A COW-PUNCHER IN EARNEST.
The round-up was now at hand--that great account of "stock taking,"
literally, the closing of the year's books as it were, on the cattle
range. At its conclusion the ranchman would know whether the previous
winter's storms and cold had allowed him any increase or not. The cattle
roam at will over great tracts of country bounded only by watercourses
and the wire fences along the railways; the herds of one ranchman mingle
with those of another, and only during the round-up are they separated
and the calves marked with their respective owners' brands.
The date of the round-up is fixed beforehand and all the details
arranged, so that when the day arrives every man is ready to take the
field. As several owners have cattle on the range, each sends his quota
of cowboys to do the riding, and all work together under a general head
or round-up boss.
The Sun River Ranch had perhaps the largest number of cattle out, and
its outfit consisted of twenty-five men, with two cook wagons and
several other vehicles to carry beds and various necessaries.
The morning of May 25th, the day set for the rendezvous of the round-up,
was as near perfect as one could wish. With the first streak of light in
the east all hands were routed out, and after a hasty breakfast,
everyone at once set about making the last preparations to take the
field. Some helped the cooks load up their wagons and pack the utensils;
some were busy piling the beds into their places, and the rest were
occupied with their own riding outfits or looking after the large saddle
band.
It was a gay crowd; you would have thought it was a gang of boys off for
a swim instead of a party of men bound on a very serious undertaking,
accompanied, as it was sure to be, with a good deal of danger and no end
of hard work and privation.
John was in the thick of it, looking after the horses he had helped to
break. Of these there were a goodly number, for from six to eight were
required for each man. He noted with pride that "Lite's" bruises had
entirely healed and that his bones were almost wholly hidden by the firm
flesh and muscle he had gained under his new master's watchful care.
The boy was to be one of the gang that represented the Sun River Ranch,
and he looked forward to the round-up as an opportunity to show what was
in him.
At last the procession was ready to move, and amid a chorus of "so
longs" to those left behind, the shouts of men, the whinny of horses,
the rattle and bang of wagons and cooking utensils, the snapping of
whips, and the beating of hoofs, it started.
Little time was wasted in making the journey to the camping place, for
all were anxious to get to work. At this time, men gathered together
from widely separated points, acquaintanceship was renewed and gossip
exchanged. The following morning found them at the appointed camping
ground in convenient proximity to a stream, and at about the centre of
the territory which it was proposed to sweep clean of cattle. Already
the triangle bar ([Symbol: Triangle over bar]) and the M T outfits had
arrived; their cook wagons were unpacked and their fires built. It was
not long before the Sun River boys, called the Three X outfit, from
their brand (XXX), were likewise settled. The settling in order was not
a very elaborate proceeding; there were no carpets to be laid--"the
grass of Uncle Sam" served that purpose admirably--the bric-à-brac
consisting of saddles, bridles, and some harness, which was slung
carelessly on the ground; and the furniture, if the rolled-up blanket
beds could be called such (and there was no other), were left in the
wagons till wanted.
A hole a foot or so deep and a few feet in diameter was dug in the
ground to hold the fire and at the same time prevent it from spreading
to the surrounding prairie--a thing to be dreaded. The tail of the
cook's wagon was let down, thus forming a sort of table and disclosing a
cupboard arrangement. An awning was spread over the whole and it was
ready for business.
As soon as these arrangements were completed the men broke up into
little groups, renewing old friendships and exchanging the bits of news
that one or the other had learned. John hung round the cook's wagon,
making friends with that important individual. He was no poor hand with
the frying-pan himself, and the appreciation of the cook's efforts soon
won over this personage.
"Well, Billy," John was saying, "you'll be kept pretty busy this trip, I
guess."
"Yes, it'll be no easy thing," he answered. "It's a big round-up, and
it's so terrible dry for this time of year and so dusty that the boys'll
be weary and lookin' for trouble--and it'll all come back on me."
"Oh, I guess not," said John consolingly, as he walked about, kicking
the tufted buffalo grass and swishing his quirt about aimlessly. "I tell
you what, Billy, it wouldn't take much to start a fire in this"--he
slapped the grass with his lash. "With a wind like this we'd have a
blaze in a minute that would be harder to stop than----Look out!"
John rushed over to the shallow firepit, shouting warnings as he ran,
and began stamping down the thin edge of fire that was eating its way
into the bone-dry grass. While the two were talking, a gust of wind had
blown a brand out of the pit and into the tinder-like hay. John kept
stamping frantically, and in an instant Billy had joined him and was
also vigorously engaged in crushing out the dreaded flames. They both
shouted lustily, and soon a number of the punchers, seeing the thin
smoke and realizing the danger, came over to help.
Fire is perhaps the thing of all others that the plainsman dreads; a
prairie blaze once fairly started and sweeping over an expanse of
territory is almost impossible to stop, and there is nothing to do but
run before it; man and beast, tame and wild, flee from it. Only charred
and blackened ashes lie behind the swiftly advancing thin line of
flame.
All this came into the minds of the men as they tramped out the red
tongues of flame that lapped ever further along and around. There was no
time to plough round (even if such an aid as a plough could be had) and
so check the fire by turning under what it fed upon. Soon it was seen
that it would take more than the trampling of men's feet to put it out,
and a line was started down the creek with buckets. Then blankets and
gunny sacks were wet and beaten against the flames.
The smoke choked and blinded, and the heat was almost unbearable, but
the men kept the blankets going until the spiteful red tongues drew back
defeated, and died. It was a hard fight for a couple of hours, and when
it was over those who took part were hardly recognizable--faces
blackened and eyes reddened by smoke, hair, beards, and mustaches
singed.
John, who had drawn his smoke-begrimed fingers over his cheeks and
forehead, was a sight; Frank saw him thus and said he looked like a
cross between a tiger and an ourang outang.
[Illustration: ROPED.]
[Illustration: THROWN.]
[Illustration: WHOSE IS IT? A QUESTION OF OWNERSHIP.]
For a day or two after all the outfits came into camp the time was spent
in organizing the round-up and planning the campaign. The ranchmen or
foremen, as the case might be, were extremely busy during this time, but
for once the punchers were at liberty to do as they pleased. All sorts
of cowboy sports were indulged in; horse-racing (where "Lite," like
Baldy, generally came out ahead, under John's understanding jockeyship),
rope-throwing, and feats of horsemanship. What to an Easterner would
appear impossibilities were commonplace acts of good riding for a
cow-puncher. Picking up a hat from the ground while riding at full speed
was a feat of good but not at all extraordinary riding.
The men were full of life and energy--skylarking was going on
continually. It was no place for the seeker of peace and quietness; the
air was filled with cowboy yells and shouts of laughter. The unwary one,
afoot or on horseback, was likely to hear a sudden swish and in a second
find himself hugging mother earth and acting as if he was trying to pull
a peg with his teeth, the result of some rope throwing in his rear.
As evening draws near the word is passed that "real work will begin
to-morrow," and all hands quiet down, realizing that they will need all
the strength that rest can give them. Soon after supper the men pull out
their bed rolls, spread them, and, using their saddles as head rests,
turn in.
The Sun River round-up is in camp. The moon beams placidly down and
shows in high relief the white-topped wagons and tents huddled together.
Beds are scattered here and there upon the ground, and from each comes
the sound of tired men's breathing. Half a dozen saddled and picketed
horses crop the grass near by, and a small bunch of cattle, guarded by a
single rider, who lolls sleepily in his saddle, lie a little further
off, their heavy bodies appearing strange and shapeless in the half
light. A coyote from a little distance barks and howls, but even its
voice is drowsy. The only animated sound comes from a bell on a horse
tinkling as he feeds.
At four o'clock a little red spark appears near the XXX outfit and the
cook can be dimly discerned moving round his wagon. Soon the smoke
begins to pour from his fire, and then the cooks of other outfits also
show signs of life. Tin pans and kettles are heard to rattle, and
breakfast is under way. At a quarter to five the cooks begin the
_reveille_ of the plains; dishpans in hand they move about among the
sleeping men beating an awakening call neither musical nor poetic, but
most effective. Between the strokes comes the long-drawn cry, "Grub
p-i-l-e! Grub p-i-l-e!"
Apparently it is no easier to rouse up from the rough couch, knobbed as
it is with the inequalities of the surface of the ground beneath, than
it is to rise from "flowery beds of ease."
"Cow-punching ain't what it's cracked up to be," said Jerry grumblingly
to John as they lay near a XXX wagon. "I'm goin' to quit after this
round-up and drive a horsecar."
"It is kinder tough," returned the younger. "I haven't got used to
'Lite's' prancin's yet and I'm stiff."
It's the privilege of every working man on land and sea to grumble at
the early getting-up time, and the cow-puncher takes all possible
advantage of this immemorial right. They obeyed the summons,
nevertheless, and by the time the night-wrangler came up with the saddle
band Jerry and John were on hand with the rest of the punchers, having
rolled up and stowed their beds in the wagon. A rope corral was drawn
about them which sufficed to keep them together, the cow-pony having
learned the lesson thoroughly not to run against a rope, even if it is
flimsily supported. Each man took his lariat and flung it over the horse
he wanted to ride that day. As the noose tightened round the neck of
each horse it stood stock still till its owner came up to it. Led a
little apart, the fifty-pound saddle was flung over, and in spite of
more or less struggling the cinches were drawn tight and the heavy
bridle buckled on.
The rush for the mess wagon which followed resembled a run on a bank,
and for a few minutes the clatter of tin dishes and steel knives and
forks drowned all other sounds. A tin cup of strong, black coffee, a
slice or two of bacon, potatoes swimming in gravy, and a generous chunk
of bread comprised the bill of fare.
With plates and cups filled, John and Jerry go off a little way to a
wagon, and sitting cross-legged with backs against the wheels, proceed
to put away with all possible dispatch the food allotted to them. In a
few minutes breakfast is over, when each man brings his dishes and
throws them on the pile which cook is already busily engaged in washing.
Similar proceedings have been going on at all the different outfits at
the same time, and soon all hands converge towards the round-up boss's
camp.
John and Jerry joined the gathering crowd near the "captain's" wagon and
waited for orders. After a few minutes Kline, captain of the round-up,
appeared, a stocky man with a gray beard, slouch hat, and greasy,
round-up clothes, chaps, flannel shirt, and big spurs. The crowd quieted
down instantly.
"Barrett, take six men and go to the head of Bar Creek and rake the
brush like a fine-tooth comb," began Kline. Barrett swung into the
saddle, and picking out six men rode off with them.
"Haggerty, take six men and clean up Crooked Creek; Moore, three men and
go up Indian Gulch," and so the orders went. Each group started on the
instant, and trotting off, disappeared in a cloud of dust. Soon all the
punchers had gone; only the cooks, the horse-wranglers, and a few
drivers were left.
Jerry and John had been sent up a small creek to drive in all the cattle
they found in that section. The head of the creek reached (it was about
fifteen miles off), Jerry, who was riding some distance from John,
signalled to him to turn back and make a detour so as to get around the
animals ahead. At the sight of the riders the wild cattle began to
gather into bunches and stare; this tendency to come together made it
much easier to drive them.
By the time they had driven two miles a considerable number had
gathered, which increased as it moved onward as a snowball gathers bulk
when it is pushed along.
When Jerry and John reached the main valley they were driving perhaps a
couple of hundred head before them. Herds were pouring in from every
direction, and soon the whole valley was filled with a vast mass of
variously tinted animals, their horns tossing like a sea of tall grass.
Over all hung a great cloud of dust that obscured the sun and made it
impossible to distinguish a rider the other side of the herd. "This is
fierce," ejaculated John as he tried to peer through the brown-gray
cloud at another rider.
"A cow-puncher can't live without dust," returned Jerry, whose face was
covered with a gray mask, through which his eyes shone in strong
contrast. "My teeth is worn down and my lungs coated with it, but I
don't mind it no more. Look out for that cow there!"
An old cow, made angry and brave at once by an apparent menace to her
calf, was charging down on John full tilt--tail up, head down, eyes
rolling--vengeance in every motion; for a minute it looked as if he
would be run down: the charging beast was going at such speed that she
would be hard to avoid; but when she was within five feet of the boy's
horse he gave a quick pull on the rein, a sharp jab with his spurs, and
the clever little cow-pony wheeled sharply round and out of range, the
old cow lumbering harmlessly by, her own weight and impetus preventing
her from turning.
"You want to keep your eye out for those old cows with calves,"
admonished Jerry, "they're looking for trouble."
All hands were now busy keeping the great herd together, single animals
were constantly breaking out and had to be driven back; sometimes
several would start at once, when there would be some pretty sharp
riding for a while.
It was about midday, the sun was blazing down from above, the dust rose
in clouds from below, lining mouths and nostrils of the riders. Since
six o'clock they had been in the saddle constantly, and all felt, as
Jerry expressed it, "Plumb empty and bone dry."
The herd presently quieted down somewhat and allowed the men to eat in
relays, some watching while others fed. It was the briefest kind of a
meal, but it sufficed, and in a half hour every man was ready, mounted
on a fresh horse, for the real work of the day--"cutting out."
John and Jerry approached the tumultuous herd, a swirling restless sea
of backs and horns. The din was tremendous; every cow lowed to her calf
and every calf to its mother; the tread of thousands of hoofs even on
the soft earth caused a heavy, rumbling sound that filled the air, and
above all was the sharp rattle of one horn against another, of a
thousand horns against each other. Into this seething mass of living
wild creatures armed with sharp horns, and the tread of whose hoofs was
death, must go the cowboy and his intrepid pony. To drive out the cows
and their accompanying calves, so that the brand of the mother might be
put on the offspring, was the cow-puncher's duty.
Jerry and John were as usual near together, and Jerry as usual
grumbling. He declared that this cow-punching was a dog's life and that
he would surely quit it after this round-up. John, as was his custom of
late, was discoursing on the merits of "Lite." "I'll show you what a
good cutting-out horse he is to-day," the youngster was saying. "You
just watch him." Jerry suddenly rode off to head off a steer that had
broken out of the bunch and so stopped the boy's talk. When he came back
John was about to dismount to aid a weak calf to rise. "Look out!" was
all Jerry had time to shout, as an old cow with horns like spears came
charging down on the stooping boy. It was not her calf, but she thought
it was. John's horse had become startled and ran back so fast that he
could not reach the saddle horn to mount. The infuriated cow was within
twenty feet of him, the cattle hedged him in on every side so he could
not run, and he reached round for his six-shooter as a last resort. He
was about to pull the trigger when Jerry's rope came flying through the
air, settled round the animal's hind legs, and down she came in a heap
just in time.
"You'll take my word next time when I tell you not to dismount in a
bunch of cattle." John said nothing, but he realized that it was a
pretty close shave.
Soon the cutting-out process began, to accomplish which the rider enters
the main bunch, selects a cow with a calf bearing the brand of his
outfit, and drives them out to a place apart, where other riders keep
them separated from the main bunch and from the similar collections of
other brands. To select his own brand from dozens of others requires a
quick and sure eye on the part of the rider, and to follow that
particular cow through all the turnings and twistings she is sure to
take, requires great cleverness and perseverance on the part of the
horse.
It was "Lite's" first experience as a cutting-out horse, but John had
full confidence in his ability in this as in every other branch of
cow-pony education. "You just watch him"--this to Jerry, who had
expressed some doubts. John and Lightning rushed into the sea of cattle.
Whether by the gentle pressure of the knees or remarkable knowledge
Jerry knew not, but he saw the little horse single out an animal and
start it out, following directly at its heels. It turned to the left
sharply; Lightning deftly threw his fore legs over its back and stood in
its path; it turned to the right--horse and rider were there also.
Through the herd they went full speed, twisting, turning, passing
through lanes of cattle so narrow that John's legs rubbed their rough
bodies on either side; but always they were close at the heels of the
XXX cow, and finally they drove her out where Jerry was guarding several
others of the same outfit.
"How's that?" said John breathlessly. It was hard work for horse and
rider, particularly for the former.
"That's all right," Jerry answered, more enthusiastically than was his
wont. "He's got the making of a good cow-horse in him."