CUTTING AND BRANDING
The sun was just getting ready to look over the hills the next morning
and the men were hastily bolting their breakfast, when the horse
wrangler brought up the cávaya to the camp. Before this, some of the
men had driven into the ground five stakes, four of them marking the
four corners of a square of considerable size, with one stake between
two of the corners, or on one side of this square. A sixth stake was
driven out on the prairie a few yards from one end of the three stakes
in line, and at right-angles to that line, thus
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* * *
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To the tops of these stakes, which were only three feet high, were tied
ropes which when pulled tight would make a rope enclosure, complete on
three and one-half of its sides, but with an opening between one of the
corner stakes and the one standing between the two corners. From one of
the corner stakes to the one standing alone on the prairie, ran another
rope, making a sort of wing which would stop animals tending to walk
by the corner, and would turn them into the opening.
Down on the plains in old times rope corrals were often made by tying
ropes to the front and hind wheels of a wagon, and stretching them out
at right angles to the length of the wagon. The horses were driven into
this corral and then caught there. The Texas ponies of those earlier
days were cunning little rascals and many of them had learned to put
the nose down close to the ground and get the head under the rope and
then raising the head to push out. Of course when one had got out and
rushed away, the others would follow, pushing down the rope and getting
free. Often the man who was holding the end of the rope, seeing a horse
about to push under, would slacken the rope until it was under the
pony's nose, and then, giving the rope a quick jerk, it would spring up
and hit the horse, making him throw up his head. In the mountains such
corrals were sometimes used, but as often those made with the stakes.
The cávaya was driven very slowly toward this rope corral and some of
the boys ran out to it, one handling the rope which was to act as a
wing and the others the ropes which ran from corner to corner of the
corral. The horse wrangler drove his animals along at a walk and turned
them into the opening of the corral, the men at the ropes raising them
as the horses entered. The horses stopped and made no attempt to push
against the ropes. After the whole bunch had entered the corral, the
man at the wing rope walked around and stood by the middle one of the
three stakes in line, thus completely closing the corral. Ducking under
the ropes, the boys now went slowly and quietly into the enclosure,
and caught the gentle horses, which, one by one, they led out and tied.
Over the heads of any horses that were not willing to be caught, ropes
were quietly tossed, and the horses led out.
Jack, who was taking part in all this work, was interested, as he had
been so many times before, in seeing the remarkable change of demeanor
in a horse, just as soon as it feels a rope on it. The animal may be
wild and frisky--apparently untamable--in the corral, but let the rope
drop over its head, and it is at once transformed into the meekest and
most commonplace of animals.
Of course, this is not true of young colts that have not been broken,
but the horse that has had a few falls, and has learned the power of
the rope, always fears it.
When all the men had caught up their horses, and the ropes had been
taken from the corral, the rest of the bunch were allowed to wander
off, while the horse wrangler went to the cook tent to get his
breakfast.
Now followed a scene more or less amusing and exciting, or irritating
and tiresome, as one happened to look at it. Many cow horses, even
though well broken, always object to being saddled, while some
object both to being saddled and to being mounted. Now and then was
found a horse that had to be blinded before he could be saddled; and
occasionally one that refused to be bridled. The younger men shouted
and made much fun of their fellows who had horses that were disposed to
be nervous, or to object to the saddle.
The older men, when after some trouble they had succeeded in getting
the saddles on their horses, and the cinches drawn, were likely to
lead the animals up and down by a rope, and let them buck with the
empty saddle.
The horse selected this morning by Tulare Joe was young, skittish and
rather disposed to make trouble. When Joe approached him, carrying the
blanket in his hand, he reared and sometimes came forward on his hind
legs striking with his forefeet. The young man was cool and quick, and
showed no impatience whatever, but after a few minutes' fruitless work
of this sort he called to Jack, who was standing looking on, having
saddled his own quiet horse, and asked him to bring his rope. As Jack
approached, Joe called to him:
"The next time this horse goes up in the air catch him and throw him
for me."
The opportunity came a moment or two later. Jack threw the rope, from
a little behind the horse, caught it and gave a sidewise tug while the
horse was on its hind legs. The animal fell heavily. Joe jumped on
its head, while Jack quickly looped the lariat around its hind legs
and tied the horse fast. Without the slightest sign of impatience,
Joe lifted the horse's head, and bridled him, while Jack brought the
saddle; and a moment later, having had the rope loosed which bound its
feet, the half dazed animal stood up and in a few seconds was saddled.
"Much obliged, Jack," said Joe. "You saved me a little time, and have
cut those fellows out of a whole lot of the joshing they would have
given me while I was fooling with this horse alone. Then, too, you had
added some to McIntyre's peace of mind. He thinks the horses brought on
a round-up ought to be gentled before the round-up starts, and hates
to see time wasted with a horse that is hard to handle."
"Well, Joe," was the response, "I like the way you handle your horse.
Most of us lose our patience and kick and swear and pound a horse with
a quirt; and that is something that does no good. I know years ago,
when I was a little fellow, and was first out here, Hugh used to tell
me that the main reason why a man was better than a horse was that
he had sense, and if he didn't use his sense, why he wasn't of much
account."
Joe laughed.
"You take it from me," he said, "that old man knows a heap, and if
you've been traveling around with him for some years, like you say you
have, I reckon that you know that a heap sight better than I can tell
you."
By this time most of the men had already started out toward the large
bunch of cattle now scattered over the prairie, feeding. McIntyre,
the foreman, had given orders to the men as to where the various
bunches were to be held, and the representatives of the different
brands were talking with each other about this. In this bunch of
cattle there were four principal brands, which must now be separated
and divided into four herds, each one of which would be driven off by
the representatives of the brand. Besides the cattle bearing these
four brands, there were, of course, in the large bunch a number of
strays--cattle that perhaps had wandered on to the range from a
distance, or that had been dropped by some one driving a herd through
the country, or that were owned by small people, the size of whose
bunch did not justify them in sending a representative with the
round-up. Of these strays many would be recognized by the cow men
present. Those would be turned into the bunch of cut cattle that would
pass nearest to the ranch of the owner, while others bearing brands
unknown to any of the cow punchers would be kept with the biggest herd,
turned out on the home range of that bunch, and perhaps watched for a
while in the hope that an owner would turn up. If none was found, the
stock association would be notified and the animal turned over to it.
As Jack and Joe drew near the big bunch, half a dozen men were
circling around it, bringing it together in a close, compact mass,
while two or three other riders were urging their horses among the
cattle, scrutinizing the brand which each bore. Most of the cattle had
completely shed their winter coats and were short-haired and smooth,
so that the brands showed up well and could be read at a considerable
distance.
It was interesting to Jack, as it is to every one who witnesses it, to
see the trained cow horse follow an animal. There, for example, was a
blue roan cow pushing her way through the thick mass of the herd, just
ahead of the horse ridden by Rube. The horse was going at a trot and
was close to the heels of the cow, which seemed to push always toward
the place where the cattle were crowded thickest. Presently Rube got
her out from the center of the herd and over toward the edge, and every
time that she turned to go back toward the center the little horse,
with ears pricked forward, dodged more quickly and got in her way. So,
little by little, she was edged out to the border of the bunch; and
then it was seen that, running close by her side and almost under her
belly, was a strong and sturdy calf that must have been born in March
or early April. As soon as the cow had reached the edge of the herd
the little pony galloped forward, driving straight toward her except
when she tried to break back, and then always getting in her way. Rube
now swung his quirt over his head and presently the cow, giving up the
struggle to return, started straight off over the prairie to a little
bunch of the Sturgis' cattle that had already been brought together and
that Hugh and another man were keeping by themselves. Just as the cow
reached the edge of this little bunch, a cow puncher threw his rope and
caught the calf's hind legs; the horse wheeled instantly and started on
a quick gallop, dragging the calf over the prairie to a fire in which
the branding irons were heating. Here two of the boys jumped down and
held the calf; another snatched a hot iron from the fire and swiftly
put the Sturgis brand on it. Then, it was turned loose, and hurried
back to the little bunch from which its anxious mother trotted out with
threatening calls, and after nosing it all over walked back into the
crowd.
[Illustration: "THE COW STARTED STRAIGHT OFF OVER THE PRAIRIE."
--_Page 48_
_Photo by Harry Mintz, Binghamton, N. Y._ ]
McIntyre had detailed Jack to act through the day as one of the calf
branders, and all day long he was busy roping calves, dragging them up
to the fire and helping to hold them down, while some one clapped on
the iron. It was not pleasant work--the smoke of singed hair rose from
the animal's side, and the poor creature bawled piteously; but, after
all, a great many painful and disagreeable things have to be done,
and this was one of them.
As the day went by, and Jack got hotter and more thirsty and more dusty
and more tired, he derived a little amusement from wondering what
some of those eastern pilgrims, who had talked to him of the romance
of the cowboy's life would think of that life if for one day they
had to do the work that the cowboy has to do every day. No one can
imagine the weary monotony of doing this work over and over again; the
strength that it may take to hold the calf; the heat from the fires;
the cloud of dust, grime and ashes among which one works; the constant
trifling annoyances of being burned by a hot iron, being kicked by a
frisky calf, or having one's hands hurt by the rope. All these things,
combined with the physical force that is constantly called into play,
make the work laborious and tiresome. The romance of the cowboy's
life exists only in the imagination. Of course the boys are cheerful
and merry, laughing and joking all the time, making fun of their own
mishaps, or of those of their neighbors, and this constant flow of good
spirits makes the work far lighter than it otherwise would be.
Now and then during the day, a little variety was offered by some cow
that, pestered beyond endurance, at last refused to run any longer and
turned to fight. Such a cow becomes at once a dangerous animal; and to
get her calf away from her, unless it can be frightened into leaving
its mother for a short distance, is sometimes difficult.
Jack met with such a cow, which, after wasting a little energy in
charging him, contented herself with standing still and threatening
with her horns, while the calf stuck close to her side. Two or three
times Jack rode swiftly by her and threw his rope at the calf, but the
little beast stood so close under its mother's side that in no case did
the rope catch it. Jack tried to ride near enough to the calf to lash
it with his rope, in the hope that this would start it out from its
position of safety, but the attempt was a failure, and the second time
he did this the cow charged him viciously. He wheeled his horse and got
away, but the long horns swept so close that it gave him a moment's
uneasiness lest his horse should be harmed. He whirled quickly to get
back to the cow, thinking that possibly the calf might have been left
behind, but this had not happened: it was still close to its mother.
About this time, Joe swept by him dragging a calf at the end of his
rope, and a few moments later, after the calf had been turned loose,
Joe returned.
"Why, here's my chance to pay you off for what you did for me this
morning," he said to Jack. "Rope the old cow's horns and I'll take her
hind feet and we'll stretch her."
No sooner said than done. In a moment Jack's rope settled over the
cow's horns, and as she at first pulled back and then started forward,
Joe very cleverly picked up both her hind feet and turned his horse the
other way; instantly the cow was stretched out helpless on the prairie.
Jack made his rope fast to the horn of his saddle, and left his horse
to hold the cow while he ran back to her. Joe in the meantime rode
forward toward the cow's head, thus bringing her hind feet up under
her breast; and in a moment she was securely tied. The calf had run off
a few yards, and stood there bewildered.
"There's your calf," said Joe, as he swung into the saddle again. "Go
and brand him."
Jack freed his rope from the cow's head, rode over and caught the calf,
and when it was branded, dragged it back to its mother. Then he untied
the cow and, hopping into the saddle before she regained her feet, was
soon off after another calf.
So the day went on: a long day filled with fun, jollity, laughter,
provoking incidents and irritating happenings; so that at night when
the men returned to camp they were all weary and enormously hungry.
The representatives of each one of the four different brands drove off
their cattle to some distance from the main herd, and watched them
while they fed and drank, filling their bellies for the night.
A little later these representatives would be relieved by the night
herders who now, with several herds to watch instead of one as the
night before, would ride about and keep apart the different bunches.
Hungry and tired as they were, a number of the punchers, instead of
going directly to camp, rode down in the stream-bed well below the camp
and there stripping off their upper clothing whipped the dirt out of it
as best they could, and scrubbed their white healthy bodies free from
the dust that had sifted through their shirts. The effort to get the
grime and sand from their hair was hopeless, except for those men who
had been thoughtful enough before starting out on the round-up to have
their hair clipped short, and of these there were only two or three.
By the time they reached camp, supper was ready, and it was a ravenous
lot of cow punchers who scrambled for plates, cups, and knives and
forks, and enjoyed the hearty, wholesome food that simmered on the fire.
At length, stuffed to repletion, Jack threw himself on the ground near
Hugh.
"I feel like a boa-constrictor that has eaten an ox," he laughed.
"Well," replied Hugh, "I guess you're stuffed pretty full. It's hard
work branding calves, and it's work that you ain't used to right now.
It won't be so hard on you a week or two from this, when you've got
more into the run of things."
"Of course you're right," said Jack. "I have not done any work just
like this for a good while, and it does seem hard and tiresome now, but
it's like 'most everything else: we'll get used to it after a while."
"I reckon you didn't see Vicente get chucked to-day, did you?" asked
Hugh. "No," he went on, "I'm sure you didn't, because you were over
there by the fire when it happened. He tried to throw a cow, and when
he stopped his horse the saddle cinch broke and he went a-flyin'. It
didn't hurt him none, but he was pretty mad."
"Why, how did it come to break?" asked Jack.
"That was the funny part of it. You know he only came in day before
yesterday, and coming down through the mountains the night before he
got here, they camped, and along in the night Vicente was waked up by
hearing a porcupine walking around camp. Of course, he thought of his
saddle at once, and got up out of his blankets. It was bright moonlight
and in a minute he saw the porcupine close to his saddle. He grabbed
up a stick of firewood--he had got in late and cooked his supper with
just a few odds and ends of brush and limbs that he had picked up
around camp--and with one of these sticks he went for the porcupine.
The stick was no good and broke the first time he hit the animal, and
it ran off into the brush.
"Vicente knew it would come back, and he got a stout club so as to kill
it if it bothered him. Then he took his saddle to bed with him and
tried to stay awake; but he didn't stay awake. Presently he heard the
porcupine whimpering about his bed, and he jumped up and mighty soon
pounded the life out of the beast. He looked at his saddle the next
morning, and it seemed to him to be all right, and he rode down the
hill with it and didn't have occasion to use it hard until to-day.
"When he looked at it, after he got chucked, he found that that blasted
porcupine had just taken a nip or two at the string that tied the
latigo to the ring of the saddle. Maybe there was a little salt in that
string from the horse sweat, or maybe it was just an accident. Anyhow,
the string was cut enough so that when a pull came the saddle flew, and
Vicente with it."
"Well, I am glad that he killed the porcupine," said Jack. "They are
pretty useless beasts, according to my way of thinking."
"I don't think much more of them than you do; but up in some parts of
the North the Indians think they are about the finest eating there is,
and I reckon the Indians' clothing in old times wouldn't have been
half as fancy as it used to be if it hadn't been for porcupine quills.
You know in old times, before the Indians got glass beads by trading
with the white folks, they used to use quills and feathers and hair,
and sometimes black roots, to ornament their clothes, and their lodges.
Of course, they dyed the quills or feathers, and the roots too, all
sorts of colors, and made their moccasins and leggings and shirts and
robes real pretty."
"Yes," said Jack; "I have seen buffalo robes that were handsomely
worked with quills; and up there in the Piegan country pretty nearly
half the shirts, and a good part of the pipe stems, were ornamented
with quills."
"That's so," said Hugh. "The Piegans are great fellows to use quills,
and so are the Cheyennes."
"That's one thing I want to ask you about, Hugh: how they colored all
these different things yellow and red. Of course they didn't have to
dye the quills black, because most of them are part black already."
"Well," Hugh promised, "we'll have a talk about that sometime; but I
reckon that just now, as my pipe is out, I'm going to bed. I've not
much hard work to do on this round-up, and McIntyre isn't going to
put me on night herd, but I reckon I need all the sleep I can get
to-night."