THE DANCE AT THE SCHOOLHOUSE
The weeks went by. Haying time came and all hands were busy cutting,
hauling and stacking. The winter had been one of heavy snows, and water
was plentiful in the irrigating ditches. Rains had been more frequent
than usual that spring and summer, and in many a little meadow, too
small for fencing, there was a growth of grass worth cutting. One of
the labors of the summer about which the men growled bitterly was the
never-ending work of keeping the range cattle away from these little
unfenced pieces, in order to protect the growing grass. The cattle
returned again and again to these patches of fresh green grass, and the
men were forced to exercise constant vigilance to keep them off the
meadows.
At last the haying was over. The stacks were all protected from the
wind and carefully fenced against ravages of the range stock. Now the
nights were growing shorter and cooler; sometimes there was a frost,
with a skim of ice. The leaves of the aspens began to turn yellow.
Down on the lake the broods of young ducks which had been reared there
were gradually being added to by the arrivals of early migrants from
the north. The last time Jack and Donald went out on the mountains
for fresh meat for the house, they had killed a bull elk whose horns,
though still wearing the velvet, were full-grown and hard, and the
animal was fat. September was at hand, and before many days Jack would
be obliged to turn his face eastward and get back to college and work.
"Well, boys," Mr. Sturgis said one morning at breakfast, "it's about
time for us to gather our beef and start it in to the railroad. We
ought to find it all pretty close at home, and I hope we can begin
to-morrow, and gather it and take it to the railroad in short order."
The day was devoted to getting up the horses and preparing the wagon
for the short trip, for early the next morning they were to start for
a little stream twelve or fifteen miles away, where there was a corral
and a good camping place. Hugh had declared that on this trip he would
drive the team and would cook, and Jack, Donald, Jack Mason, Rube and
Mr. Sturgis were to gather the beef.
Donald, who had become reasonably skilful with the rope and at home
on a cow horse, declared that if Hugh could cook he could wrangle the
horses, and that he would do that in addition to his riding. It was not
likely that there would be any night herding to be done. The beeves, as
they were cut out in considerable bunches, could be sent back to the
ranch and held in the pasture for a short time; while the horse bunch
would be likely to stay with the old bell mare that most of them knew
so well.
Long before sunrise, the riders set out, traveling to the northeast,
intending to ride circle of the basin and to turn in toward the camp
all the cattle found. These could be turned loose again after the beef
had been cut out; and possibly there would be time for another circle
to the south, when more cattle could be brought in the same night or
the next morning; when again the beef would be cut out, and the cows
and young stock turned loose.
Not long after the riders had gone, Hugh climbed into the wagon and,
chirruping to his team, soon disappeared down the valley.
It was a fine morning for riding, and all the men felt its invigorating
influence. The air was keen but dry, a light breeze just stirred the
tops of the sage and the taller grass stems, and from the bushes
everywhere sounded the sweet, melancholy, autumn whistle of the
meadow-lark.
Few cattle were found as the riders went north, but as soon as they
turned east and south they came on frequent groups, brought in not long
before from the round-up. The cattle were fat and logy, and the work
of pushing them along was slow, so that not nearly so much ground was
covered, nor so much accomplished as had been hoped. Nevertheless, it
was a respectable bunch of cattle that was driven up that afternoon
near the wagon, where the work of cutting began.
Some years before, Mr. Sturgis had built near this place a large and
stout corral of poles hauled from the mountains, and it was in this
that the beeves were to be put and held, until enough had been brought
together to drive up to the ranch.
The work of cutting went on rapidly, and before night all the steers
fit to ship had been put in the corral. Then two of the men set out and
drove the cows and the young stock up toward the mountains, throwing
them back as far as possible on to the ground from which they had
been brought that morning. This would leave the country to be ridden
the next day free from cattle until they started to make their circle
and would meet an entirely new lot. The steers were to be held in the
corral until morning, when two of the men would take them back to the
ranch and throw them into the pasture. While that was being done--for
the next twenty-four hours--there would be only three men to ride and
cut, instead of five, but Hugh said that he would help.
Long before daylight the next morning, Rube and Donald set out for the
ranch with the steers. The animals were hungry and thirsty. At first
the work of driving them was slow, but as the sun rose and the heat
increased the steers traveled faster, for most of them, knowing the
range, knew also that water was to be found six or eight miles ahead,
and they were anxious for water. After they had drunk, driving was
again slow; but in the afternoon they reached the ranch, where with
Joe's help the cattle were put in the big pasture. After a bite to eat,
the men started back to the wagon, and reached it some time after dark.
Here they found that, notwithstanding the shortness of riders, another
good gather of cattle had been made, and again there was a corral full
of beef. These Mr. Sturgis declared might as well wait there for a day,
when it was hoped that the rest of the country would be covered, the
beef cut out, and the whole herd taken to the ranch, to be sent to the
railroad a few days later for shipment.
So it turned out. By evening the whole Basin had been rounded up,
all the beef it was desired to ship turned into the corral, and the
round-up outfit was ready to start back. On the gather there had been
little that was exciting, but an abundance of hard work, although
there had been no riding night herd, for which the boys were devoutly
thankful.
The return to the ranch was deliberate, and it took them two days to
get there. The beeves were driven a short distance in the early morning
and allowed to feed and rest, and then another short drive in the
afternoon completed the day's travel; but the steers were herded at
night, and because of the small number of men the tours of duty were
long--instead of three reliefs there was only one. However, this was
for a single night only.
For two weeks the beef was left in the pasture and in this time
regained whatever weight it had lost in the round-up. The men who from
time to time rode into the pasture and around among the cattle were
proud of their quality--it was certainly a bunch to bring joy to its
owner.
At length Mr. Sturgis received word that in three days the cars for his
shipment would be on the railroad siding, and the beef was started to
town. The journey was unmarked by any special incident; but the herd
had not been long on the road before it was learned that another bunch
of beef was also on the way to the railroad and would reach there about
the same time as Mr. Sturgis' cattle. This was important news, for it
was not certain that the loading corrals were large enough to hold many
more cattle than those in Mr. Sturgis' gather, and if the other people
should by any chance get first to the railroad and occupy the corrals,
the matter might be a serious one, as there was no feed for the cattle
within six or eight miles of the town.
That night Mr. Sturgis asked Jack to ride over the next morning to
where the other cattle were being driven, and find out definitely whose
they were, how many, and when they expected to ship. Meantime the
Sturgis beeves would be driven on to the railroad; but if there should
be any likelihood that for any cause the shipment would be delayed, the
cattle would be turned off the road before the town was reached, and
held until it was possible to see what should be done.
It was late that night when Jack returned to the camp, and as soon as
he had turned out his horse he went to his uncle.
"It was a false alarm," he reported; "the cattle that are coming are
Mr. Powell's, and there are only about one hundred of them. He has
ordered cars and hopes to ship with you. He and Charley were proposing
to go on to Chicago with the cattle, and to help with ours as well as
theirs. That will make four or five men to the train."
"We shall certainly be glad to have the help of those extra men," said
Mr. Sturgis. "I've been wondering what we were going to do. There ought
to be at least four men with these cattle; and six would be better. I
may have to get Rube and Mason and Hugh to go; but Hugh is getting a
little bit old for work of that kind."
"I'd like to go," said Jack, "but I must get back, I suppose. I've lost
too much time, as it is. I can help load, but then I must take the
passenger. Another thing; I hear there is going to be a dance in town
two nights from now. Charley Powell brought the news when he came out
the other day, and Mrs. Powell and Bess are with the Powell outfit,
going to the dance."
"I suppose likely the whole country will be there. What do you know
about the Claib Wood and Mason trouble, Jack? Is that likely to be
renewed when we get into town? I don't think Mason is likely to make
any trouble; but Wood has rather a bad name. Suppose you speak to
Mason about it before we get in, and I'll try to find Wood there and
we'll see if we can't stop, or at least postpone, any renewal of this
quarrel."
Two days later the beeves were in the loading corrals, but the promised
cars had not yet made their appearance. Mr. Sturgis, knowing of old
the uncertainties of railroad promises, had provided against such a
contingency by arranging for a lot of hay, and the beeves were fed that
night and were to be fed again the next morning. It was hoped that
during the night the cars would come. Powell's cattle came in a little
later than the Sturgis herd, and they also had to be fed, and fed with
Mr. Sturgis' hay. The next day, if it were not possible to load, it
would be necessary to drive the beeves eight or ten miles over to the
banks of the Medicine Bow River and to hold them there.
Before they reached town, Jack spoke to Mason about the possibility of
further trouble with Claib Wood, and Mason declared that, so far as he
was concerned, he had got through with Wood, and had absolutely nothing
against him.
"Of course," said Mason, "I'll be on the lookout, and if Claib tries
any of his tricks on me, I'll have to be just a little bit quicker than
he is; but I've no quarrel with Claib, and don't want any."
Soon after they reached town Mr. Sturgis looked up Claib, and had quite
a talk with him. He was apparently fully recovered from his injuries,
but the weeks that he had spent under a roof had bleached away his
outdoor color and he looked pale and thin.
"I tell you, Mr. Sturgis," said Claib, "I've no very good feelings
toward Jack Mason, for he picked a quarrel with me, and hurt me just
for meanness."
"In one way, I suppose that's true," answered Mr. Sturgis; "but, on the
other hand, it's only fair for you to remember that you shot Rufe Mason
without any particular provocation or quarrel, and it's natural that
Jack should remember what you had done to his brother."
"Well," admitted Claib, "that's so. I never ought to have shot Rufe,
and I wouldn't have done it, only I was drunk and quarrelsome. I expect
it was natural for Jack Mason to want to get even with me. I've had
time during the last two months to do a whole lot of thinking, and I'll
say this, that if Jack Mason is willing to wipe it out, I'll say the
same and shake hands with him on it."
"I'm mighty glad to hear you say that, Claib," said Mr. Sturgis; "and
I'll be glad to see you two shake hands. You're both good men, and I'd
be sorry to see either killed. I feel sure that Mason is willing to
call it square, if you will. The next time you see Mason, go up to him,
man fashion, and tell him how you feel. I'm sure you'll find him ready
to make peace."
Early that day people from the neighboring ranches--men, women and
children--began to gather for the coming dance, and the town showed
unusual excitement. Women, young girls and children passed along the
streets, going from one store to another, tasting the delights of the
shopping tours that came to them so infrequently. In more than one
of the saloons were heard sounds of the fiddles to be played by the
musicians for the dance; but the master of ceremonies, dreading lest
these musicians should become too tipsy during the day to furnish the
music in the evening, had appointed a trustworthy person to go about
with each one and see that he did not drink.
Soon after dark, wagons began to drive up to the schoolhouse and to
unload their freight of laughing, chattering people, excited by the
prospect of the dance; and a little later the frequent pounding of
quick galloping hoofs told that the cowboys were gathering. Before long
the rail to which the horses were tied was crowded from end to end,
while their riders gathered on either side of the door, squatted on the
ground and smoked their pipes and cigarettes and discussed the events
of the range--the calf crop, the incidents of the round-ups, and the
piece of beef.
Presently from within the building came the sound of music, and a
number of the men rose to their feet, threw away their cigarettes and,
with rasping shaps and clinking spurs, entered the door. In the little
anteroom, each man paused to divest himself of spurs, shaps, belt and
six-shooter--all these things being tied together and placed in a
corner of the room.
In the ballroom the women and children sat on one side and the men,
rather shamefacedly, tiptoed over to the other side and seated
themselves. The costumes were those of everyday wear, though most of
the men were freshly shaven. Some of them wore coats and most of them
overalls, often turned up for eight or ten inches, so as to show the
trousers beneath. Almost all of them wore the high-heeled cowboy boots
of the period, and not one carried a weapon. The women and children
were dressed in their best; some of the younger girls wore white,
perhaps with a bright ribbon tied about the neck. Eyes shone bright
and faces were expectant.
The schoolhouse benches had been moved back close to the wall and
the extra ones put out through the windows and piled up outside the
building. At the end of the room, on a little platform where commonly
the teacher sat, were the musicians. Four oil lamps on the four sides
of the room gave abundant light.
Presently Jim Decker, master of ceremonies, walked over the floor
holding a candle in one hand and a jack-knife in the other, shaving wax
on the floor, and then trying with his foot to rub it into the wood;
and at length, when his candle was exhausted and he put his knife in
his pocket, a burst of music sounded from the two fiddlers and the
clarionet man.
"Take your partners for the quadrille!" Decker shouted in stentorian
tones.
A number of men at once crossed over, each bowing low or nodding before
the lady of his choice, and asking her to dance; and in a few minutes
the room was crowded with promenading couples.
It was only a moment before this that Jack and Donald, having come up
from the corral where they had been feeding and watering the stock, had
entered the room. Jack had told Donald about Bess Powell, and wanted
him to dance with her, but they were too late for the first dance. As
they lingered by the door, looking for Mrs. Powell, to whom Donald must
be presented, the sets were formed and the dance began. Jim Decker was
calling off the figures in a rude rhyme.
"Adams all, swing your Eves,"
was soon followed by the direction,
"Balance to your limberger cheese."
Donald nudged Jack.
"Great, isn't it?" he whispered.
Jack assented by making the Indian sign for "chief," raising the
upturned forefinger high above the head and turning it downward.
A few moments later they were speaking with Mrs. Powell.
"Why didn't you get here earlier, so that you could have danced the
first quadrille with Bess?" she said to Jack. "She hoped you would ask
her."
"Why, Mrs. Powell," he explained, "we were down at the corral feeding
and watering and only just got here. Mr. Donald and I both want some
dances with Bess."
"She'll be glad to dance," was the response; "but you'll have to wait a
while."
The dancers were enjoying themselves greatly. Though the men largely
outnumbered the women, there were at first some girls without partners.
The novelty of the surroundings struck terror to the hearts of some of
the most daring riders and ropers, and kept them glued to their seats.
Buck Wilson, Twenty-One Johnson, and Red Casey of the Bar Lazy A, whose
feats in broncho busting and roping had made them famous on the range,
felt their courage ooze away when it came to facing a girl and asking
her to dance. Their bashfulness was added to by the shouts of Jim
Decker and other older men, who tried to induce them to pluck up heart
and choose partners for the dance.
One by one timid men, who had not yet dared to come into the ballroom,
slipped through the door and, apparently trying to make themselves as
small as possible, sidled over to seats on the men's side, and sat down
to look on.
Most of those who danced did so with real feeling and great spirit. One
or two men were extremely expert in cutting pigeonwings, and jumping
high in the air; and some of them stamped in time to the music, so that
the air was full of dust. Most of the men, however, were extremely
quiet. At the end of each dance, the men took the girls to their seats
and, leaving them, either retired to their side of the room or slipped
out of the door to smoke a cigarette or talk with those who had not yet
dared to venture into the room.
About midnight came supper--pies, cakes and lemonade. Before this,
Jack had had two dances with Bess and Donald three, and Jack had
also succeeded in persuading Mrs. Powell to walk with him through a
quadrille.
It was at the dance that Jack Mason and Claib met. Claib had come in
while Mason was dancing, and had seated himself to look on. As soon as
Mason left his partner, he walked directly over to Claib.
"Well, Claib, how goes it?" he asked cheerily.
"All right now, Jack; and I'd like to shake hands with you, and call
bygones bygones."
"That'll suit me to death, Claib," said Mason, giving his former enemy
a hearty handshake.
A little later, Mr. Sturgis appeared in the ballroom. He shook hands
with Mrs. Powell and Bess and then looked about for the faces of his
own outfit. When he saw Mason, he told him that the cars had arrived,
and that he wanted all hands down to begin to load by daylight, and
asked him to tell the others.
Daylight had come before the dance ended, but when it broke up the
Sturgis outfit were down in the loading corrals, hard at work getting
the steers into the cars as fast as they could.
And the next morning Jack's heart-strings were stretched when he shook
hands with his friends and took the passenger for the Atlantic coast.
THE END
Transcriber's Note:
Small capitals have been rendered in full capitals.
Italics are indicated by _underscores_.
Footnote is placed at the end of chapter.
Apparent typographical errors have been corrected.
On page 44 "Photo." corrected to "Photo"
End of Project Gutenberg's Jack the Young Cowboy, by George Bird Grinnell