[Illustration]
CATTLE BRANDS
A Collection of Western Camp-fire Stories
by ANDY ADAMS
1906
TO MR. AND MRS. HENRY RUSSELL WRAY
Contents
I. DRIFTING NORTH
II. SEIGERMAN’S PER CENT
III. “BAD MEDICINE”
IV. A WINTER ROUND-UP
V. A COLLEGE VAGABOND
VI. THE DOUBLE TRAIL
VII. RANGERING
VIII. AT COMANCHE FORD
IX. AROUND THE SPADE WAGON
X. THE RANSOM OF DON RAMON MORA
XI. THE PASSING OF PEG-LEG
XII. IN THE HANDS OF HIS FRIENDS
XIII. A QUESTION OF POSSESSION
XIV. THE STORY OF A POKER STEER
“The Passing of Peg-Leg” and “A Question of Possession” appeared
originally in _Leslie’s Monthly_, and are here reprinted by permission
of the publishers of that magazine.
BRANDS
[Illustration]
CATTLE BRANDS
I
DRIFTING NORTH
It was a wet, bad year on the Old Western Trail. From Red River north
and all along was herd after herd waterbound by high water in the
rivers. Our outfit lay over nearly a week on the South Canadian, but we
were not alone, for there were five other herds waiting for the river
to go down. This river had tumbled over her banks for several days, and
the driftwood that was coming down would have made it dangerous
swimming for cattle.
We were expected to arrive in Dodge early in June, but when we reached
the North Fork of the Canadian, we were two weeks behind time.
Old George Carter, the owner of the herd, was growing very impatient
about us, for he had had no word from us after we had crossed Red River
at Doan’s crossing. Other cowmen lying around Dodge, who had herds on
the trail, could hear nothing from their men, but in their experience
and confidence in their outfits guessed the cause—it was water. Our
surprise when we came opposite Camp Supply to have Carter and a
stranger ride out to meet us was not to be measured. They had got
impatient waiting, and had taken the mail buckboard to Supply, making
inquiries along the route for the _Hat_ herd, which had not passed up
the trail, so they were assured. Carter was so impatient that he could
not wait, as he had a prospective buyer on his hands, and the delay in
the appearing of the herd was very annoying to him. Old George was as
tickled as a little boy to meet us all.
The cattle were looking as fine as silk. The lay-overs had rested them.
The horses were in good trim, considering the amount of wet weather we
had had. Here and there was a nigger brand, but these saddle galls were
unavoidable when using wet blankets. The cattle were twos and threes.
We had left western Texas with a few over thirty-two hundred head and
were none shy. We could have counted out more, but on some of them the
Hat brand had possibly faded out. We went into a cosy camp early in the
evening. Everything needful was at hand, wood, water, and grass. Cowmen
in those days prided themselves on their outfits, and Carter was a
trifle gone on his men.
With the cattle on hand, drinking was out of the question, so the only
way to show us any regard was to bring us a box of cigars. He must have
brought those cigars from Texas, for they were wrapped in a copy of the
Fort Worth “Gazette.” It was a month old and full of news. Every man in
the outfit read and reread it. There were several train robberies
reported in it, but that was common in those days. They had nominated
for Governor “The Little Cavalryman,” Sol Ross, and this paper
estimated that his majority would be at least two hundred thousand. We
were all anxious to get home in time to vote for him.
Theodore Baughman was foreman of our outfit. Baugh was a typical
trail-boss. He had learned to take things as they came, play the cards
as they fell, and not fret himself about little things that could not
be helped. If we had been a month behind he would never have thought to
explain the why or wherefore to old man Carter. Several years after
this, when he was scouting for the army, he rode up to a herd over on
the Chisholm trail and asked one of the tail men: “Son, have you seen
anything of about three hundred nigger soldiers?” “No,” said the
cowboy. “Well,” said Baugh, “I’ve lost about that many.”
That night around camp the smoke was curling upward from those cigars
in clouds. When supper was over and the guards arranged for the night,
story-telling was in order. This cattle-buyer with us lived in Kansas
City and gave us several good ones. He told us of an attempted robbery
of a bank which had occurred a few days before in a western town. As a
prelude to the tale, he gave us the history of the robbers.
“Cow Springs, Kansas,” said he, “earned the reputation honestly of
being a hard cow-town. When it became the terminus of one of the many
eastern trails, it was at its worst. The death-rate amongst its city
marshals—always due to a six-shooter in the hands of some man who never
hesitated to use it—made the office not over desirable. The office was
vacated so frequently in this manner that at last no local man could be
found who would have it. Then the city fathers sent to Texas for a man
who had the reputation of being a killer. He kept his record a vivid
green by shooting first and asking questions afterward.
“Well, the first few months he filled the office of marshal he killed
two white men and an Indian, and had the people thoroughly buffaloed.
When the cattle season had ended and winter came on, the little town
grew tame and listless. There was no man to dare him to shoot, and he
longed for other worlds to conquer. He had won his way into public
confidence with his little gun. But this confidence reposed in him was
misplaced, for he proved his own double both in morals and courage.
“To show you the limit of the confidence he enjoyed: the treasurer of
the Cherokee Strip Cattle Association paid rent money to that tribe, at
their capital, fifty thousand dollars quarterly. The capital is not
located on any railroad; so the funds in currency were taken in
regularly by the treasurer, and turned over to the tribal authorities.
This trip was always made with secrecy, and the marshal was taken along
as a trusted guard. It was an extremely dangerous trip to make, as it
was through a country infested with robbers and the capital at least a
hundred miles from the railroad. Strange no one ever attempted to rob
the stage or private conveyance, though this sum was taken in regularly
for several years. The average robber was careful of his person, and
could not be induced to make a target of himself for any money
consideration, where there was danger of a gun in the hands of a man
that would shoot rapidly and carelessly.
“Before the herds began to reach as far north, the marshal and his
deputy gave some excuse and disappeared for a few days, which was quite
common and caused no comment. One fine morning the good people of the
town where the robbery was attempted were thrown into an uproar by
shooting in their bank, just at the opening hour. The robbers were none
other than our trusted marshal, his deputy, and a cow-puncher who had
been led into the deal. When they ordered the officials of the bank to
stand in a row with hands up, they were nonplused at their refusal to
comply. The attacked party unearthed ugly looking guns and opened fire
on the hold-ups instead.
“This proved bad policy, for when the smoke cleared away the cashier, a
very popular man, was found dead, while an assistant was dangerously
wounded. The shooting, however, had aroused the town to the situation,
and men were seen running to and fro with guns. This unexpected refusal
and the consequent shooting spoiled the plans of the robbers, so that
they abandoned the robbery and ran to their horses.
“After mounting they parleyed with each other a moment and seemed
bewildered as to which way they should ride, finally riding south
toward what seemed a broken country. Very few minutes elapsed before
every man who could find a horse was joining the posse that was forming
to pursue them. Before they were out of sight the posse had started
after them. They were well mounted and as determined a set of men as
were ever called upon to meet a similar emergency. They had the decided
advantage of the robbers, as their horses were fresh, and the men knew
every foot of the country.
“The broken country to which the hold-ups headed was a delusion as far
as safety was concerned. They were never for a moment out of sight of
the pursuers, and this broken country ended in a deep coulee. When the
posse saw them enter this they knew that their capture was only a
matter of time. Nature seemed against the robbers, for as they entered
the coulee their horses bogged down in a springy rivulet, and they were
so hard pressed that they hastily dismounted, and sought shelter in
some shrubbery that grew about. The pursuing party, now swollen to
quite a number, had spread out and by this time surrounded the men.
They were seen to take shelter in a clump of wild plum brush, and the
posse closed in on them. Seeing the numbers against them, they came out
on demand and surrendered. Neither the posse nor themselves knew at
this time that the shooting in the bank had killed the cashier. Less
than an hour’s time had elapsed between the shooting and the capture.
When the posse reached town on their return, they learned of the death
of the cashier, and the identity of the prisoners was soon established
by citizens who knew the marshal and his deputy. The latter admitted
their identity.
“That afternoon they were photographed, and later in the day were given
a chance to write to any friends to whom they wished to say good-by.
The cow-puncher was the only one who availed himself of the
opportunity. He wrote to his parents. He was the only one of the trio
who had the nerve to write, and seemed the only one who realized the
enormity of his crime, and that he would never see the sun of another
day.
“As darkness settled over the town, the mob assembled. There was no
demonstration. The men were taken quietly out and hanged. At the final
moment there was a remarkable variety of nerve shown. The marshal and
deputy were limp, unable to stand on their feet. With piteous appeals
and tears they pleaded for mercy, something they themselves had never
shown their own victims. The boy who had that day written his parents
his last letter met his fate with Indian stoicism. He cursed the
crouching figures of his pardners for enticing him into this crime, and
begged them not to die like curs, but to meet bravely the fate which he
admitted they all deserved. Several of the men in the mob came forward
and shook hands with him, and with no appeal to man or his Maker, he
was swung into the great Unknown at the end of a rope. Such nerve is
seldom met in life, and those that are supposed to have it, when they
come face to face with their end, are found lacking that quality. It is
a common anomaly in life that the bad man with his record often shows
the white feather when he meets his fate at the hands of an outraged
community.”
We all took a friendly liking to the cattle-buyer. He was an
interesting talker. While he was a city man, he mixed with us with a
certain freedom and abandon that was easy and natural. We all regretted
it the next day when he and the old man left us.
“I’ve heard my father tell about those Cherokees,” said Port Cole.
“They used to live in Georgia, those Indians. They must have been
honest people, for my father told us boys at home, that once in the old
State while the Cherokees lived there, his father hired one of their
tribe to guide him over the mountains. There was a pass through the
mountains that was used and known only to these Indians. It would take
six weeks to go and come, and to attend to the business in view. My
father was a small boy at the time, and says that his father hired the
guide for the entire trip for forty dollars in gold. One condition was
that the money was to be paid in advance. The morning was set for the
start, and my grandfather took my father along on the trip.
“Before starting from the Indian’s cabin my grandfather took out his
purse and paid the Indian four ten-dollar gold pieces. The Indian
walked over to the corner of the cabin, and in the presence of other
Indians laid this gold, in plain sight of all, on the end of a log that
projected where they cross outside, and got on his horse to be gone six
weeks. They made the trip on time, and my father said his first
thought, on their return to the Indian village, was to see if the money
was untouched. It was. You couldn’t risk white folks that way.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said one of the boys. “Suppose you save your wages
this summer and try it next year when we start up the trail, just to
see how it will work.”
“Well, if it’s just the same to you,” replied Port, lighting a fresh
cigar, “I’ll not try, for I’m well enough satisfied as to how it would
turn out, without testing it.”
“Isn’t it strange,” said Bat Shaw, “that if you trust a man or put
confidence in him he won’t betray you. Now, that marshal—one month he
was guarding money at the risk of his life, and the next was losing his
life trying to rob some one. I remember a similar case down on the Rio
Grande. It was during the boom in sheep a few years ago, when every one
got crazy over sheep.
“A couple of Americans came down on the river to buy sheep. They
brought their money with them. It was before the time of any railroads.
The man they deposited their money with had lived amongst these
Mexicans till he had forgotten where he did belong, though he was a
Yankee. These sheep-buyers asked their banker to get them a man who
spoke Spanish and knew the country, as a guide. The banker sent and got
a man that he could trust. He was a swarthy-looking native whose
appearance would not recommend him anywhere. He was accepted, and they
set out to be gone over a month.
“They bought a band of sheep, and it was necessary to pay for them at a
point some forty miles further up the river. There had been some
robbing along the river, and these men felt uneasy about carrying the
money to this place to pay for the sheep. The banker came to the rescue
by advising them to send the money by the Mexican, who could take it
through in a single night. No one would ever suspect him of ever having
a dollar on his person. It looked risky, but the banker who knew the
nature of the native urged it as the better way, assuring them that the
Mexican was perfectly trustworthy. The peon was brought in, the
situation was explained to him, and he was ordered to be in readiness
at nightfall to start on his errand.
“He carried the money over forty miles that night, and delivered it
safely in the morning to the proper parties. This act of his aroused
the admiration of these sheep men beyond a point of safety. They paid
for the sheep, were gone for a few months, sold out their flocks to
good advantage, and came back to buy more. This second time they did
not take the precaution to have the banker hire the man, but did so
themselves, intending to deposit their money with a different house
farther up the river. They confided to him that they had quite a sum of
money with them, and that they would deposit it with the same merchant
to whom he had carried the money before. The first night they camped
the Mexican murdered them both, took the money, and crossed into
Mexico. He hid their bodies, and it was months before they were missed,
and a year before their bones were found. He had plenty of time to go
to the ends of the earth before his crime would be discovered.
“Now that Mexican would never think of betraying the banker, his old
friend and patron, his _muy bueno amigo_. There were obligations that
he could not think of breaking with the banker; but these fool sheep
men, supposing it was simple honesty, paid the penalty of their
confidence with their lives. Now, when he rode over this same road
alone, a few months before, with over five thousand dollars in money
belonging to these same men, all he would need to have done was to ride
across the river. When there were no obligations binding, he was
willing to add murder to robbery. Some folks say that Mexicans are good
people; it is the climate, possibly, but they can always be depended on
to assay high in treachery.”
“What guard are you going to put me on to-night?” inquired old man
Carter of Baugh.
“This outfit,” said Baugh, in reply, “don’t allow any tenderfoot around
the cattle,—at night, at least. You’d better play you’re company;
somebody that’s come. If you’re so very anxious to do something, the
cook may let you rustle wood or carry water. We’ll fix you up a bed
after a little, and see that you get into it where you can sleep and be
harmless.
“Colonel,” added Baugh, “why is it that you never tell that experience
you had once amongst the greasers?”
“Well, there was nothing funny in it to me,” said Carter, “and they say
I never tell it twice alike.”
“Why, certainly, tell us,” said the cattle-buyer. “I’ve never heard it.
Don’t throw off to-night.”
“It was a good many years ago,” began old man George, “but the incident
is very clear in my mind. I was working for a month’s wages then
myself. We were driving cattle out of Mexico. The people I was working
for contracted for a herd down in Chihuahua, about four hundred miles
south of El Paso. We sent in our own outfit, wagon, horses, and men,
two weeks before. I was kept behind to take in the funds to pay for the
cattle. The day before I started, my people drew out of the bank
twenty-eight thousand dollars, mostly large bills. They wired ahead and
engaged a rig to take me from the station where I left the railroad to
the ranch, something like ninety miles.
“I remember I bought a new mole-skin suit, which was very popular about
then. I had nothing but a small hand-bag, and it contained only a
six-shooter. I bought a book to read on the train and on the road out,
called ‘Other People’s Money.’ The title caught my fancy, and it was
very interesting. It was written by a Frenchman,—full of love and
thrilling situations. I had the money belted on me securely, and
started out with flying colors. The railroad runs through a dreary
country, not worth a second look, so I read my new book. When I arrived
at the station I found the conveyance awaiting me. The plan was to
drive halfway, and stay over night at a certain hacienda.
“The driver insisted on starting at once, telling me that we could
reach the Hacienda Grande by ten o’clock that night, which would be
half my journey. We had a double-seated buckboard and covered the
country rapidly. There were two Mexicans on the front seat, while I had
the rear one all to myself. Once on the road I interested myself in
‘Other People’s Money,’ almost forgetful of the fact that at that very
time I had enough of other people’s money on my person to set all the
bandits in Mexico on my trail. There was nothing of incident that
evening, until an hour before sundown. We reached a small ranchito,
where we spent an hour changing horses, had coffee and a rather light
lunch.
“Before leaving I noticed a Pinto horse hitched to a tree some distance
in the rear of the house, and as we were expecting to buy a number of
horses, I walked back and looked this one carefully over. He was very
peculiarly color-marked in the mane. I inquired for his owner, but they
told me that he was not about at present. It was growing dusk when we
started out again. The evening was warm and sultry and threatening
rain. We had been on our way about an hour when I realized we had left
the main road and were bumping along on a by-road. I asked the driver
his reason for this, and he explained that it was a cut-off, and that
by taking it we would save three miles and half an hour’s time. As a
further reason he expressed his opinion that we would have rain that
night, and that he was anxious to reach the hacienda in good time. I
encouraged him to drive faster, which he did. Within another hour I
noticed we were going down a dry arroyo, with mesquite brush on both
sides of the road, which was little better than a trail. My suspicions
were never aroused sufficiently to open the little hand-bag and belt on
the six-shooter. I was dreaming along when we came to a sudden stop
before what seemed a deserted jacal. The Mexicans mumbled something to
each other over some disappointment, when the driver said to me:—
“‘Here’s where we stay all night. This is the hacienda.’ They both got
out and insisted on my getting out, but I refused to do so. I reached
down and picked up my little grip and was in the act of opening it,
when one of them grabbed my arm and jerked me out of the seat to the
ground. I realized then for the first time that I was in for it in
earnest. I never knew before that I could put up such a fine defense,
for inside a minute I had them both blinded in their own blood. I
gathered up rocks and had them flying when I heard a clatter of hoofs
coming down the arroyo like a squadron of cavalry. They were so close
on to me that I took to the brush, without hat, coat, or pistol. Men
that pack a gun all their lives never have it when they need it; that
was exactly my fix. Darkness was in my favor, but I had no more idea
where I was or which way I was going than a baby. One thing sure, I was
trying to get away from there as fast as I could. The night was
terribly dark, and about ten o’clock it began to rain a deluge. I kept
going all night, but must have been circling.
“Towards morning I came to an arroyo which was running full of water.
My idea was to get that between me and the scene of my trouble, so I
took off my boots to wade it. When about one third way across, I either
stepped off a bluff bank or into a well, for I went under and dropped
the boots. When I came to the surface I made a few strokes swimming and
landed in a clump of mesquite brush, to which I clung, got on my feet,
and waded out to the opposite bank more scared than hurt. Right there I
lay until daybreak.
“The thing that I remember best now was the peculiar odor of the wet
mole-skin. If there had been a strolling artist about looking for a
picture of Despair, I certainly would have filled the bill. The sleeves
were torn out of my shirt, and my face and arms were scratched and
bleeding from the thorns of the mesquite. No one who could have seen me
then would ever have dreamed that I was a walking depositary of ‘Other
People’s Money.’ When it got good daylight I started out and kept the
shelter of the brush to hide me. After nearly an hour’s travel, I came
out on a divide, and about a mile off I saw what looked like a jacal.
Directly I noticed a smoke arise, and I knew then it was a habitation.
My appearance was not what I desired, but I approached it.
“In answer to my knock at the door a woman opened it about two inches
and seemed to be more interested in examination of my anatomy than in
listening to my troubles. After I had made an earnest sincere talk she
asked me, ‘No estay loco tu?’ I assured her that I was perfectly sane,
and that all I needed was food and clothing, for which I would pay her
well. It must have been my appearance that aroused her sympathy, for
she admitted me and fed me.
“The woman had a little girl of probably ten years of age. This little
girl brought me water to wash myself, while the mother prepared me
something to eat. I was so anxious to pay these people that I found a
five-dollar gold piece in one of my pockets and gave it to the little
girl, who in turn gave it to her mother. While I was drinking the
coffee and eating my breakfast, the woman saw me looking at a picture
of the Virgin Mary which was hanging on the adobe wall opposite me. She
asked me if I was a Catholic, which I admitted. Then she brought out a
shirt and offered it to me.
“Suddenly the barking of a dog attracted her to the door. She returned
breathless, and said in good Spanish: ‘For God’s sake, run! Fly! Don’t
let my husband and brother catch you here, for they are coming home.’
She thrust the shirt into my hand and pointed out the direction in
which I should go. From a concealed point of the brush I saw two men
ride up to the jacal and dismount. One of them was riding the Pinto
horse I had seen the day before.
“I kept the brush for an hour or so, and finally came out on the mesa.
Here I found a flock of sheep and a pastore. From this shepherd I
learned that I was about ten miles from the main road. He took the
sandals from his own feet and fastened them on mine, gave me
directions, and about night I reached the hacienda, where I was kindly
received and cared for. This ranchero sent after officers and had the
country scoured for the robbers. I was detained nearly a week, to see
if I could identify my drivers, without result. They even brought in
the owner of the Pinto horse, and no doubt husband of the woman who
saved my life.
“After a week’s time I joined our own outfit, and I never heard a
language that sounded so sweet as the English of my own tongue. I would
have gone back and testified against the owner of the spotted horse if
it hadn’t been for a woman and a little girl who depended on him,
robber that he was.”
“Now, girls,” said Baugh, addressing Carter and the stranger, “I’ve
made you a bed out of the wagon-sheet, and rustled a few blankets from
the boys. You’ll find the bed under the wagon-tongue, and we’ve
stretched a fly over it to keep the dew off you, besides adding privacy
to your apartments. So you can turn in when you run out of stories or
get sleepy.”
“Haven’t you got one for us?” inquired the cattle-buyer of Baugh. “This
is no time to throw off, or refuse to be sociable.”
“Well, now, that bank robbery that you were telling the boys about,”
said Baugh, as he bit the tip from a fresh cigar, “reminds me of a
hold-up that I was in up in the San Juan mining country in Colorado. We
had driven into that mining camp a small bunch of beef and had sold
them to fine advantage. The outfit had gone back, and I remained behind
to collect for the cattle, expecting to take the stage and overtake the
outfit down on the river. I had neglected to book my passage in
advance, so when the stage was ready to start I had to content myself
with a seat on top. I don’t remember the amount of money I had. It was
the proceeds of something like one hundred and fifty beeves, in a small
bag along of some old clothes. There wasn’t a cent of it mine, still I
was supposed to look after it.
“The driver answered to the name of South-Paw, drove six horses, and we
had a jolly crowd on top. Near midnight we were swinging along, and as
we rounded a turn in the road, we noticed a flickering light ahead some
distance which looked like the embers of a camp-fire. As we came nearly
opposite the light, the leaders shied at some object in the road in
front of them. South-Paw uncurled his whip, and was in the act of
pouring the leather into them, when that light was uncovered as big as
the head-light of an engine. An empty five-gallon oil-can had been cut
in half and used as a reflector, throwing full light into the road
sufficient to cover the entire coach. Then came a round of orders which
meant business. ‘Shoot them leaders if they cross that obstruction!’
‘Kill any one that gets off on the opposite side!’ ‘Driver, move up a
few feet farther!’ ‘A few feet farther, please.’ ‘That’ll do; thank
you, sir.’ ‘Now, every son-of-a-horse-thief, get out on this side of
the coach, please, and be quick about it!’
“The man giving these orders stood a few feet behind the lamp and out
of sight, but the muzzle of a Winchester was plainly visible and seemed
to cover every man on the stage. It is needless to say that we obeyed,
got down in the full glare of the light, and lined up with our backs to
the robber, hands in the air. There was a heavily veiled woman on the
stage, whom he begged to hold the light for him, assuring her that he
never robbed a woman. This veiled person disappeared at the time, and
was supposed to have been a confederate. When the light was held for
him, he drew a black cap over each one of us, searching everybody for
weapons. Then he proceeded to rob us, and at last went through the
mail. It took him over an hour to do the job; he seemed in no hurry.
“It was not known what he got out of the mail, but the passengers
yielded about nine hundred revenue to him, while there was three times
that amount on top the coach in my grip, wrapped in a dirty flannel
shirt. When he disappeared we were the cheapest lot of men imaginable.
It was amusing to hear the excuses, threats, and the like; but the fact
remained the same, that a dozen of us had been robbed by a lone
highwayman. I felt good over it, as the money in the grip had been
overlooked.
“Well, we cleared out the obstruction in the road, and got aboard the
coach once more. About four o’clock in the morning we arrived at our
destination, only two hours late. In the hotel office where the stage
stopped was the very man who had robbed us. He had got in an hour ahead
of us, and was a very much interested listener to the incident as
retold. There was an early train out of town that morning, and at a
place where they stopped for breakfast he sat at the table with several
drummers who were in the hold-up, a most attentive listener.
“He was captured the same day. He had hired a horse out of a livery
stable the day before, to ride out to look at a ranch he thought of
buying. The liveryman noticed that he limped slightly. He had collided
with lead in Texas, as was learned afterward. The horse which had been
hired to the ranch-buyer of the day before was returned to the corral
of the livery barn at an unknown hour during the night, and suspicion
settled on the lame man. When he got off the train at Pueblo, he walked
into the arms of officers. The limp had marked him clearly.
“In a grip which he carried were a number of sacks, which he supposed
contained gold dust, but held only taulk on its way to assayers in
Denver. These he had gotten out of the express the night before,
supposing they were valuable. We were all detained as witnesses. He was
tried for robbing the mails, and was the coolest man in the court room.
He was a tall, awkward-looking fellow, light complexioned, with a mild
blue eye. His voice, when not disguised, would mark him amongst a
thousand men. It was peculiarly mild and soft, and would lure a babe
from its mother’s arms.
“At the trial he never tried to hide his past, and you couldn’t help
liking the fellow for his frank answers.
“‘Were you ever charged with any crime before?’ asked the prosecution.
‘If so, when and where?’
“‘Yes,’ said the prisoner, ‘in Texas, for robbing the mails in ’77.’
“‘What was the result?’ continued the prosecution.
“‘They sent me over the road for ninety-nine years.’
“‘Then how does it come that you are at liberty?’ quizzed the attorney.
“‘Well, you see the President of the United States at that time was a
warm personal friend of mine, though we had drifted apart somewhat.
When he learned that the Federal authorities had interfered with my
liberties, he pardoned me out instantly.’
“‘What did you do then?’ asked the attorney.
“‘Well, I went back to Texas, and was attending to my own business,
when I got into a little trouble and had to kill a man. Lawyers down
there won’t do anything for you without you have money, and as I didn’t
have any for them, I came up to this country to try and make an honest
dollar.’
“He went over the road a second time, and wasn’t in the Federal prison
a year before he was released through influence. Prison walls were
never made to hold as cool a rascal as he was. Have you a match?”
It was an ideal night. Millions of stars flecked the sky overhead. No
one seemed willing to sleep. We had heard the evening gun and the
trumpets sounding tattoo over at the fort, but their warnings of the
closing day were not for us. The guards changed, the cattle sleeping
like babes in a trundle-bed. Finally one by one the boys sought their
blankets, while sleep and night wrapped these children of the plains in
her arms.
II
SEIGERMAN’S PER CENT
Towards the wind-up of the Cherokee Strip Cattle Association it became
hard to ride a chuck-line in winter. Some of the cattle companies on
the range, whose headquarters were far removed from the scene of active
operations, saw fit to give orders that the common custom of feeding
all comers and letting them wear their own welcome out must be stopped.
This was hard on those that kept open house the year round. There was
always a surplus of men on the range in the winter. Sometimes there
might be ten men at a camp, and only two on the pay-roll. These extra
men were called “chuck-line riders.” Probably eight months in the year
they all had employment. At many camps they were welcome, as they would
turn to and help do anything that was wanted done.
After a hard freeze it would be necessary to cut the ice, so that the
cattle could water. A reasonable number of guests were no drawback at a
time like this, as the chuck-line men would be the most active in
opening the ice with axes. The cattle belonging to those who kept open
house never got so far away that some one didn’t recognize the brand
and turn them back towards their own pasture. It was possible to cast
bread upon the waters, even on the range.
The new order of things was received with many protests. Late in the
fall three worthies of the range formed a combine, and laid careful
plans of action, in case they should get let out of a winter’s job.
“I’ve been on the range a good while,” said Baugh, the leader of this
trio, “but hereafter I’ll not ride my horses down, turning back the
brand of any hidebound cattle company.”
“That won’t save you from getting hit with a cheque for your time when
the snow begins to drift,” commented Stubb.
“When we make our grand tour of the State this winter,” remarked Arab
Ab, “we’ll get that cheque of Baugh’s cashed, together with our own.
One thing sure, we won’t fret about it; still we might think that
riding a chuck-line would beat footing it in a granger country, broke.”
“Oh, we won’t go broke,” said Baugh, who was the leader in the idea
that they would go to Kansas for the winter, and come back in the
spring when men are wanted.
So when the beef season had ended, the calves had all been branded up
and everything made snug for the winter, the foreman said to the boys
at breakfast one morning, “Well, lads, I’ve kept you on the pay-roll as
long as there has been anything to do, but this morning I’ll have to
give you your time. These recent orders of mine are sweeping, for they
cut me down to one man, and we are to do our own cooking. I’m sorry
that any of you that care to can’t spend the winter with us. It’s there
that my orders are very distasteful to me, for I know what it is to
ride a chuck-line myself. You all know that it’s no waste of affection
by this company that keeps even two of us on the pay-roll.”
While the foreman was looking up accounts and making out the time of
each, Baugh asked him, “When is the wagon going in after the winter’s
supplies?”
“In a day or two,” answered the foreman. “Why?”
“Why, Stubby, Arab, and myself want to leave our saddles and private
horses here with you until spring. We’re going up in the State for the
winter, and will wait and go in with the wagon.”
“That will be all right,” said the foreman. “You’ll find things right
side up when you come after them, and a job if I can give it to you.”
“Don’t you think it’s poor policy,” asked Stubb of the foreman, as the
latter handed him his time, “to refuse the men a roof and the bite they
eat in winter?”
“You may ask that question at headquarters, when you get your time
cheque cashed. I’ve learned not to think contrary to my employers; not
in the mouth of winter, anyhow.”
“Oh, we don’t care,” said Baugh; “we’re going to take in the State for
a change of scenery. We’ll have a good time and plenty of fun on the
side.”
The first snow-squall of the season came that night, and the wagon
could not go in for several days. When the weather moderated the three
bade the foreman a hearty good-by and boarded the wagon for town, forty
miles away. This little village was a supply point for the range
country to the south, and lacked that diversity of entertainment that
the trio desired. So to a larger town westward, a county seat, they
hastened by rail. This hamlet they took in by sections. There were the
games running to suit their tastes, the variety theatre with its
painted girls, and handbills announced that on the 24th of December and
Christmas Day there would be horse races. To do justice to all this
melted their money fast.
Their gay round of pleasure had no check until the last day of the
races. Heretofore they had held their own in the games, and the first
day of the races they had even picked several winners. But grief was in
store for Baugh the leader, Baugh the brains of the trio. He had named
the winners so easily the day before, that now his confidence knew no
bounds. His opinion was supreme on a running horse, though he cautioned
the others not to risk their judgment—in fact, they had better follow
him. “I’m going to back that sorrel gelding, that won yesterday in the
free-for-all to-day,” said he to Stubb and Arab, “and if you boys go in
with me, we’ll make a killing.”
“You can lose your money on a horse race too quick to suit me,” replied
Stubb. “I prefer to stick to poker; but you go ahead and win all you
can, for spring is a long ways off yet.”
“My observation of you as a poker player, my dear Stubby, is that you
generally play the first hand to win and all the rest to get even.”
They used up considerable time scoring for the free-for-all running
race Christmas Day, during which delay Baugh not only got all his money
bet, but his watch and a new overcoat. The race went off with the usual
dash, when there were no more bets in sight; and when it ended Baugh
buttoned up the top button of his coat, pulled his hat down over his
eyes, and walked back from the race track in a meditative state of
mind, to meet Stubb and Arab Ab.
“When I gamble and lose I never howl,” said Baugh to his friends, “but
I do love a run for my money, though I didn’t have any more chance
to-day than a rabbit. I’ll take my hat off to the man that got it,
however, and charge it up to my tuition account.”
“You big chump, you! if you hadn’t bet your overcoat it wouldn’t be so
bad. What possessed you to bet it?” asked Stubb, half reprovingly.
“Oh, hell, I’ll not need it. It’s not going to be a very cold winter,
nohow,” replied Baugh, as he threw up one eye toward the warm sun. “We
need exercise. Let’s walk back to town. Now, this is a little
unexpected, but what have I got you boy’s for, if you can’t help a
friend in trouble. There’s one good thing—I’ve got my board paid three
weeks in advance; paid it this morning out of yesterday’s winnings.
Lucky, ain’t I?”
“Yes, you’re powerful lucky. You’re alive, ain’t you?” said Stubb,
rubbing salt into his wounds.
“Now, my dear Stubby, don’t get gay with the leading lady; you may get
in a bad box some day and need me.”
This turn of affairs was looked upon by Stubb and Arab as quite a joke
on their leader. But it was no warning to them, and they continued to
play their favorite games, Stubb at poker, while Arab gave his
attention to monte. Things ran along for a few weeks in this manner,
Baugh never wanting for a dollar or the necessary liquids that cheer
the despondent. Finally they were forced to take an inventory of their
cash and similar assets. The result was suggestive that they would have
to return to the chuck-line, or unearth some other resource. The
condition of their finances lacked little of the red-ink line.
Baugh, who had been silent during this pow-wow, finally said, “My board
will have to be provided for in a few days, but I have an idea, struck
it to-day, and if she works, we’ll pull through to grass like four time
winners.”
“What is it?” asked the other two, in a chorus.
“There’s a little German on a back street here, who owns a bar-room
with a hotel attached. He has a mania to run for office; in fact,
there’s several candidates announced already. Now, the convention don’t
meet until May, which is in our favor. If my game succeeds, we will be
back at work before that time. That will let us out easy.”
As their finances were on a parity with Baugh’s, the others were
willing to undertake anything that looked likely to tide them over the
winter. “Leave things to me,” said Baugh. “I’ll send a friend around to
sound our German, and see what office he thinks he’d like to have.”
The information sought developed the fact that it was the office of
sheriff that he wanted. When the name was furnished, the leader of this
scheme wrote it on a card—Seigerman, Louie Seigerman,—not trusting to
memory. Baugh now reduced their finances further for a shave, while he
meditated how he would launch his scheme. An hour afterwards, he walked
up to the bar, and asked, “Is Mr. Seigerman in?”
“Dot ish my name, sir,” said the man behind the bar.
“Could I see you privately for a few minutes?” asked Baugh, who himself
could speak German, though his tongue did not indicate it.
“In von moment,” said Seigerman, as he laid off his white apron and
called an assistant to take his place. He then led the way to a back
room, used for a storehouse. “Now, mine frendt, vat ish id?” inquired
Louie, when they were alone.
“My name is Baughman,” said he, as he shook Louie’s hand with a hearty
grip. “I work for the Continental Cattle Company, who own a range in
the strip adjoining the county line below here. My people have suffered
in silence from several bands of cattle thieves who have headquarters
in this county. Heretofore we have never taken any interest in the
local politics of this community. But this year we propose to assert
ourselves, and try to elect a sheriff who will do his sworn duty, and
run out of this county these rustling cattle thieves. Mr. Seigerman, it
would surprise you did I give you the figures in round numbers of the
cattle that my company have lost by these brand-burning rascals who
infest this section.
“Now to business, as you are a business man. I have come to ask you to
consent to your name being presented to the county convention, which
meets in May, as a candidate for the office of sheriff of this county.”
As Louie scratched his head and was meditating on his reply, Baughman
continued: “Now, we know that you are a busy man, and have given this
matter no previous thought, so we do not insist on an immediate reply.
But think it over, and let me impress on your mind that if you consent
to make the race, you will have the support of every cattle-man in the
country. Not only their influence and support, but in a selfish
interest will their purses be at your command to help elect you. This
request of mine is not only the mature conclusion of my people, but we
have consulted others interested, and the opinion seems unanimous that
you are the man to make the race for this important office.”
“Mr. Baughman, vill you not haf one drink mit me?” said Seigerman, as
he led the way towards the bar.
“If you will kindly excuse me, Mr. Seigerman, I never like to indulge
while attending to business matters. I’ll join you in a cigar, however,
for acquaintance’ sake.”
When the cigars were lighted Baugh observed, “Why, do you keep hotel?
If I had known it, I would have put up with you, but my bill is paid in
advance at my hotel until Saturday. If you can give me a good room by
then, I’ll come up and stop with you.”
“You can haf any room in mine house, Mr. Baughman,” said Seigerman.
As Baugh was about to leave he once more impressed on Louie the nature
of his call. “Now, Mr. Seigerman,” said Baughman, using the German
language during the parting conversation, “let me have your answer at
the earliest possible moment, for we want to begin an active canvass at
once. This is a large county, and to enlist our friends in your behalf
no time should be lost.” With a profusion of “Leben Sie wohls” and well
wishes for each other, the “Zweibund” parted.
Stubb and Arab were waiting on a corner for Baugh. When he returned he
withheld his report until they had retreated to the privacy of their
own room. Once secure, he said to both: “If you would like to know what
an active, resourceful brain is, put your ear to my head,” tapping his
temple with his finger, “and listen to mine throb and purr. Everything
is working like silk. I’m going around to board with him Saturday. I
want you to go over with me to-morrow, Stubby, and give him a big game
about what a general uprising there is amongst the cowmen for an
efficient man for the office of sheriff, and make it strong. I gave him
my last whirl to-day in German. Oh, he’ll run all right; and we want to
convey the impression that we can rally the cattle interests to his
support. Put up a good grievance, mind you! You can both know that I
begged strong when I took this cigar in preference to a drink.”
“It’s certainly a bad state of affairs we’ve come to when you refuse
whiskey. Don’t you think so, Stubby?” said Arab, addressing the one and
appealing to the other. “You never refused no drink, Baugh, you know
you didn’t,” said Stubb reproachfully.
“Oh, you little sawed-off burnt-offering, you can’t see the policy that
we must use in handling this matter. This is a delicate play, that
can’t be managed roughshod on horseback. It has food, shelter, and
drink in it for us all, but they must be kept in the background. The
main play now is to convince Mr. Seigerman that he has a call to serve
his country in the office of sheriff. Bear down heavy on the emergency
clause. Then make him think that no other name but Louie Seigerman will
satisfy the public clamor. Now, my dear Stubby, I know that you are a
gifted and accomplished liar, and for that reason I insist that you
work your brain and tongue in this matter. Keep your own motive in the
background and bring his to the front. That’s the idea. Now, can you
play your part?”
“Well, as I have until to-morrow to think it over, I’ll try,” said
Stubb.
The next afternoon Baugh and Stubb sauntered into Louie’s place, and
received a very cordial welcome at the hands of the proprietor. Baugh
introduced Stubb as a friend of his whom he had met in town that day,
and who, being also interested in cattle, he thought might be able to
offer some practical suggestions. Their polite refusal to indulge in a
social glass with the proprietor almost hurt his feelings.
“Let us retire to the rear room for a few moments of conversation, if
you have the leisure,” said Baugh.
Once secure in the back room, Stubb opened his talk. “As my friend Mr.
Baughman has said, I’m local manager of the Ohio Cattle Company
operating in the Strip. I’m spending considerable time in your town at
present, as I’m overseeing the wintering of something like a hundred
saddle horses and two hundred and fifty of our thoroughbred bulls. We
worked our saddle stock so late last fall, that on my advice the
superintendent sent them into the State to be corn-fed for the winter.
The bulls were too valuable to be risked on the range. We had over
fifty stolen last season, that cost us over three hundred dollars a
head. I had a letter this morning from our superintendent, asking me to
unite with what seems to be a general movement to suppress this
high-handed stealing that has run riot in this county in the past. Mr.
Baughman has probably acquainted you with the general sentiment in
cattle circles regarding what should be done. I wish to assure you
further that my people stand ready to use their best endeavors to
nominate a candidate who will pledge himself to stamp out this
disgraceful brand-burning and cattle-rustling. The little protection
shown the livestock interests in this western country has actually
driven capital out of one of the best paying industries in the West.
But it is our own fault. We take no interest in local politics. Any one
is good enough for sheriff with us. But this year there seems to be an
awakening. It may be a selfish interest that prompts this uprising; I
think it is. But that is the surest hope in politics for us. The
cattle-men’s pockets have been touched, their interests have been
endangered. Mr. Seigerman, I feel confident that if you will enter the
race for this office, it will be a walk-away for you. Now consider the
matter fully, and I might add that there is a brighter future for you
politically than you possibly can see. I wish I had brought our
superintendent’s letter with me for you to read.