SPRING OF ’76
The spring of ’76 was eventful at Las Palomas. After the pigeon hunt,
Uncle Lance went to San Antonio to sell cattle for spring delivery.
Meanwhile, Father Norquin visited the ranch and spent a few days among
his parishioners, Miss Jean acting the hostess in behalf of Las
Palomas. The priest proved a congenial fellow of the cloth, and among
us, with Miss Jean’s countenance, it was decided not to delay Enrique’s
marriage; for there was no telling when Uncle Lance would return. All
the arrangements were made by the padre and Miss Jean, the groom-to-be
apparently playing a minor part in the preliminaries. Though none of
the white element of the ranch were communicants of his church, the
priest apparently enjoyed the visit. At parting, the mistress pressed a
gold piece into his chubby palm as the marriage fee for Enrique; and,
after naming a day for the ceremony, the padre mounted his horse and
left us for the Tarancalous, showering his blessings on Las Palomas and
its people.
During the intervening days before the wedding, we overhauled an unused
_jacal_ and made it habitable for the bride and groom. The _jacal_ is a
crude structure of this semi-tropical country, containing but a single
room with a shady, protecting stoop. It is constructed by standing
palisades on end in a trench. These constitute the walls. The floor is
earthen, while the roof is thatched with the wild grass which grows
rank in the overflow portions of the river valley. It forms a
serviceable shelter for a warm country, the peculiar roofing equally
defying rain and the sun’s heat. Under the leadership of the mistress
of the ranch, assisted by the Mexican women, the _jacal_ was
transformed into a rustic bower; for Enrique was not only a favorite
among the whites, but also among his own people. A few gaudy pictures
of Saints and the Madonna ornamented the side walls, while in the rear
hung the necessary crucifix. At the time of its building the _jacal_
had been blessed, as was customary before occupancy, and to Enrique’s
reasoning the potency of the former sprinkling still held good.
Weddings were momentous occasions among the Mexican population at Las
Palomas. In outfitting the party to attend Enrique’s wedding at Santa
Maria, the ranch came to a standstill. Not only the regular ambulance
but a second conveyance was required to transport the numerous female
relatives of the groom, while the men, all in gala attire, were mounted
on the best horses on the ranch. As none of the whites attended,
Deweese charged Tiburcio with humanity to the stock, while the mistress
admonished every one to be on his good behavior. With greetings to
Santa Maria, the wedding party set out. They were expected to return
the following evening, and the ranch was set in order to give the bride
a rousing reception on her arrival at Las Palomas. The largest place on
the ranch was a warehouse, and we shifted its contents in such a manner
as to have quite a commodious ball-room. The most notable decoration of
the room was an immense heart-shaped figure, in which was worked in
live-oak leaves the names of the two ranches, flanked on either side
with the American and Mexican flags. Numerous other decorations,
expressing welcome to the bride, were in evidence on every hand. Tallow
was plentiful at Las Palomas, and candles were fastened at every
possible projection.
The mounted members of the wedding party returned near the middle of
the afternoon. According to reports, Santa Maria had treated them most
hospitably. The marriage was simple, but the festivities following had
lasted until dawn. The returning guests sought their _jacals_ to snatch
a few hours’ sleep before the revelry would be resumed at Las Palomas.
An hour before sunset the four-mule ambulance bearing the bride and
groom drove into Las Palomas with a flourish. Before leaving the bridal
couple at their own _jacal_, Tiburcio halted the ambulance in front of
the ranch-house for the formal welcome. In the absence of her brother,
Miss Jean officiated in behalf of Las Palomas, tenderly caressing the
bride. The boys monopolized her with their congratulations and welcome,
which delighted Enrique. As for the bride, she seemed at home from the
first, soon recognizing me as the _padrino segundo_ at the time of her
betrothal.
Quite a delegation of the bride’s friends from Santa Maria accompanied
the party on their return, from whom were chosen part of the musicians
for the evening—violins and guitars in the hands of the native element
of the two ranches making up a pastoral orchestra. I volunteered my
services; but so much of the music was new to me that I frequently
excused myself for a dance with the senoritas. In the absence of Uncle
Lance, our _segundo_, June Deweese, claimed the first dance of the
evening with the bride. Miss Jean lent only the approval of her
presence, not participating, and withdrawing at an early hour. As all
the American element present spoke Spanish slightly, that became the
language of the evening. But, further than to countenance with our
presence the festivities, we were out of place, and, ere midnight, all
had excused themselves with the exception of Aaron Scales and myself.
On the pleadings of Enrique, I remained an hour or two longer, dancing
with his bride, or playing some favorite selection for the delighted
groom.
Several days after the wedding Uncle Lance returned. He had been
successful in contracting a trail herd of thirty-five hundred cattle,
and a _remuda_ of one hundred and twenty-five saddle horses with which
to handle them. The contract called for two thousand two-year-old
steers and fifteen hundred threes. There was a difference of four
dollars a head in favor of the older cattle, and it was the ranchero’s
intention to fill the latter class entirely from the Las Palomas brand.
As to the younger cattle, neighboring ranches would be invited to
deliver twos in filling the contract, and if any were lacking, the home
ranch would supply the deficiency. Having ample range, the difference
in price was an inducement to hold the younger cattle. To keep a steer
another year cost nothing, while the ranchero returned convinced that
the trail might soon furnish an outlet for all surplus cattle. In the
matter of the horses, too, rather than reduce our supply of saddle
stock below the actual needs of the ranch, Uncle Lance concluded to buy
fifty head in making up the _remuda_. There were several hundred
geldings on the ranch old enough for saddle purposes, but they would be
as good as useless in handling cattle the first year after breaking.
As this would be the first trail herd from Las Palomas, we naturally
felt no small pride in the transaction. According to contract,
everything was to be ready for final delivery on the twenty-fifth of
March. The contractors, Camp & Dupree, of Fort Worth, Texas, were to
send their foreman two weeks in advance to receive, classify, and pass
upon the cattle and saddle stock. They were exacting in their demands,
yet humane and reasonable. In making up the herd no cattle were to be
corralled at night, and no animal would be received which had been
roped. The saddle horses were to be treated likewise. These conditions
would put into the saddle every available man on the ranch as well as
on the ranchitas. But we looked eagerly forward to the putting up of
the herd. Letters were written and dispatched to a dozen ranches within
striking distance, inviting them to turn in two-year-old steers at the
full contract price. June Deweese was sent out to buy fifty saddle
horses, which would fill the required standard, “fourteen hands or
better, serviceable and gentle broken.” I was dispatched to Santa
Maria, to invite Don Mateo Gonzales to participate in the contract. The
range of every saddle horse on the ranch was located, so that we could
gather them, when wanted, in a day. Less than a month’s time now
remained before the delivery day, though we did not expect to go into
camp for actual gathering until the arrival of the trail foreman.
In going and returning from San Antonio my employer had traveled by
stage. As it happened, the driver of the up-stage out of Oakville was
Jack Martin, the son-in-law of Mrs. McLeod. He and Uncle Lance being
acquainted, the old ranchero’s matchmaking instincts had, during the
day’s travel, again forged to the front. By roundabout inquiries he had
elicited the information that Mrs. McLeod had, immediately after the
holidays, taken Esther to San Antonio and placed her in school. By
innocent artful suggestions of his interest in the welfare of the
family, he learned the name of the private school of which Esther was a
pupil. Furthermore, he cultivated the good will of the driver in
various ways over good cigars, and at parting assured him on returning
he would take the stage so as to have the pleasure of his company on
the return trip—the highest compliment that could be paid a
stage-driver.
From several sources I had learned that Esther had left the ranch for
the city, but on Uncle Lance’s return I got the full particulars. As a
neighboring ranchman, and bearing self-invented messages from the
family, he had the assurance to call at the school. His honest
countenance was a passport anywhere, and he not only saw Esther but
prevailed on her teachers to give the girl, some time during his visit
in the city, a half holiday. The interest he manifested in the girl won
his request, and the two had spent an afternoon visiting the parks and
other points of interest. It is needless to add that he made hay in my
behalf during this half holiday. But the most encouraging fact that he
unearthed was that Esther was disgusted with her school life and was
homesick. She had declared that if she ever got away from school, no
power on earth could force her back again.
“Shucks, Tom,” said he, the next morning after his return, as we were
sitting in the shade of the corrals waiting for the _remuda_ to come
in, “that poor little country girl might as well be in a penitentiary
as in that school. She belongs on these prairies, and you can’t make
anything else out of her. I can read between the lines, and any one can
see that her education is finished. When she told me how rudely her
mother had treated you, her heart was an open book and easily read.
Don’t you lose any sleep on how you stand in her affections—that’s all
serene. She’ll he home on a spring vacation, and that’ll be your
chance. If I was your age, I’d make it a point to see that she didn’t
go back to school. She’ll run off with you rather than that. In the
game of matrimony, son, you want to play your cards boldly and never
hesitate to lead trumps.”
To further matters, when returning by stage my employer had ingratiated
himself into the favor of the driver in many ways, and urged him to
send word to Mrs. McLeod to turn in her two-year-olds on his contract.
A few days later her foreman and son-in-law, Tony Hunter, rode down to
Las Palomas, anxious for the chance to turn in cattle. There had been
little opportunity for several years to sell steers, and when a chance
like this came, there would have been no trouble to fill half a dozen
contracts, as supply far exceeded demand.
Uncle Lance let Mrs. McLeod’s foreman feel that in allotting her five
hundred of the younger cattle, he was actuated by old-time friendship
for the family. As a mark of special consideration he promised to send
the trail foreman to the San Miguel to pass on the cattle on their home
range, but advised the foreman to gather at least seven hundred steers,
allowing for two hundred to be culled or cut back. Hunter remained over
night, departing the next morning, delighted over his allowance of
cattle and the liberal terms of the contract.
It was understood that, in advance of his outfit, the trail foreman
would come down by stage, and I was sent into Oakville with an extra
saddle horse to meet him. He had arrived the day previous, and we lost
no time in starting for Las Palomas. This trail foreman was about
thirty years of age, a quiet red-headed fellow, giving the name of
Frank Nancrede, and before we had covered half the distance to the
ranch I was satisfied that he was a cowman. I always prided myself on
possessing a good eye for brands, but he outclassed me, reading strange
brands at over a hundred yards, and distinguishing cattle from horse
stock at a distance of three miles.’
We got fairly well acquainted before reaching the ranch, but it was
impossible to start him on any subject save cattle. I was able to give
him a very good idea of the _remuda_, which was then under herd and
waiting his approval, and I saw the man brighten into a smile for the
first time on my offering to help him pick out a good mount for his own
saddle. I had a vague idea of what the trail was like, and felt the
usual boyish attraction for it; but when I tried to draw him out in
regard to it, he advised me, if I had a regular job on a ranch, to let
trail work alone.
We reached the ranch late in the evening and I introduced Nancrede to
Uncle Lance, who took charge of him. We had established a horse camp
for the trail _remuda_, north of the river, and the next morning the
trail foreman, my employer, and June Deweese, rode over to pass on the
saddle stock. The _remuda_ pleased him, being fully up to the contract
standard, and he accepted it with but a single exception. This
exception tickled Uncle Lance, as it gave him an opportunity to annoy
his sister about Nancrede, as he did about every other cowman or drover
who visited the ranch. That evening, as I was chatting with Miss Jean,
who was superintending the Mexican help milking at the cow pen, Uncle
Lance joined us.
“Say, Sis,” said he, “our man Nancrede is a cowman all right. I tried
to ring in a ‘hipped’ horse on him this morning,—one hip knocked down
just the least little bit,—but he noticed it and refused to accept him.
Oh, he’s got an eye in his head all right. So if you say so, I’ll give
him the best horse on the ranch in old Hippy’s place. You’re always
making fun of slab-sided cowmen; he’s pony-built enough to suit you,
and I kind o’ like the color of his hair myself. Did you notice his
neck?—he’ll never tie it if it gets broken. I like a short man; if he
stubs his toe and falls down he doesn’t reach halfway home. Now, if he
has as good cow sense in receiving the herd as he had on the _remuda_,
I’d kind o’ like to have him for a brother-in-law. I’m getting a little
too old for active work and would like to retire, but June, the durn
fool, won’t get married, and about the only show I’ve got is to get a
husband for you. I’d as lief live in Hades as on a ranch without a
woman on it. What do you think of him?”
“Why, I think he’s an awful nice fellow, but he won’t talk. And
besides, I’m not baiting my hook for small fish like trail foremen; I
was aiming to keep my smiles for the contractors. Aren’t they coming
down?”
“Well, they might come to look the herd over before it starts out. Now,
Dupree is a good cowman, but he’s got a wife already. And Camp, the
financial man of the firm, made his money peddling Yankee clocks. Now,
you don’t suppose for a moment I’d let you marry him and carry you away
from Las Palomas. Marry an old clock peddler?—not if he had a million!
The idea! If they come down here and I catch you smiling on old Camp,
I’ll set the hounds on you. What you want to do is to set your cap for
Nancrede. Of course, you’re ten years the elder, but that needn’t cut
any figure. So just burn a few smiles on the red-headed trail foreman!
You know you can count on your loving brother to help all he can.”
The conversation was interrupted by our _segundo_ and the trail foreman
riding up to the cow pen. The two had been up the river during the
afternoon, looking over the cattle on the range, for as yet we had not
commenced gathering. Nancrede was very reticent, discovering a
conspicuous lack of words to express his opinion of what cattle Deweese
had shown him.
The second day after the arrival of the trail foreman, we divided our
forces into two squads and started out to gather our three-year-olds.
By the ranch records, there were over two thousand steers of that age
in the Las Palomas brand. Deweese took ten men and half of the ranch
saddle horses and went up above the mouth of the Ganso to begin
gathering. Uncle Lance took the remainder of the men and horses and
went down the river nearly to Shepherd’s, leaving Dan Happersett and
three Mexicans to hold and night-herd the trail _remuda._ Nancrede
declined to stay at the ranch and so joined our outfit on the
down-river trip. We had postponed the gathering until the last hour,
for every day improved the growing grass on which our mounts must
depend for subsistence, and once we started, there would be little rest
for men or horses.
The younger cattle for the herd were made up within a week after the
invitations were sent to the neighboring ranches. Naturally they would
be the last cattle to be received and would come in for delivery
between the twentieth and the last of the month. With the plans thus
outlined, we started our gathering. Counting Nancrede, we had twelve
men in the saddle in our down-river outfit. Taking nothing but
three-year-olds, we did not accumulate cattle fast; but it was
continuous work, every man, with the exception of Uncle Lance, standing
a guard on night-herd. The first two days we only gathered about five
hundred steers. This number was increased by about three hundred on the
third day, and that evening Dan Happersett with a vaquero rode into
camp and reported that Nancrede’s outfit had arrived from San Antonio.
He had turned the _remuda_ over to them on their arrival, sending the
other two Mexicans to join Deweese above on the river.
The fourth day finished the gathering. Nancrede remained with us to the
last, making a hand which left no doubt in any one’s mind that he was a
cowman from the ground up. The last round-up on the afternoon of the
fourth day, our outriders sighted the vaqueros from Deweese’s outfit,
circling and drifting in the cattle on their half of the circle. The
next morning the two camps were thrown together on the river opposite
the ranch. Deweese had fully as many cattle as we had, and when the two
cuts had been united and counted, we lacked but five head of nineteen
hundred. Several of Nancrede’s men joined us that morning, and within
an hour, under the trail foreman’s directions, we cut back the
overplus, and the cattle were accepted.
Under the contract we were to road-brand them, though Nancrede ordered
his men to assist us in the work. Under ordinary circumstances we
should also have vented the ranch brand, but owing to the fact that
this herd was to be trailed to Abilene, Kansas, and possibly sold
beyond that point, it was unnecessary and therefore omitted. We had a
branding chute on the ranch for grown cattle, and the following morning
the herd was corralled and the road-branding commenced. The cattle were
uniform in size, and the stamping of the figure ‘4’ over the holding
“Lazy L” of Las Palomas, moved like clockwork. With a daybreak start
and an abundance of help the last animal was ironed up before sundown.
As a favor to Nancrede’s outfit, their camp being nearly five miles
distant, we held them the first night after branding.
No sooner had the trail foreman accepted our three-year-olds than he
and Glen Gallup set out for the McLeod ranch on the San Miguel. The day
our branding was finished, the two returned near midnight, reported the
San Miguel cattle accepted and due the next evening at Las Palomas. By
dawn Nancrede and myself started for Santa Maria, the former being
deficient in Spanish, the only weak point, if it was one, in his
make-up as a cowman. We were slightly disappointed in not finding the
cattle ready to pass upon at Santa Maria. That ranch was to deliver
seven hundred, and on our arrival they had not even that number under
herd. Don Mateo, an easy-going ranchero, could not understand the
necessity of such haste. What did it matter if the cattle were
delivered on the twenty-fifth or twenty-seventh? But I explained as
delicately as I could that this was a trail man, whose vocabulary did
not contain _mañana_. In interpreting for Nancrede, I learned something
of the trail myself: that a herd should start with the grass and move
with it, keeping the freshness of spring, day after day and week after
week, as they trailed northward. The trail foreman assured Don Mateo
that had his employers known that this was to be such an early spring,
the herd would have started a week sooner.
By impressing on the ranchero the importance of not delaying this trail
man, we got him to inject a little action into his corporal. We asked
Don Mateo for horses and, joining his outfit, made three rodeos that
afternoon, turning into the cattle under herd nearly two hundred and
fifty head by dark that evening. Nancrede spent a restless night, and
at dawn, as the cattle were leaving the bed ground, he and I got an
easy count on them and culled them down to the required number before
breakfasting. We had some little trouble explaining to Don Mateo the
necessity of giving the bill of sale to my employer, who, in turn,
would reconvey the stock to the contractors. Once the matter was made
clear, the accepted cattle were started for Las Palomas. When we
overtook them an hour afterward, I instructed the corporal, at the
instance of the red-headed foreman, to take a day and a half in
reaching the ranch; that tardiness in gathering must not be made up by
a hasty drive to the point of delivery; that the animals must be
treated humanely.
On reaching the ranch we found that Mr. Booth and some of his neighbors
had arrived from the Frio with their contingent. They had been allotted
six hundred head, and had brought down about two hundred extra cattle
in order to allow some choice in accepting. These were the only mixed
brands that came in on the delivery, and after they had been culled
down and accepted, my employer appointed Aaron Scales as clerk. There
were some five or six owners, and Scales must catch the brands as they
were freed from the branding chute. Several of the owners kept a
private tally, but not once did they have occasion to check up the
Marylander’s decisions. Before the branding of this hunch was finished,
Wilson, from Ramirena, rode into the ranch and announced his cattle
within five miles of Las Palomas. As these were the last two hundred to
be passed upon, Nancrede asked to have them in sight of the ranch by
sun-up in the morning.
On the arrival of the trail outfit from San Antonio, they brought a
letter from the contractors, asking that a conveyance meet them at
Oakville, as they wished to see the herd before it started. Tiburcio
went in with the ambulance to meet them, and they reached the ranch
late at night. On their arrival twenty-six hundred of the cattle had
already been passed upon, branded, and were then being held by
Nancrede’s outfit across the river at their camp. Dupree, being a
practical cowman, understood the situation; but Camp was restless and
uneasy as if he expected to find the cattle in the corrals at the
ranch. Camp was years the older of the two, a pudgy man with a florid
complexion and nasal twang, and kept the junior member busy answering
his questions. Uncle Lance enjoyed the situation, jollying his sister
about the elder contractor and quietly inquiring of the red-haired
foreman how and where Dupree had picked him up.
The contractors had brought no saddles with them, so the ambulance was
the only mode of travel. As we rode out to receive the Wilson cattle
the next morning, Uncle Lance took advantage of the occasion to jolly
Nancrede further about the senior member of the firm, the foreman
smiling appreciatingly. “The way your old man talked last night,” said
he, “you’d think he expected to find the herd in the front yard. Too
bad to disappoint him; for then he could have looked them over with a
lantern from the gallery of the house. Now, if they had been Yankee
clocks instead of cattle, why, he’d been right at home, and could have
taken them in the house and handled them easily. It certainly beats the
dickens why some men want to break into the cattle business. It won’t
surprise me if he asks you to trail the herd past the ranch so he can
see them. Well, you and Dupree will have to make him some _dinero_ this
summer or you will lose him for a partner. I can see that sticking
out.”
We received and branded the two hundred Wilson cattle that forenoon,
sending them to the main herd across the river. Mr. Wilson and Uncle
Lance were great cronies, and as the latter was feeling in fine fettle
over the successful fulfillment of his contract, he was tempted also to
jolly his neighbor ranchero over his cattle, which, by the way, were
fine. “Nate,” said he to Mr. Wilson, “it looks like you’d quit breeding
goats and rear cattle instead. Honest, if I didn’t know your brand, I’d
swear some Mexican raised this bunch. These Fort Worth cowmen are an
easy lot, or yours would never have passed under the classification.”
An hour before noon, Tomas Martines, the corporal of Santa Maria, rode
up to inquire what time we wished his cattle at the corrals. They were
back several miles, and he could deliver them on an hour’s notice. One
o’clock was agreed upon, and, never dismounting, the corporal galloped
away to his herd. “Quirk,” said Nancrede to me, noticing the Mexican’s
unaccustomed air of enterprise, “if we had that fellow under us awhile
we’d make a cow-hand out of him. See the wiggle he gets on himself now,
will you?” Promptly at the hour, the herd were counted and corralled,
Don Mateo Gonzales not troubling to appear, which was mystifying to the
North Texas men, but Uncle Lance explained that a mere incident like
selling seven hundred cattle was not sufficient occasion to arouse the
ranchero of Santa Maria when his corporal could attend to the business.
That evening saw the last of the cattle branded. The herd was completed
and ready to start the following morning. The two contractors were
driven across the river during the afternoon to look over the herd and
_remuda_. At the instance of my employer, I wrote a letter of
congratulation to Don Mateo, handing it to his corporal, informing him
that in the course of ten days a check would he sent him in payment.
Uncle Lance had fully investigated the financial standing of the
contractors, but it was necessary for him to return with them to San
Antonio for a final settlement.
The ambulance made an early start for Oakville on the morning of the
twenty-sixth, carrying the contractors and my employer, and the rest of
us rode away to witness the start of the herd. Nancrede’s outfit
numbered fifteen,—a cook, a horse wrangler, himself, and twelve
outriders. They comprised an odd mixture of men, several barely my age,
while others were gray-haired and looked like veteran cow-hands. On
leaving the Nueces valley, the herd was strung out a mile in length,
and after riding with them until they reached the first hills, we bade
them good-by. As we started to return Frank Nancrede made a remark to
June Deweese which I have often recalled: “You fellows may think this
is a snap; but if I had a job on as good a ranch as Las Palomas, you’d
never catch me on a cattle trail.”