morning,’ said Pink, ‘for he ordered me to have the cattle counted, and
report to him at the wagon. Acted like he didn’t aim to do the trick
himself. Now, as I’m foreman,’ continued Pink, ‘I want you two
point-men to go up to the first little rise of ground, and we’ll put
the cattle through between you. I want a close count, understand.
You’re working under a boss now that will shove you through hell
itself. So if you miss them over a hundred, I’ll speak to the
management, and see if I can’t have your wages raised, or have you made
a foreman or something with big wages and nothing to do.’
“The point-men smiled at Pink’s orders, and one asked, ‘Are you ready
now?’
“‘All set,’ responded Pink. ‘Let the fiddlers cut loose.’
“Well, we lined them up and got them strung out in shape to count, and
our point-men picking out a favorite rise, we lined them through
between our counters. We fed them through, and as regularly as a watch
you could hear Californy call out to his pardner ‘tally!’ Alternately
they would sing out this check on the even hundred head, slipping a
knot on their tally string to keep the hundreds. It took a full half
hour to put them through, and when the rear guard of crips and dogies
passed this impromptu review, we all waited patiently for the verdict.
Our counters rode together, and Californy, leaning over on the pommel
of his saddle, said to his pardner, ‘What you got?’
“‘Thirty-three six,’ was the answer.
“‘Why, you can’t count a little bit,’ said Californy. ‘I got
thirty-three seven. How does the count suit you, boss?’
“‘Easy suited, gents,’ said Pink. ‘But I’m surprised to find such good
men with a common cow herd. I must try and have you appointed by the
government on this commission that’s to investigate Texas fever. You’re
altogether too accomplished for such a common calling as claims you at
present.’
“Turning to the rest of us, he said, ‘Throw your cattle on the trail,
you vulgar peons, while I ride back to order forward my wagon and
saddle stock. By rights, I ought to have one of those centre fire
cigars to smoke, to set off my authority properly on this occasion.’
“He jogged back to the wagon and satisfied the dethroned medicine man
that the cattle were there to a hoof. We soon saw the saddle horses
following, and an hour afterward Pink and the foreman rode by us, big
as fat cattle-buyers from Kansas City, not even knowing any one, so
absorbed in their conversation were they; rode on by and up the trail,
looking out for grass and water.
“It was over two weeks afterward when Pink said to us, ‘When we strike
the Santa Fé Railway, I may advise my man to take a needed rest for a
few weeks in some of the mountain resorts. I hope you all noticed how
worried he looks, and, to my judgment, he seems to be losing flesh. I
don’t like to suggest anything, but the day before we reach the
railroad, I think a day’s curlew shooting in the sand hills along the
Arkansas River might please his highness. In case he’ll go with me, if
I don’t lose him, I’ll never come back to this herd. It won’t hurt him
any to sleep out one night with the dry cattle.’
“Sure enough, the day before we crossed that road, somewhere near the
Colorado state line, Pink and Bad Medicine left camp early in the
morning for a curlew hunt in the sand hills. Fortunately it was a foggy
morning, and within half an hour the two were out of sight of camp and
herd. As Pink had outlined the plans, everything was understood. We
were encamped on a nice stream, and instead of trailing along with the
herd, lay over for that day. Night came and our hunters failed to
return, and the next morning we trailed forward towards the Arkansas
River. Just as we went into camp at noon, two horsemen loomed up in
sight coming down the trail from above. Every rascal of us knew who
they were, and when the two rode up, Pink grew very angry and demanded
to know why we had failed to reach the river the day before.
“The horse wrangler, a fellow named Joe George, had been properly
coached, and stepping forward, volunteered this excuse: ‘You all didn’t
know it when you left camp yesterday morning that we were out the wagon
team and nearly half the saddle horses. Well, we were. And what’s more,
less than a mile below on the creek was an abandoned Indian camp. I
wasn’t going to be left behind with the cook to look for the missing
stock, and told the _segundo_ so. We divided into squads of three or
four men each and went out and looked up the horses, but it was after
six o’clock before we trailed them down and got the missing animals. If
anybody thinks I’m going to stay behind to look for missing stock in a
country full of lurking Indians—well, they simply don’t know me.’
“The scheme worked all right. On reaching the railroad the next
morning, Bad Medicine authorized Pink to take the herd to Ogalalla on
the Platte, while he took a train for Denver. Around the camp-fire that
night, Pink gave us his experience in losing Mr. Medicine. ‘Oh, I lost
him late enough in the day so he couldn’t reach any shelter for the
night,’ said Pink. ‘At noon, when the sun was straight overhead, I
sounded him as to directions and found that he didn’t know straight up
or east from west. After giving him the slip, I kept an eye on him
among the sand hills, at the distance of a mile or so, until he gave up
and unsaddled at dusk. The next morning when I overtook him, I
pretended to be trailing him up, and I threw enough joy into my rapture
over finding him, that he never doubted my sincerity.’
“On reaching Ogalalla, a man from Montana put in an appearance in
company with poor old Medicine, and as they did business strictly with
Pink, we were left out of the grave and owly council of medicine men.
Well, the upshot of the whole matter was that Pink was put in charge of
the herd, and a better foreman I never worked under. We reached the
company’s Yellowstone range early in the fall, counted over and bade
our dogies good-by, and rode into headquarters. That night I talked
with the regular men on the ranch, and it was there that I found out
that a first-class cowhand could get in four months’ haying in the
summer and the same feeding it out in the winter. But don’t you forget
it, she’s a cow country all right. I always was such a poor hand afoot
that I passed up that country, and here I am a ‘boomer.’”
“Well, boom if you want,” said Tom Roll, “but do you all remember what
the governor of North Carolina said to the governor of South Carolina?”
“It is quite a long time between drinks,” remarked Joe, rising, “but I
didn’t want to interrupt Ace.”
As we lined up at the bar, Ace held up a glass two thirds full, and
looking at it in a meditative mood, remarked: “Isn’t it funny how
little of this stuff it takes to make a fellow feel rich! Why, four
bits’ worth under his belt, and the President of the United States
can’t hire him.”
As we strolled out into the street, Joe inquired, “Ace, where will I
see you after supper?”
“You will see me, not only after supper, but all during supper, sitting
right beside you.”
IV
A WINTER ROUND-UP
An hour before daybreak one Christmas morning in the Cherokee Strip,
six hundred horses were under saddle awaiting the dawn. It was a clear,
frosty morning that bespoke an equally clear day for the wolf _rodeo_.
Every cow-camp within striking distance of the Walnut Grove, on the
Salt Fork of the Cimarron, was a scene of activity, taxing to the
utmost its hospitality to man and horse. There had been a hearty
response to the invitation to attend the circle drive-hunt of this
well-known shelter of several bands of gray wolves. The cowmen had
suffered so severely in time past from this enemy of cattle that the
Cherokee Strip Cattle Association had that year offered a bounty of
twenty dollars for wolf scalps.
The lay of the land was extremely favorable. The Walnut Grove was a
thickety covert on the north first bottom of the Cimarron, and possibly
two miles wide by three long. Across the river, and extending several
miles above and below this grove, was the salt plain—an alkali desert
which no wild animal, ruminant or carnivorous, would attempt to cross,
instinct having warned it of its danger. At the termination of the
grove proper, down the river or to the eastward, was a sand dune bottom
of several miles, covered by wild plum brush, terminating in a perfect
horseshoe a thousand acres in extent, the entrance of which was about a
mile wide. After passing the grove, this plum-brush country could be
covered by men on horseback, though the chaparral undergrowth of the
grove made the use of horses impracticable. The Cimarron River, which
surrounds this horseshoe on all sides but the entrance, was probably
two hundred yards wide at an average winter stage, deep enough to swim
a horse, and cold and rolling.
Across the river, opposite this horseshoe, was a cut-bank twenty feet
high in places, with only an occasional cattle trail leading down to
the water. This cut-bank formed the second bottom on that side, and the
alkaline plain—the first bottom—ended a mile or more up the river. It
was an ideal situation for a drive-hunt, and legend, corroborated by
evidences, said that the Cherokees, when they used this outlet as a
hunting-ground after their enforced emigration from Georgia, had held
numerous circle hunts over the same ground after buffalo, deer, and
elk.
The rendezvous was to be at ten o’clock on Encampment Butte, a plateau
overlooking the entire hunting-field and visible for miles. An hour
before the appointed time the clans began to gather. All the camps
within twenty-five miles, and which were entertaining participants of
the hunt, put in a prompt appearance. Word was received early that
morning that a contingent from the Eagle Chief would be there, and
begged that the start be delayed till their arrival. A number of old
cowmen were present, and to them was delegated the duty of appointing
the officers of the day. Bill Miller, a foreman on the Coldwater Pool,
an adjoining range, was appointed as first captain. There were also
several captains over divisions, and an acting captain placed over
every ten men, who would be held accountable for any disorder allowed
along the line under his special charge.
The question of forbidding the promiscuous carrying of firearms met
with decided opposition. There was an element of danger, it was true,
but to deprive any of the boys of arms on what promised an exciting
day’s sport was contrary to their creed and occupation; besides, their
judicious use would be an essential and valuable assistance. To deny
one the right and permit another, would have been to divide their
forces against a common enemy; so in the interests of harmony it was
finally concluded to assign an acting captain over every ten men. “I’ll
be perfectly responsible for any of my men,” said Reese, a red-headed
Welsh cowman from over on Black Bear. “Let’s just turn our wild selves
loose, and those wolves won’t stand any more show than a coon in a bear
dance.”
“It would be fine satisfaction to be shot by a responsible man like you
or any of your outfit,” replied Hollycott, superintendent of the “LX.”
“I hope another Christmas Day to help eat a plum pudding on the banks
of the Dee, and I don’t want to be carrying any of your stray lead in
my carcass either. Did you hear me?”
“Yes; we’re going to have egg-nog at our camp to-night. Come down.”
The boys were being told off in squads of ten, when a suppressed shout
of welcome arose, as a cavalcade of horsemen was sighted coming over
the divide several miles distant. Before the men were allotted and
their captains appointed, the last expected squad had arrived, their
horses frosty and sweaty. They were all well known west end Strippers,
numbering fifty-four men and having ridden from the Eagle Chief,
thirty-five miles, starting two hours before daybreak.
With the arrival of this detachment, Miller gave his orders for the
day. Tom Cave was given two hundred men and sent to the upper end of
the grove, where they were to dismount, form in a half circle
skirmish-line covering the width of the thicket, and commence the drive
down the river. Their saddle horses were to be cut into two bunches and
driven down on either side of the grove, and to be in readiness for the
men when they emerged from the chaparral, four of the oldest men being
detailed as horse wranglers. Reese was sent with a hundred and fifty
men to left flank the grove, deploying his men as far back as the
second bottom, and close his line as the drive moved forward. Billy
Edwards was sent with twenty picked men down the river five miles to
the old beef ford at the ripples. His instructions were to cross and
scatter his men from the ending of the salt plain to the horseshoe, and
to concentrate them around it at the termination of the drive. He was
allowed the best ropers and a number of shotguns, to be stationed at
the cattle trails leading down to the water at the river’s bend. The
remainder, about two hundred and fifty men under Lynch, formed a long
scattering line from the left entrance of the horseshoe, extending back
until it met the advancing line of Reese’s pickets.
With the river on one side and this cordon of foot and horsemen on the
other, it seemed that nothing could possibly escape. The location of
the quarry was almost assured. This chaparral had been the breeding
refuge of wolves ever since the Cimarron was a cattle country. Every
rider on that range for the past ten years knew it to be the rendezvous
of El Lobo, while the ravages of his nightly raids were in evidence for
forty miles in every direction. It was a common sight, early in the
morning during the winter months, to see twenty and upward in a band,
leisurely returning to their retreat, logy and insolent after a night’s
raid. To make doubly sure that they would be at home to callers, the
promoters of this drive gathered a number of worthless lump-jawed
cattle two days in advance, and driving them to the edge of the grove,
shot one occasionally along its borders, thus, to be hoped, spreading
the last feast of the wolves.
By half past ten, Encampment Butte was deserted with the exception of a
few old cowmen, two ladies, wife and sister of a popular cowman, and
the captain, who from this point of vantage surveyed the field with a
glass. Usually a languid and indifferent man, Miller had so set his
heart on making this drive a success that this morning he appeared
alert and aggressive as he rode forward and back across the plateau of
the Butte. The dull, heavy reports of several shotguns caused him to
wheel his horse and cover the beef ford with his glass, and a moment
later Edwards and his squad were seen with the naked eye to scale the
bank and strike up the river at a gallop. It was known that the ford
was saddle-skirt deep, and some few of the men were strangers to it;
but with that passed safely he felt easier, though his blood coursed
quicker. It lacked but a few minutes to eleven, and Cave and his
detachment of beaters were due to move on the stroke of the hour. They
had been given one hundred rounds of six-shooter ammunition to the man
and were expected to use it. Edwards and his cavalcade were approaching
the horseshoe, the cordon seemed perfect, though scattering, when the
first faint sound of the beaters was heard, and the next moment the
barking of two hundred six-shooters was reëchoing up and down the
valley of the Salt Fork.
The drive-hunt was on; the long yell passed from the upper end of the
grove to the mouth of the horseshoe and back, punctuated with an
occasional shot by irrepressibles. The mounts of the day were the pick
of over five thousand cow-horses, and corn-fed for winter use, in the
pink of condition and as impatient for the coming fray as their riders.
Everything was moving like clockwork. Miller forsook the Butte and rode
to the upper end of the grove; the beaters were making slow but steady
progress, while the saddled loose horses would be at hand for their
riders without any loss of time. Before the beaters were one third over
the ground, a buck and doe came out about halfway down the grove,
sighted the horsemen, and turned back for shelter. Once more the long
yell went down the line. Game had been sighted. When about one half the
grove had been beat, a flock of wild turkeys came out at the lower end,
and taking flight, sailed over the line. Pandemonium broke out. Good
resolutions of an hour’s existence were converted into paving material
in the excitement of the moment, as every carbine or six-shooter in or
out of range rained its leaden hail at the flying covey. One fine bird
was accidentally winged, and half a dozen men broke from the line to
run it down, one of whom was Reese himself. The line was not
dangerously broken nor did harm result, and on their return Miller was
present and addressed this query to Reese: “Who is the captain of this
flank line?”
“He’ll weigh twenty pounds,” said Reese, ignoring the question and
holding the gobbler up for inspection.
“If you were a vealy tow-headed kid, I’d have something to say to you,
but you’re old enough to be my father, and that silences me. But try
and remember that this is a wolf hunt, and that there are enough wolves
in that brush this minute to kill ten thousand dollars’ worth of cattle
this winter and spring, and some of them will be your own. That turkey
might eat a few grasshoppers, but you’re cowman enough to know that a
wolf just loves to kill a cow while she’s calving.”
This lecture was interrupted by a long cheer coming up the line from
below, and Miller galloped away to ascertain its cause. He met Lynch
coming up, who reported that several wolves had been sighted, while at
the lower end of the line some of the boys had been trying their guns
up and down the river to see how far they would carry. What caused the
recent shouting was only a few fool cowboys spurting their horses in
short races. He further expressed the opinion that the line would hold,
and at the close with the cordon thickened, everything would be forced
into the pocket. Miller rode back down the line with him until he met a
man from his own camp, and the two changing horses, he hurried back to
oversee personally the mounting of the beaters when the grove had been
passed.
Reese, after the captain’s reproof, turned his trophy over to some of
the men, and was bringing his line down and closing up with the forward
movement of the drive. On Miller’s return, no fault could be found, as
the line was condensed to about a mile in length, while the beaters on
the points were just beginning to emerge from the chaparral and anxious
for their horses. Once clear of the grove, the beaters halted,
maintaining their line, while from either end the horse wranglers were
distributing to them their mounts. Again secure in their saddles, the
long yell circled through the plum thickets and reëchoed down the line,
and the drive moved forward at a quicker pace. “If you have any doubts
about hell,” said Cave to Miller, as the latter rode by, “just take a
little _pasear_ through that thicket once and you’ll come out a
defender of the faith.”
The buck and doe came out within sight of the line once more, lower
down opposite the sand dunes, and again turned back, and a half hour
later all ears were strained listening to the rapid shooting from the
farther bank of the river. Rebuffed in their several attempts to force
the line, they had taken to the water and were swimming the river. From
several sand dunes their landing on the opposite bank near the ending
of the salt plain could be distinctly seen. As they came out of the
river, half a dozen six-shooters were paying them a salute in lead; but
the excitability of the horses made aim uncertain, and they rounded the
cut-bank at the upper end and escaped.
While the deer were making their escape, a band of antelope were
sighted sunning themselves amongst the sand dunes a mile below;
attracted by the shooting, they were standing at attention. Now when an
antelope scents danger, he has an unreasonable and unexplainable desire
to reach high ground, where he can observe and be observed—at a
distance. Once this conclusion has been reached, he allows nothing to
stop him, not even recently built wire fences or man himself, and like
the cat despises water except for drinking purposes. So when this band
of antelope decided to adjourn their _siesta_ from the warm, sunny
slope of a sand dune, they made an effort and did break the cordon, but
not without a protest.
As they came out of the sand dunes, heading straight for the line, all
semblance of control was lost in the men. Nothing daunted by the
yelling that greeted the antelope, once they came within range fifty
men were shooting at them without bringing one to grass. With guns
empty they loosened their ropes and met them. A dozen men made casts,
and Juan Mesa, a Mexican from the Eagle Chief, lassoed a fine buck,
while “Pard” Sevenoaks, from the J+H, fastened to the smallest one in
the band. He was so disgusted with his catch that he dismounted,
ear-marked the kid, and let it go. Mesa had made his cast with so large
a loop that one fore leg of the antelope had gone through, and it was
struggling so desperately that he was compelled to tie the rope in a
hard knot to the pommel of his saddle. His horse was a wheeler on the
rope, so Juan dismounted to pet his buck. While he held on to the rope
assisting his horse, an Eagle Chief man slipped up and cut the rope
through the knot, and the next moment a Mexican was burning the grass,
calling on saints and others to come and help him turn the antelope
loose. When the rope had burned its way through his gloved hands, he
looked at them in astonishment, saying, “That was one bravo buck. How
come thees rope untie?” But there was none to explain, and an antelope
was dragging thirty-five feet of rope in a frantic endeavor to overtake
his band.
The line had been closing gradually until at this juncture it had been
condensed to about five miles, or a horseman to every fifty feet.
Wolves had been sighted numerous times running from covert to covert,
but few had shown themselves to the flank line, being contented with
such shelter as the scraggy plum brush afforded. Whenever the beaters
would rout or sight a wolf, the yelling would continue up and down the
line for several minutes. Cave and his well-formed circle of beaters
were making good time; Reese on the left flank was closing and moving
forward, while the line under Lynch was as impatient as it was
hilarious. Miller made the circle every half hour or so; and had only
to mention it to pick any horse he wanted from the entire line for a
change.
By one o’clock the drive had closed to the entrance of the pocket, and
within a mile and a half of the termination. There was yet enough cover
to hide the quarry, though the extreme point of this horseshoe was a
sand bar with no shelter except driftwood trees. Edwards and his squad
were at their post across the river, in plain view of the advancing
line. Suddenly they were seen to dismount and lie down on the brink of
the cut-bank. A few minutes later chaos broke out along the line, when
a band of possibly twenty wolves left their cover and appeared on the
sand bar. A few rifle shots rang out from the opposite bank, when they
skurried back to cover.
Shooting was now becoming dangerous. In the line was a horseman every
ten or twelve feet. All the captains rode up and down begging the men
to cease shooting entirely. This only had a temporary effect, for
shortly the last bit of cover was passed, and there within four hundred
yards on the bar was a snarling, snapping band of gray wolves.
The line was halted. The unlooked-for question now arose how to make
the kill safe and effective. It would be impossible to shoot from the
opposite bank without endangering the line of men and horses. Finally a
small number of rifles were advanced on the extreme left flank to
within two hundred yards of the quarry, where they opened fire at an
angle from the watchers on the opposite bank. They proved poor
marksmen, overshooting, and only succeeded in wounding a few and
forcing several to take to the water, so that it became necessary to
recall the men to the line.