RIDING CIRCLE
By the end of the following day the cutting of the cattle--that is
the work of separating the different brands into the four bunches, or
herds--had pretty well been completed. McIntyre, therefore, determined
to send off to their home ranges, which were not far away, the cattle
bearing the Sturgis and Powell brands, while the rest of the outfit
would keep on and work the remaining territory. It would take only
three or four days for the cattle that were now being sent off to reach
their home ranges, where they could be turned loose, and probably held
by one man with only a little watching. As soon as the cattle had
reached their ranges and been turned over to the people at the ranch,
the men who had been sent back with those brands would at once return
to the camp and continue the round-up work. Powell and his hired man
were to take the Powell cattle, while Hugh and Rube were chosen to take
back the Sturgis cattle. McIntyre very wisely kept with him the younger
men, like Charley Powell and Jack, well understanding that they would
work harder and longer and would be fresher every day than the older
men.
The cattle started at daylight the next morning, and Jack rode a few
miles with the Sturgis cattle, which were going directly across
country, and not around by way of Powell's ranch.
The cows moved very deliberately and were constantly stopping to feed;
and by the time Jack had ridden four or five miles back and forth
behind the herd, pushing on the lagging ones and breathing the dust
kicked up by the feet of the cattle, he was glad that the task of
driving the bunch back to the ranch had fallen to others.
Finally he turned about, to go back to the round-up camp.
"I reckon you'll see us again in about four days," Hugh said. "It'll
take us pretty nearly three days to get to the ranch with these cows,
and a day to get back to camp. We'll strike it down close to the
Platte, likely on Sand Creek. I don't suppose you have any message for
your uncle?"
"Just tell him I am all right and having a good time. You might tell
him, too, what happened over at Powell's. And, of course, if there's
any mail for me, bring it back with you. I don't expect to hear
anything from that man I bought the saddle from. Maybe, instead of
leaving the saddle at Brown's, he just took it with him on the train;
but if he did, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he sent me back my five
dollars."
"Well," said Hugh, "it will be all guessing for a while yet; but I'll
bring any mail there is."
"So long," called Rube; and Jack turned and rode back toward the camp.
The distance that had seemed so very long when driving the herd, now
seemed surprisingly short, for he rode fast. He did not ride back to
the old camp because they were going to move that morning, and when
he rode down out of the hills he could see, a couple of miles away on
the prairie, the two wagons and the cávaya crawling along over the
sage-brush flat toward the next camp, which was to be on Box Elder
Creek.
When he overtook the wagons, Frank, the cook, who was driving the chuck
wagon, told him that McIntyre had left word that Jack should start out
and make a short circle to the eastward, taking in the low hills on the
edge of the basin, but not going far back, and should turn anything
that he found down into the flat country, where it could be readily
gathered the next day. Jack accordingly rode on to the cávaya, roped a
fresh horse, and turned loose Pawnee, and then rode back to the cook's
wagon, where he begged from Frank a chunk of bread and some bacon.
Having disposed of that, he rode off toward the low hills to the east.
When he had gone a short distance into the hills he saw fresh tracks of
horses and of cattle running, and from this he concluded that riders
had passed over this ground the day before and gathered what cattle
had been feeding there; and presently, coming across a trail of a good
many head, with horse tracks following the trail and on top of the cow
tracks, he made sure that his conclusion was right.
After riding a mile or two farther, however, he came across a little
bunch of cattle feeding on the steep hillsides of a ravine, and going
around them he pushed them down the hill and in the direction in which
he was riding. The cattle were not wild, and it would have been easy
to drive them in any direction; but of course they went slowly, and if
Jack simply drove them into the round-up camp he could not cover much
country; on the other hand, if he drove them down into the valley he
knew that at this time of the day they would at once turn about and
return to the hills where there was water and, in the ravines, the
green grass that the cattle like.
While he was mulling over this, and wondering what he would better do,
the cattle ahead of him passed over a ridge and down the steep sides
of another ravine, and two or three yearlings in play ran down the
hill and through a thick patch of low brush that grew at the bottom of
the ravine. As they rushed into that, from its upper end a small black
animal, which was unmistakably a bear cub, ran out.
Jack was riding a good quick horse, and almost without thinking he
turned and galloped along the steep hillside to try to head off the
cub, which kept on up the bottom of the ravine. The ground was very
steep, and broken every now and then by little washouts, and two or
three times Jack held his breath as he wondered whether the horse
would get across them or not. But the animal was sure-footed, besides
being swift. It did not even stumble; and before long Jack was bearing
down well toward the bottom of the ravine and was a little ahead of
the bear. When the two were pretty close together, the bear suddenly
turned and began to scramble up the hill, away from Jack. Two or three
jumps of the active horse, however, quickly brought it within roping
distance, and in a moment the noose was over the bear's head. The horse
had turned, and with a mighty pluck the little bear flew out from the
hillside and seemed to land on its head in the middle of the ravine.
Jack kept the rope tight for a moment, but seeing that there was no
movement at the other end, he dismounted and walked back to the bear.
The little beast--hardly larger than a setter dog--was quite dead. Jack
could not tell whether the pull of the rope had broken its neck, or it
had been killed by its fall.
The work of dressing the cub took but a few moments; but to get it on
the saddle was more difficult, for the horse regarded the carcass with
suspicion and declined to stand when the bear was put on it. Jack was
finally obliged to blind the animal with his coat until the load was
firmly tied behind the saddle. Then--being unwilling to take risks
in this rough country--he led the animal down the ravine. It did not
pitch, though it shied and several times tried to rid itself of the
saddle by prolonged kicking. At length, however, when Jack reached a
place where the ravine was wider and the ground more or less level, he
mounted, and the horse went well enough.
Then Jack went back to look for his cattle. He soon found them, and
after following them over three or four ridges, came on another much
larger group. Gathering them all together, he started down toward the
prairie with about seventy-five head of cattle before him. He took
good note of the point where he left the hills, intending to drive his
cattle into camp and then, if daylight lasted, to come back and resume
his search for others.
He pushed the cattle pretty hard, and about the middle of the afternoon
had brought them within a mile of camp, where he left them and, getting
a fresh horse, returned to the hills.
During the afternoon he found two or three more little bunches of
cattle, and shortly before sundown started in with about thirty head.
As he was riding toward camp, he met the bunch that he had driven in
that afternoon working back toward the hills; so he finally brought in
and delivered at camp about one hundred head.
The other parties that had been riding circle during the day had
gathered a good many cattle; so that there was again a good-sized herd
being held near the camp, to be taken on the next day and to be added
to daily, until enough had been gathered for another cutting.
Jack's roping of the little bear was interesting to the camp chiefly
because of the variety that it would give to the daily fare of beef and
bacon; but another one of the cowboys had had an adventure that had not
turned out so comfortably as Jack's.
Juan, a Mexican, who had drifted into the country from the southwest,
and who was a most skilful cow hand, in riding along a steep
mountain-side, rough with rocks, had startled from his bed beneath an
old cedar tree a big bull elk with thick, growing horns just beginning
to branch. Juan, of course, rode after him as hard as he could go.
The roughness of the ground and the great rocks that lay everywhere
scattered along the mountain-side offered no impediment to the elk's
speed, but the horse could not do its best on this ground, and had
difficulty in overtaking the elk. At length a little patch of smoother
ground was reached. Juan pushed his horse up within throwing distance
and made a good throw which settled around the animal's head and neck.
The loop was so large, however, that it fell down against the brute's
chest; and just at that moment pursued and pursuer came to a piece of
ground so rough with great rocks that even Juan did not dare to ride
into it. He tried to stop and throw the elk; but there was not time
for him to turn; and the steady pull of the elk's chest on the rope
dragged the horse staggering onward for a few feet, when Juan, to save
his mount, was obliged to free his rope from the horn of the saddle.
The elk sailed up the mountain-side, the rope dragging behind it, while
Juan sat there on his panting horse and uttered Mexican maledictions.
That evening the cowboys had a good deal of fun with Juan.
After supper, Jack saw Tulare Joe sitting on the ground working at
something a little way from the camp, and walking over to him saw
that he was taking off bits of flesh from a small deer hide which was
entirely fresh.
"Where did you get your hide, Joe?" asked Jack.
"Why," said Joe, "some of the boys started the deer to-day out of a
little patch of brush. It ran from them up over the hill and met me
just on top. I happened to have my rope in my hand and I caught it. I'm
going to keep it and get two or three others, if I can, and make me
a buckskin shirt for winter. They say they're the warmest things you
can wear when you're riding in a cold wind, and they don't muffle you
up the way a coat does--they leave you free. I'd like to stretch this
hide, if I could; but I won't have time to do it on the round-up. If I
could stretch it and get it dried flat it would make it easier to pack
and easier to handle when it comes to tanning it; but of course on the
round-up I haven't the time to peg the hide out, and no time to do the
tanning while it's fresh, the way it really ought to be done."
"I didn't know," said Jack, "that it's better to tan a hide right fresh
than after it is dried."
"Yes," said Joe, "it is; at least, that's what I've been told. All I
know about tanning was taught me by the Navajos down south, and they
make awful good soft buckskin."
"I have never done any tanning; but I have seen a heap of robes
dressed by women in the Blackfeet country. They tan a buffalo robe in
a wonderful way, so that it is as soft as a piece of cloth; but they
don't make good buckskin. According to all I have heard, the mountain
Indians make the best buckskin."
"That's what they say," answered Joe. "I've seen some wonderful
buckskin made by the Utes, and by the Navajos too."
"You have been down among the Navajos, have you?" Jack asked, as he
sat down on the ground and, taking out his pocket-knife, began to work
on the skin. "I'm interested in them, for when I was a little fellow
I used to read Mayne Reid's books, and they had lots to say about the
Navajos, and about the raids they used to make down in Mexico."
"Yes," replied Joe, "they were certainly great raiders; and they've got
lots of men and women and children there in the camp that are as white
as I am. Most of them, they say, were captured down in Mexico as little
children and brought up and raised in the tribe, and now, so far as
their feelings go, are just as pure Navajo as anybody could be."
"I guess that's so. There isn't anything in blood or race that makes
a white man different from an Indian, if he is brought up in an Indian
way."
"Not much. Those Navajos, too, are mighty handy with tools and with
their fingers. I reckon you've seen lots of Navajo blankets, and
likely, too, you may have seen some of the silversmith work they do.
They make fine rings and sort of pins, like the women wear at their
throats, and they're pretty handy about setting bits of turquoise in
silver. They make a whole lot of real pretty ornaments."
"I've heard something about that," said Jack; "though I've never seen
any of their work, except maybe a blanket or two. And you say they're
tanners, too?"
"Yes. I had a kind of friend in the camp once when I stayed down there,
and he showed me his way of tanning; and he certainly did make nice
buckskin."
"I wish you would tell me how to do it; or, better still, let me see
you tan this hide," said Jack. "But the first thing you want to do with
this hide is to try to stretch it flat, and that you can't do in the
common way. Why don't you treat it the way the trappers treat beaver
skins?"
"Well, if I knew how, maybe I would; but I don't know how. I never saw
anybody trap beaver."
"Why," exclaimed Jack, "I can show you how in a minute and a half if
we can get some willows that will bend right, and I'm pretty sure we
can, for there's a bunch down there close to the creek. Come on down
with me and we'll cut some shoots; and then if you've got a piece of
twine we'll stretch the hide on a hoop. Very likely it will be set by
morning, and you can get Frank to carry it inside his chuck wagon tied
to the bows."
"I'll go with you," said Joe, "if you'll just show me what to do."
Along the border of the stream was a growth of rather tall willows two
or three years old, and Jack soon cut half a dozen long and rather
slender shoots. Then the boys returned to the place where the deer hide
had been left. Here Jack trimmed the willow shoots in the proper way,
leaving many twigs at the smaller ends, and, showing Joe how to do it,
they soon made an oblong hoop somewhat longer and wider than the fresh
deer hide stretched out on the ground.
"Now," explained Jack, "if you've got a piece of twine we'll sew the
edges of this hide just inside the hoop, stretching the hide all we
can, and the hoop will keep it perfectly flat and stretched till it's
dry."
"That's a new one on me," declared Joe. "I never knew any way of
stretching a deer hide except to peg it out flat on the ground, or
maybe to nail it on the side of a barn. That's mighty cute, though, the
way you made the hoop by just tying the slender willow twigs around the
main piece of wood. It seems firm, too, as if it were going to hold."
"Oh, it will hold all right; and it will do the work it's intended to
do. You see there isn't much strain coming on any particular part of
the hoop. It's evenly distributed all around, and it gives a straight
outward pull to the hide. That's the way we always used to dry our
beaver skins; but of course they are pretty nearly round, so that we
made those hoops in the shape of a circle."
Joe went over to his bed and from his war-sack fished out a piece of
twine; and before long the deer hide was nicely stretched on the hoop,
carried over to the cook wagon, and put in charge of Frank, and, for
safety's sake, tied to the bows at the top of the wagon.
"Well," said Joe, as they walked over to the fire, "I'm mightily
obliged to you for that. If you want me to, I'd like to show you how
to tan a deer hide Navajo fashion. Maybe I'll get a chance to do that
before the round-up is over--that is, if you'd like to know how."
"I sure would, Joe," answered Jack. "I don't know anything about
tanning myself, though I have seen a whole lot of hides dressed. It
would be pretty nice to be able to make good buckskin."
About the fire almost the whole camp was gathered, the men smoking
their last pipes or cigarettes, before turning in, while those who were
soon to go out on night herd had already brought up their horses, which
were standing saddled not far from the fire. As Jack and Tulare Joe
strolled up, McIntyre called to them:
"You two kids had better get your horses now, and be ready to go out on
the last relief. Do you think you can wake up at two o'clock, Jack?"
"I don't believe I can, Mr. McIntyre," Jack replied. "I'll have to get
one of the boys to come in and call me."
"Well," said McIntyre, "if you're going to get up at that time, you'd
better turn in quick, or else you'll be short of sleep."