A MISHAP.
The weather cleared toward morning, and the sun rose without a cloud
obscuring its face. The halt had been made along a small tributary of
the Wichita, whose upper waters flow through the country of the Kiowas,
Comanches, and Apaches, that of the Cheyennes and Arapahoes lying
further north.
The scene was inspiriting. The cowboys gathered around the wagon for
breakfast, the cook having been thoughtful enough to protect the wood
against the rain. The animals were busy cropping the grass, which was
rich and succulent on all sides of the Trail, the hands for the time
being bestowing only general attention on them, but everyone was ready
to leap into the saddle and dash off at a instant's call.
Captain Shirril discovered that a bunch of thirty cattle were missing,
and believed they had joined his friend's herd a mile to the southward,
from which it would be necessary to separate or cut them out.
Antonio Nunez, the Mexican, and Shackaye, the Comanche (the latter of
whom showed no evidence of having been engaged in questionable business
during the preceding night), were similarly attired, though it would be
supposed that the full-blooded Indian would have dressed in accordance
with the fashion of his people. He claimed, however, to have been
engaged in the cattle business before, and, when he first presented
himself in camp on his wiry pony, he wore the broad-brimmed sombrero,
baggy leather breeches, and red sash around his waist, which were the
most noticeable features of the Mexican's make-up.
The Comanche, however, used no spurs, his feet being shod with
moccasins, and, instead of the revolver worn by the Mexicans, he carried
a knife thrust in at his girdle and a breech-loading rifle, which was
not repeating.
The cowboys sported the same broad-brimmed hats, which in some
instances cost more than all the rest of their suits, the leggings,
flannel overshirts, and gaudy handkerchiefs tied loosely around their
necks.
All, as a matter of course, were expert horsemen, and were furnished
with two or three excellent animals apiece, for their business is as
trying upon them as upon the men.
The meal was quickly finished, and Captain Shirril, with two of his
hands, set out for the camp to the rear, where he hoped to find the
missing cattle. Since there was a possibility that they had strayed in
other directions, three more men were despatched to make search.
It was rather curious that the captain selected as his assistants his
nephew Avon and the young Comanche Shackaye. When they were riding off,
Gleeson, the Texan, looked at the youth and winked, but said nothing.
Half-way to the camp, the three galloped over a ridge or swell in the
prairie, when to their surprise they came upon the missing animals
browsing just beyond.
"That's lucky!" said the captain; "the job is going to be easier than I
supposed. Avon, you and Shackaye ride to the left, while I will turn to
the right. Look out for that ugly steer; we have had trouble with him
before, and I believe he is in a bad mood now."
The Indian grinned on hearing these words and said:
"Me no 'fraid; me rope him if he fight."
And to show his contempt for the huge brute, he drove his mustang
straight for him as he was grazing on the further side of the group. The
steer raised his head, with the grass hanging from his jaws, and looked
quietly at the approaching Indian. He seemed to be in doubt as to his
purpose, until Shackaye, when almost upon him, swung his arm above his
head and uttered a tantalizing shout, as if he wished to enrage the
beast.
If such was his purpose he succeeded, for with a muttered bellow, the
steer dropped his head and charged fiercely at the pony, which, to save
himself, was obliged to wheel with such suddenness that the young
Comanche, despite his superb horsemanship, was thrown violently to the
ground directly in front of the animal.
Occasionally a cowboy is caught in the perilous situation of the young
Comanche. His horse may stumble, his lasso (always called a "rope"
except in California) become entangled, or he may be thrown to the
ground in the path of the charging steer or bull, which is sure to be
upon him before he can regain his feet and steed.
In such emergencies there is but the single thing to do: that is, to
shoot the animal, and to hesitate to do so means certain death to the
endangered cattleman.
Two causes prevented Shackaye from appealing to this last and only
recourse. His fall was so violent that he was slightly dazed, though he
did not lose sight of his peril, but he made the mistake of attempting
to climb to his feet and darting aside, when the time at command was
insufficient to take him beyond reach of the savage steer.
His rifle remained in place on the front of his saddle, so that it was
beyond his reach, while, as I have stated elsewhere, he carried no
pistol. He was, therefore, without firearms.
Captain Shirril was fully two hundred yards away, but he saw the
imminence of the danger, and, bringing his gun to a level, fired at the
steer, calling at the same moment to his nephew to shoot it. The
captain's bullet struck the beast, but without producing any effect,
unless to add to his rage.
It took Avon but a second or two to raise his Winchester to his shoulder
and aim at the animal, which was near at hand.
"If I was sure that was you last night," he thought, "I would let the
steer do his duty, but maybe you are innocent, so here goes!"
It was no special feat of marksmanship to send a rifle-ball through the
heart of the charging brute, but he was so close to the Comanche when he
received the shot that he would have tumbled over him, had not Shackaye
managed to roll aside in time to avoid the huge mass, which ploughed
along the ground, as if fired from an enormous gun.
The occurrence alarmed the other cattle, and they started off at such a
pace that the instant attention of the captain and his nephew was
required. Paying no further heed to the unhorsed Shackaye, Avon sent his
mustang after the flying animals, the captain doing the same from his
direction.
The hardest of riding was required to round them up and turn their faces
toward the main herd, and it was not long before Avon found himself
pitted against a steer fully as ugly as that which he had been obliged
to shoot a few minutes before. All the others were finally forced into
the right course, and this obstinate animal was disposed to join them,
but after trotting for a short distance, he seemed to tire of being
good, and, wheeling about, charged like a runaway engine at the youthful
horseman who was harrying him so hard.
In such crises a great deal depends on the intelligence of the horse.
Thunderbolt sprang aside with the nimbleness of a monkey, and Avon
received just enough warning to hold his place in the saddle. The steer
attempted to keep up his pursuit, turning with remarkable quickness for
such a large animal, but the dexterity of Thunderbolt was still greater,
and he easily evaded the sharp horns which came near him more than once.
Finally, as if he saw the uselessness of his pursuit, the steer headed
in the opposite direction from that which he ought to have taken, and
sped away with all the fleetness he possessed.
Avon saw his uncle galloping to his help.
"Leave him to me!" called the nephew; "I'll conquer him."
Captain Shirril drew up, and, from his perch in the saddle, watched the
result of the curious contest.
Avon had his rope ready to fling over the horns of the fugitive, but
before doing so, he resorted to another artifice, which few persons of
his years can carry out successfully. It is not only difficult, but it
is vastly more dangerous, in the event of the animal showing fight, as
the steer had already done.
It was necessary to force Thunderbolt close beside the fugitive, and,
despite the courage of the mustang, it was only natural that he should
feel some reluctance against doing this. Those horns possessed
prodigious length and sharpness, and had already been turned upon him;
but he was obedient, and urged by the pricking of the spur and the words
of his master, he edged still nearer, though it need not be said that he
kept an eye to windward. It was well he did so.
Young Burnet was in the act of leaning forward to attempt the dangerous
and difficult feat, when the steer again dropped his head, with one side
lower than the other, as such animals do when assailing a foe sideways,
and charged upon the mustang.
Nine horses out of ten would have been fatally impaled by the suddenness
of the assault, for there was no time for him to wheel; but with a
dexterity that seemed incredible, he instantly rose on his hind feet and
bounded clean over the steer. The wonder of the exploit was how the
horse gathered himself and applied his strength with such astonishing
quickness, but he did it like a trained gymnast, his rider maintaining
his seat without difficulty and feeling a thrill of admiration at the
amazing skill of his steed.
If a dumb animal can ever show surprise, the steer displayed it at the
action of the mustang. Having made his lunge with his horns, he must
have become aware that, instead of piercing flesh and blood, they clove
vacancy only. With his head aloft, and snorting with anger, he stared
where the horse and rider were a moment before, but where now they were
not.
He looked to the right and left, as if unable to comprehend what had
become of them. Captain Shirril was seated motionless on his steed,
several hundred yards distant, and, if the steer decided for a moment in
his own mind that he was the individual he was looking for, he must have
been puzzled to know how it was his horse traveled so far in such an
amazingly brief space of time.
The sound of hoofs caused the animal to look on the other side of him,
where, sure enough, only a short distance off was the identical
offender, calmly surveying him as if plotting further mischief.
Instantly the head of the steer dropped again, and he was in the act of
charging with the same impetuosity as before, when he changed his mind,
and, instead of becoming a pursuer, resumed the character of a
fugitive.