JACK
THE YOUNG COWBOY
_By the same Author_
JACK THE YOUNG COWBOY
JACK THE YOUNG TRAPPER
JACK THE YOUNG CANOEMAN
JACK THE YOUNG EXPLORER
JACK IN THE ROCKIES
JACK AMONG THE INDIANS
JACK THE YOUNG RANCHMAN
PAWNEE HERO STORIES AND FOLK TALES
BLACKFOOT LODGE TALES
THE STORY OF THE INDIAN
THE INDIANS OF TO-DAY
THE PUNISHMENT OF THE STINGY
AMERICAN DUCK SHOOTING
AMERICAN GAME BIRD SHOOTING
TRAILS OF THE PATHFINDERS
[Illustration: COWBOY STARTING FOR THE ROUND-UP CAMP.
_Photo by the Morris Art Studio, Chinook, Mont._]
JACK
THE YOUNG COWBOY
_An Eastern Boy's Experience on a
Western Round-up_
BY
GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL
_WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1913, by_
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
_All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian_
Ninth Printing, August 12, 1935
_Printed in the United States of America_
INTRODUCTION
Jack's cowboy life began just as a great change was sweeping over the
cattle range. Cattle had first been brought into the country only a few
years before--old-fashioned long-horns driven up over the trail from
Texas.
In those days the people in the West were not many. Towns were small,
farms almost unknown, wagon roads few. Except about the pastures of the
larger ranches, there were no fences. Over most of the land the cowboy
roamed alone.
His seemed a life of romance. Free as the birds, he wandered over the
wide range, going when and where he pleased. But this romance was only
apparent. No man worked harder than he, or for less reward. His toilful
days and short broken nights; his small pay and his poor food were
recorded in the songs that he sang as he rode about the cattle. This
was in the early days of the cattle industry.
A little later, on the plains came a change from pioneer conditions to
those approaching luxury.
The earlier cattlemen in the North--those who ranged their stock on the
Platte and the various forks of the Loup River--made great profits. Yet
as time went on they saw competition constantly growing sharper and
ranges being overstocked. As the news of their profits drifted eastward
many young men, allured by the romance of the cowboy's life, and
ignorant of its actual conditions, came into the cattle country. These
believed that success with cattle was to be attained by riding about
and watching the cattle increase and grow, and shipping them to market
when they had grown. They were glad to be interested in a business at
once so agreeable and so profitable; and many a one exchanged his money
for a herd, a brand and some log buildings, and rode over the range
awaiting the advent of his riches. Many of the early cattlemen sold
their herds to the newcomers, who, somewhat later, discovered that with
the cattle they had bought also much experience.
These changes were in operation when Jack entered on his cowboy life.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE TRAGEDY AT POWELL'S 1
II A ROBBER TURNED LOOSE 13
III TO THE ROUND-UP CAMP 24
IV OLD FRIENDS 34
V CUTTING AND BRANDING 42
VI RIDING CIRCLE 55
VII A BULL FIGHT 66
VIII A BUFFALO STORY 78
IX VICENTE, COWHAND 88
X THE FENCELESS LAND 98
XI TANNING A BUCKSKIN 110
XII INDIAN STORIES 120
XIII BIG WOLVES 133
XIV A BAD MAN 144
XV AN ENGLISHMAN IN CAMP 155
XVI A LESSON IN ROPING 165
XVII DRIFTING 176
XVIII A STAMPEDE 187
XIX COW HORSES AND THEIR WORK 200
XX ROPING A BEAR 211
XXI A CALIFORNIA BEAR HUNT 221
XXII HUNTING WITH A SIX-SHOOTER 230
XXIII A LOAD OF MEAT 240
XXIV FLAGGING AN ANTELOPE 252
XXV THE DANCE AT THE SCHOOLHOUSE 266
ILLUSTRATIONS
Cowboy starting for the round-up camp _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
"The cow started straight off over the prairie" 48
Branding in the corral 170
Gentling a wild one 250
JACK, THE YOUNG COWBOY
CHAPTER I
THE TRAGEDY AT POWELL'S
"Well, Jack," said Mr. Sturgis, "I do not know where you'll find them,
but possibly somewhere over on the Little Medicine. If I were you, I'd
ride over to Powell's. They are sure to know where the outfit is, and
if you can't reach camp to-night, you can stop at Powell's."
"All right, Uncle Will; I'll go over there and probably get to camp
to-night."
Jack shook hands with his uncle, and stepping back to his horse threw
the reins over Pawnee's head, and swung into the saddle. With a final
wave of his hand, he trotted off toward where his string of horses were
feeding on the meadow before the house, and riding to and fro behind
the scattered bunch, gathered them together and started on down the
road.
Mr. Sturgis stood in front of the corral filling his pipe, and watching
his nephew grow smaller and smaller, as he moved along down the road
close to the pasture fence. It seemed to him a long time since he had
first brought Jack out from far New York to the Swift Water Ranch, a
little slip of a lad, thin and pale. He remembered their first drive
from the railroad: how he had killed a bear crossing the road, and how
Jack had seen what he supposed to be an Indian dog, which, of course,
was a coyote.
"My!" said Mr. Sturgis to himself, "certainly the years slip by! Then
I could have lifted that little fellow and held him out with one hand;
and now he is big enough to lift me!"
Jack had risen that morning soon after daylight, and had gone out to
get his horses together. The night before, Joe had brought in and put
in the small pasture the few saddle horses left at the ranch. That
morning they had been driven into the corral, and Jack, aided by Joe's
knowledge of the animals, had selected six for his string to ride on
the round-up, taking along his old favorite Pawnee for a regular riding
horse, but not for a cow horse. Good saddle animal as Pawnee was, Jack
thought too much of him to be willing to use him in the long rough work
of riding circle or branding calves, or throwing big cows, if any old
mavericks should be found. For the most part Pawnee should travel in
the _cávaya_,[A] though sometimes he might be used on night herd. Jack
made up his mind that hard work Pawnee should not do. "Give him just
enough exercise to make him enjoy his victuals," Joe had said that
morning when they were talking the string over.
The horses had been brought into the corral, and one after another of
those chosen had been cut out and sent out through the big gate, all
except the one that was to carry Jack's bed. That one had been roped
and taken out and tied up to the fence. Then Jack had gone up to the
house and brought down his blankets and a few extra clothes, and
having wrapped them up in his "tarp," the bundle had been put on the
horse with the regular cowboy hitch, and the animal had been set free
to feed with its fellows. Then had come breakfast, and he was ready.
It was nearly a year since Jack had crossed a horse, and it seemed very
pleasant to be trotting along over the prairie, the bunch going nicely
ahead of him. They were fat and frisky and every now and then one of
them would lay back his ears and nip at his neighbor, and perhaps the
sudden motion would start the little bunch into a gallop, from which
they would almost at once come down again to the steady trot.
There had been rain enough--so they said at the ranch--during April,
May and the first few days of June, but now the prairie was dry and a
little cloud of dust rose from under the horses' hoofs. The bottoms and
the high hills were brightly green. Moreover, they were dotted with
many beautiful flowers--which of course Jack could not see, because he
was moving along swiftly--and down on one of the wet meadows the purple
iris, already in bloom, had colored the ground blue in spots.
It was a couple of years now since Jack had been to the ranch, and a
good many things had happened; for when a boy is from seventeen to
nineteen years of age, things are likely to happen to him pretty fast.
He receives many new impressions, has new experiences, and certainly
picks up knowledge of one sort or another at a rapid rate. Since
Jack had last seen these prairies and mountains he had passed his
examinations, entered college, and spent nearly two years there. He had
certainly had a good time while he was in New Haven. The toughness and
endurance that he had picked up during his summers on the plains and in
the mountains had stood him in good stead in athletics and he had won
a place on one of the football teams. During a part of his sophomore
year, he had had the bad fortune to have a long and tiresome illness
from which he was only now convalescing, and since he had lost much
time, it had been thought best for him to go out to his uncle's ranch
before the end of the college year and to spend the vacation there in
getting well.
When he reached the Swift Water Ranch two days before, the round-up
had already started and now was in full swing; and Mr. Sturgis, after
satisfying himself that Jack was strong enough to do the work, had
told him that the best thing for him would be to go out and find the
round-up, and work with it. Nothing could have suited Jack better. Hugh
was along as a sort of camp-keeper. Mr. Powell and Charley Powell were
sure to be there, and so were half a dozen other men whom Jack knew
very well, and with whom he would be glad to work. He felt that he was
going to have a good time. In fact, he was having a good time now. The
air was fresh and cool, the sun bright; far off on the green hills he
could see here and there a little white speck which he knew was an
antelope; from the fence posts along which he passed sounded the clear
whistle of the western meadow lark; and everywhere the air was full
of sweet songs of birds, though of them all the meadow lark's was the
loudest and clearest.
Jack's outfit was that commonly used by the cow puncher. He wore a
flannel shirt and woolen trousers, gloves, and shaps--heavy leather
trousers without any seat, to protect the legs when riding through
underbrush or thorns. About his waist was his pistol-belt filled with
cartridges, while the six-shooter hung well down on his right hip.
It must not be supposed that Jack carried a gun with any purpose of
using it against his fellow men, but in those old days of wild prairie
and wild cattle a pistol was almost a necessity. While sometimes it
was used to kill game, or perhaps against dangerous animals, it often
came in play to frighten an angry cow, or to turn a bunch of stampeding
cattle.
Before long Jack had left behind him the pasture fence, and when
he looked back could no longer see the ranch buildings which, low
themselves, and placed in a sheltered hollow, were now cut off by the
points of the rounded hills. His course lay southeast across the basin.
Now and then the horses, uncertain as to the direction they should
take, veered to one side or the other, so that the driver had to ride
out on the side toward which they turned and shout at them to head them
back.
The miles passed quickly. Occasionally, on some nearby hill Jack saw
a little bunch of antelopes--old males with long black horns, and
yearlings, both males and females. They looked at him as he drew near,
and if he approached too close, ran up to the top of some rise and
watched him long after he had passed.
It was after he had crossed the valley, and was riding up through the
low foothills that stretched out from the bluffs on the other side,
that an old doe antelope burst suddenly from a little coulée close to
the bunch of horses, and passing in front of them galloped up the hill
on the other side. Almost immediately behind her was a coyote running
hard. When it saw the horses it checked itself, and an instant later as
it saw the rider, turned and ran. The old doe had done her best, but
except for the incident of the horses' being there, she would soon have
been pulled down. Her black tongue hung far out of her mouth, and she
staggered as she ran.
Jack understood very well what was happening. Evidently two or more
coyotes had started this doe, and were taking turns chasing her, one
relieving the other which, by cutting off the corners, could save
itself, and after it had regained its wind, take up the chase again. So
the race might have kept up for an hour or more, until finally, the old
doe would have been overtaken, pulled down, and devoured.
To Jack all this was a matter of common knowledge, for more than once
he had seen almost that very thing happen. It took him only a moment,
therefore, to whirl his horse. Giving him a jab with the spurs, he
was close upon the coyote almost before it had started to run. He had
jerked out his six-shooter, and as two or three balls knocked up puffs
of dust about the coyote, the beast put on a tremendous spurt of speed.
It was impossible to take aim from the back of the galloping horse,
but one ball passing over the coyote's head caused it to whirl and run
broadside for a jump or two, and as it did this, it came in collision
with another ball, which quickly ended its career.
"Good enough!" said Jack to himself. "That is better luck than I
deserved. I didn't hope to do more than scare the beast, and now I have
got it." He rode over and sat on his horse looking down at the coyote,
from whose hide great patches of fur had been lost, for the animals
were now just shedding their winter coats. Evidently the hide was not
worth taking off, and so Jack dismounted and cut off the coyote's
head, for in those days there was a bounty on these beasts, and the
bounty was worth having. He tied the head to the saddle, remounted, and
started down toward his horses. They had stopped and were now feeding,
but before long he had them moving again.
Riding steadily and fast across the plateau, he saw to his left
something moving, and watching it for a few moments saw that it was a
badger digging its hole. Every now and then the badger would sit up and
look about him, and then again would put its forefeet on the ground and
begin to dig. When he had got as close to the badger as the trail would
bring him, Jack suddenly turned Pawnee and galloped toward the creature
at a good rate. The badger at once noticed the change of direction, and
set to work digging harder. By the time Jack had reached the hole, the
animal was already twelve or fifteen inches under ground, and was quite
covered by the loosened earth of the hole. For a moment Jack was going
to shoot down through the earth, which was heaving and moving from the
struggles of the beast below, but then it occurred to him that there
was no especial reason for doing this, since the badger could not be
used in any way. Its hide would be useless, and there was no reason
for killing it. Moreover, badgers kill a good many prairie dogs which
eat grass, and gophers which destroy gardens, and every badger killed
means an increase in the dog and gopher population. There came to him,
too, the memory of what Hugh more than once had said to him--that there
was no sense in killing things unless you could make some use of them.
He watched the moving earth for two or three minutes. If he had had a
stick he would have poked it down in the hole, to feel the badger, but
he had seen too many badgers to be willing to put his hand down in this
hole, even though the hand were protected by a stout glove.
Presently he was on his horse again, and the bunch was once more
started on the road toward Powell's ranch. The horses, which had been
going all day, were now very willing to stop, and were eager at any
moment to get a bite of grass. Jack kept them to their work, however,
and a little later, when he came to the edge of the plateau, he was
glad to see the valley below him and Powell's ranch buildings in the
distance. He rode down toward the houses, following the little sag; but
as he went down the hill the Powell buildings were no longer in sight,
for they were hidden by the ridges on either side the road.
* * * * *
At the Powell ranch it was long after noon; dinner was over; the
dishes had been put away and Mrs. Powell and Bess were sewing in the
living-room. All the men had gone off on the round-up, and these two
were left here alone, as so often they had been left alone before.
Presently Bess glanced through one of the windows which looked over the
road leading from the valley.
"Here come some people--a couple of men and a pack horse," she said to
her mother.
A little later the riders drew up in front of the house, and one of
them dismounting came to the kitchen door and knocked. Bess went to the
door and saw there a tall, spare, middle-aged man. There was nothing
especially noticeable about him except that he had rather keen, fierce
eyes, a hooked nose, and a black, drooping mustache. As she opened the
door he nodded and said to her:
"How do you do, ma'am? We men are traveling south to go to the
railroad. We've got to get to Cheyenne. We've come quite a way from the
north, and we've run plumb out of grub. We haven't any money, more'n
just enough for our tickets, and I was wondering if you would give us a
meal. If we can get something to eat, we can go in comfortably to town
and catch the east-bound passenger to-night."
"Why, certainly!" said Bess. "We'll be glad to give you something to
eat. Tie up your horses and come in and sit down. It won't take long to
get you some dinner."
Leaving the door open, she went back to her mother and told her what
the riders wanted, and the two women went into the kitchen and began to
start the fire and to prepare a meal. Meantime the men tied up their
horses and seated themselves just outside the kitchen door. Mrs. Powell
asked once if they would not come in, and sit in the living-room, but
they said no, they were comfortable there.
Presently dinner was ready and the men, called in, ate hungrily of
bacon, potatoes and bread and butter, and seemed especially to enjoy
the coffee. The young man had nothing to say; but the older one, after
he had satisfied his hunger, talked a little about matters up north,
told of things that were happening at Buffalo, and spoke of having
passed a round-up camp early that morning.
"That's where our men folks are," said Mrs. Powell. "They're all off
riding the country, and won't be back until the round-up is over."
When the men had finished their meal, the older one thanked Mrs.
Powell; and going outside, the two sat down by the door and lighting
their pipes talked in low tones. Mrs. Powell and Bess cleared off the
table, washed and put away the dishes, and returned to the living-room.
Presently the older of the two men rose to his feet and said to the
younger:
"Come on, now! We may as well try it! It'll be a big help to us if we
can get a little money; and we can get on the train, and be well out of
the country before anybody knows anything about it."
"Aw, Bill, don't do it," said the younger man; "these people have been
good to us. It'll be mighty mean to frighten 'em, or take anything from
'em."
"Hold your yawp!" growled the man called Bill. "If they've got
anything, I'm going to have it; and you've got to back me up and stand
half the blame!" He rested his hands on his hips, and looked fiercely
at his companion, who dolefully got up on his feet and followed Bill
into the house. At the door of the living-room Bill stopped.
"I told you, ma'am," he said, "that we're going to the railroad, and
that we're going to Cheyenne, but we ain't got any money to pay the
railroad fares, and I thought I'd ask you if you wouldn't give us what
we need?"
"Is the man crazy!" cried Mrs. Powell, angrily. "I'm not a bank; and
if you've been any time in this country you must know that people on
ranches don't keep money. What would we spend money for here?"
"I reckon that's so, ma'am," said Bill; "but I reckon too that your man
didn't go away and leave you without a cent, and whatever you've got,
I'll take, and take it quick!"
He stepped into the room toward Mrs. Powell, and she saw at once that
the man meant what he said and that asking for money was no longer a
request but a demand.
"Honestly," she protested, "I have no money. When Mr. Powell went away
he didn't expect us to leave the ranch, and he knew we didn't need any
money here. You'll have to try to borrow some in town when you get to
the railroad."
"Well," said the man, "if you haven't any money you've got a watch
there, and I'll take that, and maybe when I get to town I can borrow
two or three dollars on it."
He stepped forward and reached out to take from her belt a little watch
whose ring he could see above her apron strings; but Mrs. Powell drew
back.
"You shan't have that watch!" she cried. "I've had that ever since I
was married, and I won't give it to you!"
The man caught her arm with his left hand and reached for the watch
with his right hand; and Mrs. Powell screamed.
"Hold on!" said Bessie. "Let go my mother! I've got some money, and
I'll give it to you."
"You've got some money, have you?" said Bill, releasing Mrs. Powell's
arm.
"Yes; I have twenty-two dollars I was saving up to buy a saddle, and if
you will clear out right off, I'll give it to you."
"All right," agreed Bill. "We'll go. Let's have it. But don't try to
play any tricks, young woman."
"I'll get it for you right away," Bessie said; "it's here in my
bedroom."
"All right," repeated Bill. "Be quick about it!"
Bessie ran into the bedroom and was heard to pull open a drawer, and a
few seconds later a shot sounded. Bill staggered a little, felt for his
pistol, and then turned around and fell to the floor; while the young
man who had stood in the door ran out through the kitchen, jumped on
his horse, and galloped off.
[Footnote A: _Cávaya_ from the Spanish word _caballada_, the horse
herd.]