange as it may appear, the horse never
came to the surface again, which supported the supposition of cramps.
After a change of clothes for Quarternight and myself, and rather late
dinner for all hands, there yet remained the counting of the herd. The
Mexican corporal and two of his men had come over for the purpose, and
though Lovell and several wealthy rancheros, the sellers of the
cattle, were present, it remained for Flood and the corporal to make
the final count, as between buyer and seller. There was also present a
river guard,--sent out by the United States Custom House, as a matter
of form in the entry papers,--who also insisted on counting. In order
to have a second count on the herd, Lovell ordered The Rebel to count
opposite the government’s man. We strung the cattle out, now logy with
water, and after making quite a circle, brought the herd around where
there was quite a bluff bank of the river. The herd handled well, and
for a quarter of an hour we lined them between our four mounted
counters. The only difference in the manner of counting between Flood
and the Mexican corporal was that the American used a tally string
tied to the pommel of his saddle, on which were ten knots, keeping
count by slipping a knot on each even hundred, while the Mexican used
ten small pebbles, shifting a pebble from one hand to the other on
hundreds. “Just a mere difference in nationality,” Lovell had me
interpret to the selling dons.
When the count ended only two of the men agreed on numbers, The Rebel
and the corporal making the same thirty-one hundred and five,--Flood
being one under and the Custom House man one over. Lovell at once
accepted the count of Priest and the corporal; and the delivery,
which, as I learned during the interpreting that followed, was to be
sealed with a supper that night in Brownsville, was consummated.
Lovell was compelled to leave us, to make the final payment for the
herd, and we would not see him again for some time. They were all
seated in the vehicle ready to start for town, when the cowman said to
his foreman,--
“Now, Jim, I can’t give you any pointers on handling a herd, but you
have until the 10th day of September to reach the Blackfoot Agency. An
average of fifteen miles a day will put you there on time, so don’t
hurry. I’ll try and see you at Dodge and Ogalalla on the way. Now,
live well, for I like your outfit of men. Your credit letter is good
anywhere you need supplies, and if you want more horses on the trail,
buy them and draft on me through your letter of credit. If any of your
men meet with accident or get sick, look out for them the same as you
would for yourself, and I’ll honor all bills. And don’t be stingy over
your expense account, for if that herd don’t make money, you and I had
better quit cows.”
I had been detained to do any interpreting needful, and at parting
Lovell beckoned to me. When I rode alongside the carriage, he gave me
his hand and said,--
“Flood tells me to-day that you’re a brother of Bob Quirk. Bob is to
be foreman of my herd that I’m putting up in Nueces County. I’m glad
you’re here with Jim, though, for it’s a longer trip. Yes, you’ll get
all the circus there is, and stay for the concert besides. They say
God is good to the poor and the Irish; and if that’s so, you’ll pull
through all right. Good-by, son.” And as he gave me a hearty, ringing
grip of the hand, I couldn’t help feeling friendly toward him, Yankee
that he was.
After Lovell and the dons had gone, Flood ordered McCann to move his
wagon back from the river about a mile. It was now too late in the day
to start the herd, and we wanted to graze them well, as it was our
first night with them. About half our outfit grazed them around on a
large circle, preparatory to bringing them up to the bed ground as it
grew dusk. In the untrammeled freedom of the native range, a cow or
steer will pick old dry grass on which to lie down, and if it is
summer, will prefer an elevation sufficient to catch any passing
breeze. Flood was familiar with the habits of cattle, and selected a
nice elevation on which the old dry grass of the previous summer’s
growth lay matted like a carpet.
Our saddle horses by this time were fairly well broken to camp life,
and, with the cattle on hand, night herding them had to be abandoned.
Billy Honeyman, however, had noticed several horses that were inclined
to stray on day herd, and these few leaders were so well marked in his
memory that, as a matter of precaution, he insisted on putting a rope
hobble on them. At every noon and night camp we strung a rope from the
hind wheel of our wagon and another from the end of the wagon tongue
back to stakes driven in the ground or held by a man, forming a
triangular corral. Thus in a few minutes, under any conditions, we
could construct a temporary corral for catching a change of mounts, or
for the wrangler to hobble untrustworthy horses. On the trail all
horses are free at night, except the regular night ones, which are
used constantly during the entire trip, and under ordinary conditions
keep strong and improve in flesh.
Before the herd was brought in for the night, and during the supper
hour, Flood announced the guards for the trip. As the men usually
bunked in pairs, the foreman chose them as they slept, but was under
the necessity of splitting two berths of bedfellows. “Rod” Wheat, Joe
Stallings, and Ash Borrowstone were assigned to the first guard, from
eight to ten thirty P.M. Bob Blades, “Bull” Durham, and Fox
Quarternight were given second guard, from ten thirty to one. Paul
Priest, John Officer, and myself made up the third watch, from one to
three thirty. The Rebel and I were bunkies, and this choice of guards,
while not ideal, was much better than splitting bedfellows and having
them annoy each other by going out and returning from guard
separately. The only fault I ever found with Priest was that he could
use the poorest judgment in selecting a bed ground for our blankets,
and always talked and told stories to me until I fell asleep. He was a
light sleeper himself, while I, being much younger, was the reverse.
The fourth and last guard, from three thirty until relieved after
daybreak, fell to Wyatt Roundtree, Quince Forrest, and “Moss”
Strayhorn. Thus the only men in the outfit not on night duty were
Honeyman, our horse wrangler, Barney McCann, our cook, and Flood, the
foreman. The latter, however, made up by riding almost double as much
as any man in his outfit. He never left the herd until it was bedded
down for the night, and we could always hear him quietly arousing the
cook and horse wrangler an hour before daybreak. He always kept a
horse on picket for the night, and often took the herd as it left the
bed ground at clear dawn.
A half hour before dark, Flood and all the herd men turned out to bed
down the cattle for our first night. They had been well grazed after
counting, and as they came up to the bed ground there was not a hungry
or thirsty animal in the lot. All seemed anxious to lie down, and by
circling around slowly, while gradually closing in, in the course of
half an hour all were bedded nicely on possibly five or six acres. I
remember there were a number of muleys among the cattle, and these
would not venture into the compact herd until the others had lain
down. Being hornless, instinct taught them to be on the defensive, and
it was noticeable that they were the first to arise in the morning, in
advance of their horned kin. When all had lain down, Flood and the
first guard remained, the others returning to the wagon.
The guards ride in a circle about four rods outside the sleeping
cattle, and by riding in opposite directions make it impossible for
any animal to make its escape without being noticed by the riders. The
guards usually sing or whistle continuously, so that the sleeping herd
may know that a friend and not an enemy is keeping vigil over their
dreams. A sleeping herd of cattle make a pretty picture on a clear
moonlight night, chewing their cuds and grunting and blowing over
contented stomachs. The night horses soon learn their duty, and a
rider may fall asleep or doze along in the saddle, but the horses will
maintain their distance in their leisurely, sentinel rounds.
On returning to the wagon, Priest and I picketed our horses, saddled,
where we could easily find them in the darkness, and unrolled our bed.
We had two pairs of blankets each, which, with an ordinary wagon sheet
doubled for a tarpaulin, and coats and boots for pillows, completed
our couch. We slept otherwise in our clothing worn during the day, and
if smooth, sandy ground was available on which to spread our bed, we
had no trouble in sleeping the sleep that long hours in the saddle
were certain to bring. With all his pardonable faults, The Rebel was a
good bunkie and a hail companion, this being his sixth trip over the
trail. He had been with Lovell over a year before the two made the
discovery that they had been on opposite sides during the “late
unpleasantness.” On making this discovery, Lovell at once rechristened
Priest “The Rebel,” and that name he always bore. He was fifteen years
my senior at this time, a wonderfully complex nature, hardened by
unusual experiences into a character the gamut of whose moods ran from
that of a good-natured fellow to a man of unrelenting severity in
anger.
We were sleeping a nine knot gale when Fox Quarternight of the second
guard called us on our watch. It was a clear, starry night, and our
guard soon passed, the cattle sleeping like tired soldiers. When the
last relief came on guard and we had returned to our blankets, I
remember Priest telling me this little incident as I fell asleep.
“I was at a dance once in Live Oak County, and there was a stuttering
fellow there by the name of Lem Todhunter. The girls, it seems, didn’t
care to dance with him, and pretended they couldn’t understand him. He
had asked every girl at the party, and received the same answer from
each--they couldn’t understand him. ‘W-w-w-ell, g-g-g-go to hell,
then. C-c-c-can y-y-you understand that?’ he said to the last girl,
and her brother threatened to mangle him horribly if he didn’t
apologize, to which he finally agreed. He went back into the house and
said to the girl, ‘Y-y-you n-n-n-needn’t g-g-g-go to hell; y-y-your
b-b-b-brother and I have m-m-made other ’r-r-r-rangements.’”