GUY, THE ROUGH RIDER.
GUY HEARD scarcely a word of Mr. Wilson’s glowing description of the
merits of his horse, for his mind was busy with something else. He was
trying to think up some good excuse for declining to mount the animal.
He made one praiseworthy resolution then and there, and that was that he
would never again indulge in boasting. He had never done it yet without
being exposed.
“Thar he is!” repeated the ranchman. “Jump on! an’ if he don’t take you
through San Joaquin a leetle trifle faster than you ever traveled afore
on hoss-back I’ll give him to you for nothing. Hand us your foot an’
I’ll throw you on.”
Guy’s pride was stronger than his fear. He could see no way to get out
of the difficulty into which he had brought himself by his reckless
boasting except by a frank confession, and that, of course, was not to
be thought of. He noticed that the animal became quieter since the bit
was put into his mouth, and consoling himself with the hope that perhaps
he was not so bad after all, Guy seized the horn of the saddle, gave his
foot to Mr. Wilson, and in a twinkling was seated on the animal’s back.
The horse seemed astonished at his presumption. He turned his head first
one way and then the other, looking at Guy over each shoulder, while the
ranchman and his vaquero begun to back away, as if in anticipation of
something that was about to happen.
“Put your feet in the stirrups,” said Mr. Wilson, “an’ I’ll give him a
good send off.”
[Illustration: “‘Put your feet in the stirrups,’ said Mr. Wilson, ‘an’
I’ll give him a good send off.’”]
Before Guy could obey the horse begun his antics. He put his head down
between his knees, humped up his back, brought his four feet together,
and bounded from the ground, coming down as solid as a rock, and with a
concussion that was terrific. Guy arose in the air about a foot and a
half, and then settled into the saddle again with a jar that fairly made
his teeth chatter.
“Ha, ha!” laughed the ranchman, who appeared to be as highly delighted
as he would have been over an exhibition of fancy riding in a circus;
“that was well done! He bucks beautiful, don’t he?”
“Ye—yes,” said Guy, who had not the least idea what Mr. Wilson meant.
“But why don’t he go ahead? Get up here!”
The horse did get up—this time higher than before—and he executed the
movement with a vigor and viciousness which showed that he meant
business. He made a most terrific stiff-legged jump—a “buck,” Mr. Wilson
called it—and when he came down, Guy, with his arms and legs flying
wildly about, went up like a rocket, hung suspended in the air for a
moment, and then whirled over and came down on his head and shoulders
with a crushing force.
“Wal, I declar! he got you off’n him that time, didn’t he?” exclaimed
the ranchman, hastening to Guy’s assistance. “Now I’ll try him, an’ if
you will keep an eye on me I’ll larn you how to ride a buck-jumper.”
Guy was too nearly senseless to keep an eye on anything. He could not
stand without holding fast to something. Mr. Wilson leaned him up,
against the side of the corral as if he had been a stick of wood, and
then addressed an order in Spanish to his vaquero, who hurried off to
the house, presently returning with a pair of huge Mexican spurs. These,
with the assistance of the Indian, the ranchman quickly fastened to his
feet, and walking up to the horse, which had scarcely moved from his
tracks since he rid himself of Guy, placed one hand on his back, and
with a quick bound, sprung into the saddle. No sooner was he fairly
seated than he brought his armed heels against the sides of the animal,
which sprung away at the top of his speed, and the last Guy saw of him,
he was making rapid headway across the plain, while his rider was urging
him to greater efforts by merciless applications of his persuaders.
When the ranchman returned, at the end of a quarter of an hour, he found
his new hand stretched out on the porch, suffering from a severe
headache, and in no humor to listen to his description of the manner in
which he had conquered the buck-jumper.
Guy had been hungry a few minutes before, but he did not want any supper
now. The tortillas, beans and beef, with which the table was loaded, had
no attraction for him; he simply drank a cup of coffee, without any milk
(ranchmen in California raise cattle for the hides and meat, and not for
the sake of milk and butter), and intimated to Mr. Wilson that he would
be glad to be shown to his room.
“Eh?” exclaimed the ranchman, as if he did not quite understand his
request.
“I say I should like to go to my room,” repeated Guy. “I want to see if
I can’t sleep off this headache.”
“Oh, you want to go to bed, do you? All right.”
As Mr. Wilson said this, he walked out into the yard to light his pipe
at the fire over which the supper had been cooked, and when he came back
he carried over his shoulder a saddle, which he placed at one end of the
porch. Then he went into the house and brought out Guy’s blanket and
poncho; and when he had spread them beside the saddle, the bed was made.
“Thar you are,” said he, “an’ you can tumble down as soon as you
please.”
Guy was astonished. The porch was the only room he was to occupy while
he remained in that house, and his saddle and blankets were to form, his
bed. This was rather a primitive way of living, but it was the style at
Mr. Wilson’s rancho, as he found when the rest of the family were ready
to retire. The farmer’s wife and children stowed themselves away
somewhere in the house, but the man himself made his bed a short
distance from Guy’s, while two Indian herdsmen found sleeping apartments
at the opposite end of the porch.
The first part of the night Guy passed in anything but an agreeable
manner. The saddle proved to be a hard, uncomfortable pillow for an
aching head and, moreover, one of the small army of dogs, which Mr.
Wilson kept about the house, insisted on occupying a portion of his bed,
and showed a disposition to be snappish if the boy happened to crowd him
as he tossed uneasily about. Guy stood the imposition for a while, but
becoming angry at last, he kicked the dog off the porch, rearranged his
bed, folded his jacket and spread it over the saddle, and then lay down
again and slept soundly until he was awakened by footsteps and the
continued murmur of conversation.
He opened his eyes to find that it was broad daylight, and that
preparations were being made to start him off on his journey. There was
the “old clay-bank,” a cream-colored mare, which was to carry the
supplies to Zeke, the buffalo hunter, and act as Guy’s guide at the same
time. A large pack-saddle was strapped on her back, and if one might
judge by the appearance of it, it was well filled. The buck-jumper was
there, too, standing quietly by the horse-trough, saddled and bridled,
and waiting for his rider. Guy’s rifle leaned against the wall at the
head of his bed, with his powder-horn, game-bag, a pair of spurs, and a
long rawhide hanging from the muzzle.
“Halloo! you’re awake at last, are you?” exclaimed the ranchman, who
just then stepped out of the house to arouse Guy. “I thought that seein’
you had the headache I’d let you sleep this mornin’, but it’s time to
get up now.”
Guy scrambled to his feet, looking none the worse for his accident of
the night before, and when he had dipped his head in the horse-trough a
few times, he felt as sprightly and vigorous as though he had never told
a lie, and received in consequence the hardest fall of his life.
The morning was fresh and glorious, as mornings always are in California
at that season of the year, the air was exhilarating—every breath of it
seemed to infuse new life into him—and Guy was elated with the prospect
of a pleasant journey and an interview with the buffalo hunter, who was
the very man he most wished to see. He could have looked forward to a
day of uninterrupted enjoyment but for one thing, and that was the
presence of the buck-jumper. It had a depressing effect upon him. He did
not see why the ranchman should give him that horse to ride when he had
so nearly dashed his brains out the night before.
“Come in an’ get some coffee an’ slapjacks,” said Mr. Wilson, at the
same time tossing Guy a piece of a gunny sack on which to wipe his hands
and face.
The boy’s appetite having come back to him by this time, he made a
hearty breakfast, and while he was eating it, listened to his employer’s
advice and instructions concerning the journey he was about to
undertake.
“Zeke is forty miles away, as I told you,” said the ranchman, “an’ as
your trail, part of the way, leads over the mountains, you won’t be able
to travel very fast; but the ole clay-bank is a right smart walker, an’
if you have no bad luck you had oughter be in Zeke’s camp by four this
arternoon. About midday you’ll cross Deer Run, an’ thar the mar’ will
want to stop an’ pick about a bit, an’ while she’s doin’ it, you can set
down under a tree an’ eat your dinner. You’ll see plenty of antelope
thar, an’ you’ll have no sort of trouble in knockin’ over one fur your
dinner, if you know how to hunt ’em; but fur fear you don’t. I’ve put a
leetle something in your game-bag. You’d best kill an antelope,
howsomever, if you get the chance, ’cause mebbe it’ll help you to make
friends with Zeke.”
“How shall I know him when I see him?” asked Guy.
“Know him!” said the ranchman. “The mar’ll know him, an’ he’ll know the
mar. The fust question he’ll ask you will be, ‘You got any tobacker in
that thar pack-saddle?’ When you see a man who says that to you, tell
him ‘hallo.’ ’cause that’s Zeke. He’ll be a leetle trifle cross an’ ugly
at fust, ’cause he’s been outen tobacker now three or four days; but a
chaw or two will set him all right, an’ you’ll find him a mighty
palaverin’ sort o’ feller. I want you back by to-morrer night so that
you can take your fust lesson in the store on Sunday.”
“I should be much more eager to undertake the journey if I had a gentler
horse to ride,” said Guy.
“A gentler hoss!” repeated the ranchman, opening his eyes in amazement.
“It can’t be found on this farm nor in Californy nuther, a gentler hoss
than that thar hoss can’t. Why, a baby could ride him.”
“But I am out of practice, you know,” said Guy meekly.
“Yes, I seed that; but you won’t have no trouble while the ole clay-bank
is with him. He’ll go along like an old cow.”
Guy’s fears were by no means set at rest by this assurance, but he
raised no further objections to the horse, and having satisfied his
appetite, he arose from his chair and begun preparations for his
journey, in which he was assisted by the ranchman. His poncho and
blanket were rolled up and strapped behind his saddle; the game-bag
containing his dinner was suspended from the pommel; his spurs were
adjusted; the long rawhide, which was intended as a persuader for the
clay-bank, was tied to his wrist by a thong of buckskin; and when Guy,
after the display of a great deal of awkwardness, had managed to seat
himself in the saddle, the farmer handed him his rifle and spoke to the
mare, which set off at a rapid walk, the buck-jumper following quietly
at her heels.
Guy ought to have been supremely happy now, for he was in the very
situation he had so often dreamed of and longed for. He had a “good
horse under him,” a “trusty rifle on his shoulder,” and everything that
was necessary to set him up in business as a hunter. But still things
were not just to his liking—there were always some drawbacks.
In the first place horseback-riding was by no means the easy, agreeable
way of getting over the ground that he had imagined it to be,
particularly to one who was entirely unaccustomed to it and who did not
know how to sit in a saddle.
The buck-jumper may have been very fleet, but he was an uncommon hard
traveler, especially when he found it necessary to quicken his pace in
order to keep up with the fast-walking old clay-bank. On these occasions
he exhibited a style of progression peculiarly his own, and which was
perfect torture to his rider, who was churned up and down, jerked
backward and forward, and jolted from side to side in a way that was
quite alarming.
Then, too, the horse showed by the way he sometimes arched his back and
looked over his shoulder at Guy that there was plenty of mischief in him
still, and every few minutes he would further exhibit it by making a
jump to one side or the other, and doing it so quickly that Guy would
certainly have been thrown to the ground had he not clung with all his
strength to the horn of the saddle. The reason for this was that Guy,
forgetting he had spurs on, kept his heels close to the animal’s side in
order to secure a firm seat, and thus the rowels were pricking him
continually.
Another thing that severely tested his patience and endurance was his
rifle. If it weighed twelve pounds when he left the rancho, it weighed a
hundred before he had gone a quarter of a mile, judging by the way it
pressed into his shoulders and made his arms ache.
Guy felt a good deal of satisfaction in carrying the weapon about with
him, for it was the first thing of the kind he had ever owned; but at
the end of a mile he wished most heartily that he had left it at the
rancho.
At the end of two miles he told himself that if he were ever required to
make this journey again, he would leave his horse at home and follow the
clay-bank on foot. At the end of three he came to the conclusion that he
had mistaken his calling; and by the time he had put four miles between
himself and Mr. Wilson’s rancho, he wished from the bottom of his heart
that he was back on board the Santa Maria.
At last, when Guy could endure it no longer, he set himself at work to
find some way to alleviate his misery. He saw hanging from the horn of
his saddle a lariat with which the thoughtful ranchman had provided him,
so that he might stake out his horse when he went into camp. With this
he formed a sling for his rifle, and tied the weapon securely to his
saddle. This eased his arms and shoulders, and to relieve the rest of
his tired muscles he jumped down and walked a mile or two; and so, by
alternate riding and walking, finally reached Deer Run, where he was to
stop and rest while the clay-bank was “picking about.”
Following the instructions of his employer, he staked out his own horse,
leaving the mare to do as she pleased, and, too tired to eat or do
anything else with comfort, threw himself on the grass under the
spreading branches of a live oak, and heartily wished himself among
civilized people once more. He thought of the antelope which the
ranchman had told him he would here find in abundance, but was much too
dispirited to make any effort to secure one. Besides, his rifle was
empty, and he did not know how to load it.
“And if it was loaded I would not know how to shoot it,” thought Guy;
“and neither do I know how to hunt antelope. I’ve heard that it takes
one who understands their nature and habits to hunt them successfully,
so I guess I won’t bother with them. I’d rather rest. I believe Mr.
Wilson told the truth when he said that I hadn’t the right sort of stuff
in me to make a hunter or trapper. They must be made of something
besides flesh and blood if they can stand such a jolting as I have had
to-day.”
Guy rolled restlessly about under the oak while the clay-bank was
cropping the grass, and when she had eaten her fill she gave him notice
of the fact by slaking her thirst at the run and setting off on her
journey again of her own accord. With a groan of despair Guy mounted his
horse and followed her.
The tortures he had already experienced were aggravated ten-fold during
the afternoon; for the trail, which had hitherto led him over a level
plain, now crossed a range of hills almost high enough to be called
mountains, and the traveling was rough indeed. The sudden springs and
lunges which his horse made in going up the steep ascent racked him in
every muscle. Only once did he dismount to walk, and then he was glad to
scramble back into his saddle again, for the tireless horses went ahead
at such a rate that he could not keep pace with them. Up hill and down
he went, through a wilderness which seemed to have no end; and when at
last he became so exhausted that it was only by a strong exercise of
will that he could keep himself in his saddle, he was electrified by the
appearance of an apparition in greasy buckskin, who came before him so
suddenly that it frightened him.
“Say, you!” it exclaimed, “you brought any tobacker?”
Guy had reached his journey’s end at last.
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