VICENTE, COW HAND
It was plain daylight, but the sun had not risen, when Vicente, Tulare
Joe and Jack set out from the camp to ride circle through the rough
hills to the northeast. They would gather whatever cattle they could
find and bring them to the camp, which would be moved a short distance
farther during the day.
Vicente was a Mexican, of at least middle age. His hair and mustache
were jet black, but his side-whiskers were gray. With his stiff conical
black hat and a little military cape which he often wore, sitting
erect in his saddle, with an air of great dignity, he looked more like
a Spanish hidalgo than an everyday cowboy of the plains. No one knew
Vicente's history, nor where he came from. This was not especially
because he was a silent man, for in fact he often talked quite freely,
but however much he talked, he himself was never the subject of his
conversation.
Notwithstanding his dignity, his unusual clothing and his more or less
precise and elaborate manner, Vicente was a wonderful cow hand. If
anything especially difficult had to be done, he was usually called
upon to do it. If some steers had to be handled in a small corral,
Vicente was likely to ride into the corral on his favorite gray roping
horse, and to pick out one animal after another, throw and tie it, and
then when all hands on foot had gotten through with it, and had bolted
for the fence, Vicente would untie the steer and dodge it until it
wearied of the effort to fight him and went back to crowd in among the
other animals.
The younger cowboys stood somewhat in awe of Vicente, and never tried
to play jokes on him, nor made fun of him as they did of each other;
though of course they cheered and shouted if by chance he mounted a
horse which bucked with unusual ferocity. No horse, however vicious,
energetic or long-winded had as yet been found, so far as any one on
this round-up knew, that was able to stir Vicente from his saddle.
Hugh once said that only once in his life had he seen a man who rode
as well and as certainly as Vicente. This was an old Mexican known
as "One-Eyed Juan" who used to live down at Bent's Old Fort on the
Arkansas. It was said that if a particularly bad horse had to be ridden
down there at Bent's Fort--one that none of the Mexicans or Indians
could do anything with--Juan would mount it, and putting a silver
dollar between the sole of each foot and the stirrup, would ride the
beast to a standstill, and when he dismounted the silver dollars were
always found in the stirrups. One who saw Vicente ride a bad horse
could believe this story. He rode in quite a different way from the
American cow punchers, even those who were never thrown. Some of them
lopped about on the horse, riding on one thigh or the other, and some
seemed wholly unconcerned as to what the horse did; but, while they
rode well, and were never shaken from their seats, they did not ride
gracefully, firmly and steadily as did Vicente.
The three men rode fast to the edge of the hills, and had little to
say to each other, but when they reached the point where they must
separate to look for the cattle, Joe and Jack, by common consent,
turned to the older man and asked him for instructions. Vicente's
English was extraordinary and, until one was familiar with it, not
easy to understand; but, brokenly as he spoke, every one in this cow
camp understood him, as indeed did every one in all the region round
about, for he had lived here for a long time, and on all the range was
a well-known personage.
"How shall we work, Vicente?" asked Joe. "You tell us and we'll try to
do as you say."
"It looks to me best," Vicente answered, "that Joe rides along the edge
of the hills looking up the valleys; and you, Jack, ride a mile or two
back from the edge; and I'll go still farther back toward the divide,
maybe up on the divide--anyhow, so as to see the heads of all the
coulées. What cattle Joe finds and what cattle I find we'll drive along
and turn down to Jack, and Jack will push along the bunch, while we try
to get all the cows that are feeding in these ravines."
"We'll do that," said Joe; "and that means that I turn off now before
we've gone very far, and take in these lower hills."
After they had ridden a mile farther, Joe turned to the north or
northwest, while Jack and Vicente kept on until the Mexican pointed out
a place where he said Jack had better start north by himself, while he
went farther on.
Jack sat for a moment watching the little horse swinging easily along
up the hill under the erect military figure; and then, turning to his
left, he started to gallop over the ridges and ravines that cut the
slopes. It was killing work for a horse, up and down, up and down, up
and down. As much as he could, Jack tried to save his animal by taking
the hills at an angle, but even at best it was such hard work that Jack
felt obliged often to stop, to let the horse rest and breathe.
For some time he rode on without seeing any cattle, but presently in a
narrow valley, where evidently water had stood late into the spring, he
saw ten or a dozen cows and young stock feeding on a little flat from
which they had nipped off all the tall grass, so that at a distance the
green carpet looked as if it had been gone over by a lawn-mower.
The cattle saw him almost as soon as he saw them, and seemed wilder
than any he had previously come across. In a moment their heads were
down, and their tails up and they were bolting across the ridges at a
lively gait. Their direction was just that which Jack was taking, or
perhaps they bore off a little to the left, which would bring them down
more toward Joe's line. At all events, there was no reason to hurry
after them, for they would certainly be gathered by one of the three
men.
As Jack looked up toward the hill he could occasionally see Vicente
crossing an open space, going at a good rate and apparently thinking
nothing of his horse. Yet, oddly enough--and Jack as well as others
of the round-up boys had often wondered at it--Vicente's horses, even
though he had a string of only six and seemed to work them twice as
hard as any other horses on the round-up, were always in good spirits,
fat and springy. Now and then on the hillside above, and always in
advance of Vicente, he could see little bunches of cattle hurrying
along. He kept a sharp lookout to his right, thinking that possibly
some of those being driven by the Mexican might turn off and drift down
the hill in his direction, and if they did so he did not wish to go so
far, or so carelessly, as to leave them behind.
Keeping his eye out warily, both up and down the hill, he presently
saw above him, rushing diagonally to the front, five black-tail deer,
none of them with horns--apparently an old doe, two yearlings and two
spotted fawns. They had been startled either by Vicente or by the
cattle he was driving, and now were making great time down the hill
and toward safety. Even for them the work of crossing these ridges was
tiring, and before long Jack could see that the old doe's tongue was
hanging out of her mouth and that she was beginning to lose her wind.
Jack had no cattle immediately in front of him, and he was riding down
into a rather wide valley with a flat bottom. As the deer were drawing
near, and would apparently cross in front of him, he put his horse into
a fast gallop in order to reach the top of the next ridge about the
time the deer got there. This he succeeded in doing, and as he rode up
on top of the ridge and drew rein just below some scrubby pine trees,
he could see the deer coming at a gallop along the top of this ridge,
apparently intending to follow it down to the lower country, instead
of continuing their way across the ravines. Jack was partly hidden
by the trees, and was making no movement. The deer kept on along the
ridge, slackening their pace as they got near to him, until just before
they reached the pine trees the two leading does were trotting, the two
fawns had almost stopped and the old doe was coming along heavily in
the rear. By the pines they all stopped and looked back up the hill, as
if to try to learn what had become of the cause of their alarm. They
were so close to Jack that he could readily have thrown a rope over the
head of any one of them. Their red flanks were heaving and the old doe
was quite tired. The little fawns, which could not have been more than
six weeks or two months old, were the embodiment of grace and lightness.
After looking back for a moment or two, the deer seemed to feel that
there was nothing more to fear from the enemy that had frightened them
up the hill. Two or three times they looked at Jack, but neither he nor
his horse moved, and after a stare or two the deer looked unconcernedly
away. Presently, with a slow, almost slouching, gait, they started to
walk on down the ridge toward some underbrush on the hillside; and in
doing this they crossed the wind which was blowing from the southeast,
and so, in their changed position, blew from Jack to them. As each deer
walked into this tainted current it bounded into the air as if shot
up by a gigantic spring, and coming down again, the headlong flight
was resumed with every appearance of terror. It was not the first time
that Jack had seen something of this sort, and Hugh had more than once
spoken to him of the effect of the scent of man on wild animals; but
to-day Jack wondered at it as much as he had ever done before. The
deer had looked squarely at him without recognizing him as anything
dangerous or hostile, but the instant that their noses told them that
he was there, they raced off in headlong flight.
A few more ridges surmounted, and Jack came again upon the little
bunch of cattle that he had started in the morning. Though still wild,
they did not rush off in the same alarm that they had shown earlier
in the day. Above them on the hillside and near the head of the same
ravine were other cattle lying on the steep side hill, and Jack, riding
up, started them on their way. These animals had evidently just lain
down after feeding, and were not at all wild. It seemed probable to
Jack that he might have to do some literal cow punching with these
logy beasts, and he took them down the hill with him and started them
forward about in the line that he was riding.
All through the morning this went on, and Jack had gathered forty or
fifty head of cattle, while from what he could see on the hillside
above him Vicente had a still larger bunch. It was impossible to get
any idea of what Joe was doing, because the slope here was too gradual.
In the early afternoon it was evident that Vicente had turned his
cattle down the hill toward Jack. Many of them showed themselves
working down ahead of him, and now and then he could hear the whistles
and calls by which Vicente was urging them on.
It was not long after this that Vicente was seen hurrying along the
hillside up and down, gathering the cattle into a more or less close
bunch, and then starting them down a ridge ahead of Jack. A little
later, too, Jack began to see cattle coming from his left--from down
the hill. He therefore stopped where he was, and getting up on as high
a point as possible, looked over the ground to get an idea of the
situation. Evidently this had been a pretty fruitful gather, for there
must have been more than three hundred cattle brought along by Vicente
and by Joe, and as yet it was only a little after noon.
After a time, as the animals got together in a fairly close bunch ahead
of Jack, Vicente rode up to him; and presently Joe appeared from a
ravine. The three stopped and got off and sat down on the ground, and
Joe and Vicente rolled cigarettes. The tired horses panted and the
sweat dropped from their saddle cinches.
"Lots of cattle here," said Vicente. "We bring in big bunch to-night;
hard on the horses, though. Lots of places in this rough country where
cattle can hide."
"Yes," agreed Joe, "that's sure so. I ought to have a fresh horse now;
mine's near give out."
"Well," said Jack, "I've been having an easy time, I reckon. I haven't
done much of anything except to keep right straight ahead. My horse is
tired too, but not so tired as those you two have been riding."
"Suppose we get lot more cattle," said Vicente; "we'll have a bunch too
big for you to handle; then we'll have to take 'em out of the hills and
drive 'em to camp; but we've not much farther to go now."
"No," answered Jack; "I suppose it's not much farther, and I guess we
can keep these going all right; but I'll have my work cut out for me if
any of these cattle should be mean and try to break back, as they are
liable to. I'll have to do some riding myself."
"Some of these cattle are pretty wild," said Vicente. "I started three
or four bunches that tried hard to break back, but now that they're
together in a big bunch they'll be easier to handle. Only, Jack, look
out and don't lose any in these ravines."
"All right; I'll try," Jack promised.
A little later, the three mounted again and Jack rode down toward
the cattle and put the bunch in motion. It was slow work to get them
started, but as Jack went along he could see from the tops of the
ridges he crossed that the range of hills along which they had been
working bent away to the east just ahead of him, and that before long
he would have the cattle on smoother ground where it would be easier to
watch them and to keep them traveling straight. Now the ravines began
to grow wider and shallower. Joe joined him with a few more head, and
at length they got the bunch out into fairly flat country. A little
later, Vicente was seen off to the right coming with a few more cows;
and presently the herd with the three riders guiding it was traveling
slowly along under its cloud of dust toward the camp, which they could
now see ahead of them.
The sun was still pretty high above the western horizon when they drove
the cattle down to the stream to drink, and after that began to work
them over to where the main herd was feeding.
"I suppose," Jack said to Vicente, "that now we have got so many cattle
we'll have to spend a day or two cutting and branding calves."
"Yes," replied Vicente; "I think so. Seems to me I saw a big lot of
strays in this bunch that we've got ahead of us. Not many brands of
people around here. I don't know where they come from. Some of the
brands I don't know."
"That's right," put in Joe. "I've seen plenty of brands that are new to
me. Say, Vicente," he went on, "there's a big fat maverick heifer among
those that I gathered. I wonder if McIntyre wouldn't like to kill her
for beef?"
"You sure she's got no brand on?" asked Vicente.
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Suppose you ride to camp and ask McIntyre, and maybe we can cut her
out before we get to the herd."
"All right," said Joe; and galloped off in the direction of the camp.
Before long he returned, riding a fresh horse.
"McIntyre says to bring that maverick over to the camp, and we'll kill
her there," he reported.
No sooner said than done. Vicente and Joe pushed their horses into the
bunch of cattle and before long had cut out the unbranded heifer, which
was very fat, and were driving her back to the camp. A little later the
herd Jack was driving mingled with the main herd, and he also turned
toward camp; but before he got there he heard a shot, and as he rode
into the camp he could see two of the boys dressing the young cow.