THE END OF A ROPE
Snow layed heavy on the range that winter, grass was hard to get at,
and the little bunch of ponies that tracked the low hills which raised
up on the prairies was finding themselves doing a lot of rustling and
pawing, and getting very little feed. Bunches of cattle followed 'em
wherever they went and rooted with their nose for the few blades of dry
grass them horses had pawed the snow off of and left.
Hay couldn't be bought that winter and the stockmen found themselves
where they had to take a chance and pull their cattle thru with
whatever little hay the dry summer before could let 'em have. Cattle
had been in fine shape that fall, but as the snow kept a piling and a
drifting and covering up the feed the tallow kept a dwindling away from
under the critters' hides and lean ribs begin to show more and more
thru the long winter hair.
Then came a time as the blizzards blowed and regardless of what all the
stockmen done (which was to the limit of what any human can do) when
mounds of white begin to show here and there in that part of the range.
Underneath them white mounds was the dead carcass of a critter. Some
was dug up by the varmints, cayotes was licking their chops, and to
make things worse, there appeared three big grey wolves on the skyline
one day.
Smoky and the big buckskin horse was the first to see the wolves. Their
ears was towards 'em as the three outlaws of the range trotted along
and then stopped to look at the horses.
Smoky had never seen a wolf before, but the big old buckskin had seen
too many of 'em and had scars to show for his meetings with the kind.
He let a loud snort at the sight of the three grey shapes and from that
Smoky got a hunch that these was more to be reckoned with than the
cayotes he'd chased when he was a yearling. He had a hankering to go
and give them a chase too, but the nervous way the buckskin was acting
kinda warned him that it'd be best for him to stick with the bunch.
The weak and dying cattle is what had really drawed the wolves, of
course they would just as soon tackle a strong animal as a weak one but
the scent that scattered over the range from the dead stock and which
would reach no less sensitive a nose than theirs was a lot to their
liking, and they'd just drifted in to investigate.
It was below them to touch any of the carcasses they'd passed, for
these was old wolves well up to the game of killing, and nothing but
fresh meat would do. A good fat yearling or two year old colt is what
came highest and most to their tastes, and when they skirted that ridge
and spotted that little bunch of ponies in the draw below, it was the
sight of them that reminded their appetites how long ago it was since
they'd et last, and they'd traveled a long ways.
But it was still daylight, and according to their natural way of doing
things they'd wait till night come before making the kill. They
skirted on and out of sight of the horses, nosed the snow and the air
to make sure that the coast was clear and after another look at the
country so they'd know it when they returned the wolves trotted on.
They showed what old timers they was as they circled well away from a
carcass for fear of a trap, they'd had their toes pinched in the steel
jaws, scars showed where bullets had grazed 'em and one was still
packing a piece of lead which a cowboy had fired at him from a long
shot with a 30-30.
The big buckskin back there in the draw knowed their way, and it
showed in his action, he'd quit pawing for grass and instead put all
his attention to the tops of the ridges that was all around him and
the bunch. The way them three wolves had sized up the bunch and then
disappeared had made him restless and mighty spooky and finally that
draw got to be too much of a hole for him, too good a place for an
enemy to come into without being seen till that enemy was too close.
The older mares showed a lot of spookiness too which all got Smoky
riled up so that he begin acting the same, and when the buckskin took
the lead out of the draw to where a good look of the country around
could be got the whole bunch was mighty anxious to follow. Even the
little colts seemed to have the hunch that something was up, the white
of their eyes showed and they stuck mighty close to their mammies' side.
* * * * *
A big moon came up and the light of it reflected a path that shined
on the crusted snow, the air was mighty still, still with the cold
that'd gripped the range and made everything that lived and carried
hoofs come to a stand so that no air would be stirred; a breeze at that
temperature would froze stiff every standing animal in that territory.
Smoky, the buckskin, and the bunch stood on a knoll where they could
see well around 'em, they looked like petrified or froze there so still
they all stood, there was no sign of life from 'em excepting for an ear
that moved once in a while and which was on the job to catch any sound
that might come from near or far.
The "yip, yip," and howl of a cayote was heard, another answered, and
pretty soon them two filled the air with their serenading--. The echo
of that hadn't quite died down when the long, drawed out, and mournful
howl of a wolf made that of the cayotes seem like a joke. The little
bunch of horses on the knoll hadn't blinked an eye while the cayotes
was serenading, but at the sound of what followed, every head in the
bunch went up, every ear pointed towards the sound, and the buckskin
with a few others snorted.
Restlessness had got in the bunch. Smoky started out a ways and came
back, then pretty soon and keeping as close together as they could they
all begin moving. They moved on like shadows, and like more shadows
three grey shapes had took up their trail.
The big buckskin had stayed in the rear of the bunch and he was first
to notice the wolves, a loud whistling snort was heard from him as he
landed in the middle of the bunch and kettled 'em into a stampede and
the run for their lives. The cold air was split forty ways and crusted
hunks of snow was sent a flying as the ponies all wild eyed broke their
way thru the drifts at the edge of a ridge and run on towards the big
flat.
Smoky had stampeded with the rest and kept pretty well up in the lead
thru the run, but now that his blood was warming up in plowing thru the
deep snow, and being that that blood was circulating more free up his
neck and into his brain, it all put somewhat of a different light on
the subject. That brain of his was all het up, on hair trigger with the
waking up the run was giving it, and pretty soon something hatched up
in there that made Smoky slow down till the bunch went past and ahead
of him.--He was wanting to see what was all fired dangerous about them
wolves so as to make the bunch run that way.
The big buckskin was the last to pass Smoky, he was busy keeping two
little colts just a few months old from lagging behind too far, bucking
the deep snow at the speed the bunch was making was beginning to show
on 'em and it was taking a lot of persuading from the big horse to keep
them little fellers on the move.
The wolves was steady catching up with the bunch and the attack would
of took place some sooner if it hadn't been for Smoky. His lagging
behind had fooled the wolves into thinking that the mouse colored
gelding had quit and was ready to make his last stand. It had been
Smoky's intention to wait for the killers and paw the daylight out of
'em, but as the three rushed in on him he figgered it a good idea to
postpone the pawing for a while and do a little running till he was
some acquainted with their ways and tricks.
Head and tail up and fire in his eyes he lined out and _led the wolves
away from the bunch_. They'd figgered on making him their victim on
account he was the handiest but as the chase kept up they found the
gelding had a powerful lot of speed left in him. In the meantime Smoky
had somehow lost all hankering of stopping and fight it out with 'em,
there was something about the three hungry looking crethures that kept
him a moving and his instinct was warning him strong that he should
keep some safe distance between him and them.
He was doing that the best he could and as the running kept up and the
wolves couldn't get any closer they finally figgered they was wasting
their time. May be he got to looking too old and tough for 'em and
calculated they'd rather have younger and more tender meat, besides he
was leading 'em straight away from the bunch which might make 'em lose
their chances of getting anything at all.
Smoky's play of leading the wolves off that way had been a great relief
to the bunch and mostly the young colts, they'd had a chance to slow
down some and get their second wind, and when the killers showed up on
their trail once again they was all more able to sashay on and keep
from reach of their tearing fangs.
When Smoky found that the wolves had left him and turned back towards
the bunch, it was his natural instinct to turn too and follow up in
their tracks, he had a hunch somehow that he'd be needed there and he
hadn't altogether lost the hope of a chance of taking apart at least
one of the outlaws.
It was a long and mighty hard run back till he caught up with the bunch
again, but Smoky wasn't the horse he was for nothing, he made it in
near as good a time as the wolves themselves, and he got there just as
the wolves circled around past the buckskin and headed for one of the
colts he'd been hazing.
The buckskin hadn't hardly been noticed, the wolves had passed him up
as too old specially when there was such as the young colts which could
be got easy. The old horse had watched 'em catch up with the bunch
and go past him for a younger victim, he had no way to know that they
didn't want him, and he could of kept well in the lead of the bunch if
he'd wanted to but he'd made hisself guardian over the little colts and
he couldn't for the life of him have left 'em behind. Of course the
little fellers' mammies would of fought for 'em too but they was at the
stage where they felt every horse was for himself, they'd scared into a
stampede and was all a running for their own lives.
The old buckskin knowed wolves, he knowed they had their eye on him and
it was best to keep neutral till they'd got over being watched of every
move he'd make, and as the three greys passed him and was gaining on
the scared little colts he kept to one side and watched. It was just as
the leader made a leap for one of the little fellers' ham strings that
the big buckskin came to life, made a leap too and went to fighting at
the risk of his own life.
The wolves hadn't looked for no such move from him, they'd got over
watching and figgered he was far behind and had put all their
attention on dragging down the victim they'd picked. It was a mighty
big surprise for them when from behind the big buckskin landed on the
second wolf and buried him in the snow while on his way to the first.
A good sized hoof came down just as that first wolf turned his head to
meet the fighting buckskin. That hoof connected with his lower jaw as
he made the turn and left that jaw hanging limp and plum useless.--When
the old pony looked back for the other wolves there was long grey hairs
sticking between his teeth.
It was about then when Smoky arrived on the scene, he'd come up right
behind the buckskin and when the second wolf picked himself up out of
the snow and made a grab which would of been the death of the old horse
Smoky done a side swipe that was quicker than chained lightning. A hind
hoof came up and caught that wolf right under a front leg close to the
body and took that leg off of him like it'd been a tooth pick;--another
horse that'd come up from behind and hadn't been reckoned with.
[Illustration: Smoky done a side swipe that was quicker than chained
lightning.]
It was during this commotion of biting and kicking mixture of buckskin
and mouse colored horseflesh and flying grey wolves that the third and
only able wolf disappeared into thin air. Them two fighting ponies had
took away all his appetite for colt meat and left a hankering only to
be gone from the reach of their destroying hoofs. Three of his kind
could of competed with the mad ponies if their attention had been on
them from the start, but that's where the slip had been made, and as
it was that lone wolf didn't feel at all equal of resuming what the
leader of the pack had started.--He left.
* * * * *
The moon faded away into the sky, break of day had come. Out on the
flat the little bunch of ponies was knee deep in the snow and a pawing
away for the grass that was underneath, there wasn't a scratch on nary
a hide to show that any had ever seen a wolf, but if Smoky and his
pardner the buckskin hadn't been in that little bunch there would of
been another story to tell. The little colt which was so busy digging
up feed for himself and plum ignorant of the close call he'd had would
of been amongst the missing and just easing the appetites of three gray
wolves, and who knows but what a couple more colts might of been killed
along with him, for once a wolf gets a taste of warm blood there's no
telling how far he'll go.
The "yip, yip" and howl of a cayote sounded off from the hills, and
gradual as the sun came up big clouds showed over the skyline from the
northwest and seemed like headed to meet and kill that sun's warm rays.
By noon that day a blizzard had come and the little bunch of ponies
faced it on the way back to the shelter of the hills from where they'd
left in their run for life.
The howl of a lone wolf was heard that night, and away off to the south
there came an answer, an answer that was more drawed out and mournful
than any that'd ever been heard. Smoky snorted, but with the buckskin,
only his head went up, his ears pointed towards the sound. He knowed
wolves and he knowed they wouldn't be back, not that night.
The blizzard hung on for a day and filled the ravines with deep drifts,
then the wind died and it settled down to a slow falling snow. There
was more white mounds where that snow had covered the carcasses of dead
critters, but amongst them mounds there was one that wasn't made by any
of the bellering grass eating kind.--A big gray wolf layed there, a
broke jaw had been the cause of his death.
(Some months later a cowboy run down and roped a three legged wolf and
remarked as he looked close to where a front leg was missing, how "it
must of been an awful wicked bullet to've took that leg off so neat.")
The already long winter dragged and hung on like it never was going to
quit, snow was deep, and even tho the sun climbed higher and stayed
longer there seemed to be no more heat from it than there'd been two
months before and when it was at its lowest. The ponies was having a
hard time and as the feed kept a getting to be harder to reach right
along they was steady losing on weight and strength. The roundness
that'd been theirs a few months before was all gone and instead they
showed lean and slab sided.
* * * * *
Finally, and after it seemed there'd be no end to the rough weather
there came a break, it turned warmer, and some time later the snow
begin to sag and then melt on the sunny side of the hills, gradually,
and after what seemed weeks instead of days the grass showed in plain
sight more and more till the time come when the ponies didn't have to
paw for their feed no more. Then after a while there was green stems
showing thru the dry grass.--The dangers of the winter was over.
The range had turned from white to brown and then green and the little
bunch of ponies begin to perk up considerable, the winter hair was a
slipping, their eyes showed more bright, and pretty soon ribs begin to
disappear under layers of fat and glossy hides. Then to make this new
green world as great and wonderful as the winter before had been hard
and cruel there begin to appear brand new little colts in the bunch,
all slick little fellers and full of play. And as the bunch drifted
to the open prairie they came acrost little calves, their little white
faces a shining in the sun.
Smoky had more than kept with all the changes to the good, he showed
it in every move he made, and as him and the old buckskin (which had
got young again) played around and showed jealous over the new colts it
made a sight that was complete in all that life could give.
There was months of peace that way, the little bunch roamed the
prairies not at all seeming to care where sunup found 'em. Tall green
feed was a plenty and everywheres, clear swift mountain streams slowed
down on the flats and furnished moisture for the big cottonwoods that
reached out in the sky and made cool shade, and as it was, time was
just let slip by and enjoyed only as a free range horse with little
colts for company can enjoy it.
It was more thru habit than heat that the little bunch drifted on up
the foothills one day and then higher in the mountain. May be they
liked the breeze up there better, or the change of feed, or maybe it
was that too many riders had been showing up off and on and which kinda
disturbed 'em.
But them riders couldn't be dodged that easy, and one day for a whole
half hour there was one to within a half a mile of 'em a setting on his
horse, field glasses in his hands and looking at the little bunch as
they fanned themselves on a high ridge plum ignorant of the eyes that
was on 'em.
That rider had spotted the mouse-colored blaze-faced gelding, and at
the sight of him let out a whistle of surprise of seeing such a horse.
He'd rode a little closer then and watched that horse some more, he'd
of come still closer only he didn't want to kettle the bunch and make
'em suspicious, besides he'd just wanted to locate where that horse was
running so he'd know where to find him when he wanted to.--He was one
of the Rocking R men.
Smoky had stood the whole watchful spell without a hunch of it, and as
him and the little bunch started a grazing on up the mountain there
was nothing further away from his mind than the thought of a human on
his trail. Of course there wasn't any human on his trail that day,
but there would be soon, for the way that rider talked that night and
described Smoky to the bronco buster of the outfit all indicated that
it wouldn't be long when the little horse would be finding himself in a
high pole corral.
Smoky was now a four year old going on five, the age when most all
range geldings are run in and broke to either saddle or harness, for
use on the range or to fit 'em for market. The little horse'd had a
good long time of freedom and if he was kept with the outfit he'd get
more, but his time for usefulness had come. The free roaming of the
hills and flats was past for a while till the work he'd be cut out for
was done, and Smoky's experiences from his colt days on till now would
go on with more learning and experiences with the human.
Smoky's waking up to realizing them things came sudden and all mighty
unexpected. A long legged rider on a long legged horse had showed up
on a ridge above him and the bunch; there'd been a lot of territory
covered in mighty fast time as all lit into a run and they was hazed
down onto the flats and then into long pole wings towards the corral,
then first thing Smoky knowed he was penned in, he couldn't go no
further. A big gate was closed and all around him was big cottonwood
bars.
In another pen joining the one Smoky was in there was other horses,
all geldings and along about Smoky's size and age. The gate between
was opened and Smoky was cut out of his bunch by that same long legged
rider that'd run him in, and put thru that gate to join them other
geldings, the gate was closed again after him.
Smoky peeked thru the bars and watched the rider open the outside gate
and leave out the bunch he'd run with. He watched one of the mares take
the lead and in a long lope, head back to the high territory from where
they'd come, he watched the little colts running to keep up and then he
seen the big buckskin tagging along. His pardner and all was leaving
him amongst strange horses, in a high corral, and not far away was a
human which to Smoky was ten times worse than any wolf.
He nickered, and there was a sound to it that made the buckskin stop,
look back, and nicker an answer. The old horse stood there a while
kinda like he was waiting but pretty soon he started again and caught
up with the bunch. The old buckskin knowed humans, he'd packed many a
one of 'em on many a long ride, his freedom had been handed back to him
for the good work he'd done, he'd experienced what Smoky was going thru
now and knowing what he did it was all plain to him just what was up.
There was no use of him waiting.
Smoky watched him and the bunch disappear in a cloud of dust and out of
sight. If only there was no bars holding him it wouldn't take him long
and he could still catch up with 'em, but--He was brought back to hard
facts by the squeak of the heavy gate as it was pulled open and the
cowboy walked in with a long coil of rope on his arm.
Smoky let out a snort at the sight of the human and tore up the earth
for the far side of the corral. Natural fear of the crethure had a hold
on him and once against the solid bars he turned and quivering faced
what he felt was his worst enemy.
If Smoky could only knowed, there'd been a lot of suffering which he
wouldn't had to've went thru on account of that fear, if he'd only
knowed that right then that human was just admiring him for all he
was worth and that doing the little horse any harm was the furthest
thing away from his mind. But the wild gelding had no way of knowing
and every word that human was saying sounded to him like the growl
of a flesh tearing animal, and every move was a step closer to the
victim;--he was the victim.
The cowboy well understood his kind. He'd been raised on the backs of
such as him and he was making his living by gentling that kind and
making good saddle horses out of 'em, and as he stood there, his eyes
taking in every move the mouse colored gelding was making, there was a
smile showed under the stetson. That smile was just for the glad way
he felt as he sized him up and seen where he was all saddle horse, not
the kind that'd fit in harness and to be shipped to farming countries.
He was glad to know that he'd be the first to touch that pony's hide,
and as he kept his eye on the gelding, at the same time shaking out a
loop, he felt there'd be no end of patience for such a horse as that
one looked to be.
His loop ready he walked towards the gelding. Smoky watched him come
and that pony's actions showed where he just wanted to shrink away to
nothing and disappear, but he stayed full size, and seen where his next
best move was to just move, and away to most any old place. The other
geldings scattered as the human came on and Smoky piled in amongst 'em
full speed to the other side of the corral; about that time he heard
the hiss of a rope and that thing which he likened to a snake coiled up
and right around both his front feet.
Them front feet was jerked away from under him as he sailed in the air
and tried to get away, and then he made a circle in the atmosphere and
came down to earth flat on his side. He no more than hit the ground
when he tried to get up. He tried it again and again, and as the cowboy
talked to him and advised him to ease up on the fighting Smoky turned a
wild eyed look his way and snorted.
"Now lay down and be good," says that cowboy. "I sure don't want to
skin up that pretty hide of yours."
Smoky did lay down, he had to, for in another few seconds his four feet
was tied together. He breathed hard as he layed there plum helpless,
his mind wasn't working no more, his heart was a thumping fit to bust
and the racing of the blood thru his body only stampeded his brain. He
was past trying to figger out how he was throwed so easy and then held
down where he could move only his head. No cougar or bear could of made
him so helpless, he could of fought with them, but with this human it
all seemed like he had no chance and the mystery of that human's power
is what put the fear in him, a fear the likes of which was a heap worse
than he'd felt if he'd been cornered by a thousand bears, cougars, and
wolves.
In a dazed way he seen the cowboy bend over him; a knee touched his
neck and the muscles along there quivered the same as if a snake's
fangs had been feeling for a holt. A hand touched his ear and another
his forehead; there was no pain but if there had been the little horse
would of never felt it.
Pretty soon a hackamore was slipped on his head, he felt the rawhide
"bosal" around his nose and then the "feador" rope around his neck, all
the while the crethure was making a low, and _somehow_ not aggravating
noise. It was a talking to him.
The cowboy gave his forehead a couple of rubs, then stood up and walked
around to the pony's feet, Smoky felt the tight ropes loosening up from
around his ankles and pulled away; his feet was free but his mind was
confused a lot and he still layed there; then he felt a pull on the
hackamore rope.
"Come on up and stand on your legs," says that cowboy,--and Smoky came
to life.
He came to life a pawing and rearing and a snorting. His feet was free
and he could handle 'em again, he did handle 'em and put in all the
strength and action he had a trying to pull away from the cowboy which
was holding him with a long rope.--There's some talk of the skill
that's showed between the angler and the trout, but the skill that was
brought out from that hundred and fifty pound cowboy a holding that
eleven hundred pounds of kinky, wild horseflesh was past talking about
and beyond the figgering out of any human that's not up to the trade of
bronco busting.
The cowboy played his rope and held his horse, he'd held many like him
before and most all had fought the same as Smoky was now fighting. That
pony's eyes was afire as he seen there was no chance for any get away
even when he was on his feet, he couldn't at all shake that two legged
hunk of terror, and as he snorted and fought the rope that still held
fast around his head and neck he begin to tire some, and came a time
when as the cowboy stood still a few yards away he stood still too, and
legs wide apart, sweat a dripping from his slick hide, he took in a
breathing spell.
He stood there as he watched the cowboy back away and let the rope
slide thru his hands; he watched him open the gate and get the saddle
horse that'd been left to stand on the other side, seen him get on that
horse and then pick up the slack of the rope that was holding him.
There was thirty feet of it between him and the mounted human, and when
that rope was tossed a little as the rider circled around him, Smoky
made a leap and shaking his head like trying to slip what held him he
headed straight on for the open gate.
But once past it Smoky was jerked to a fighting standstill, he hadn't
as yet reckoned that a rope _could_ hold him--. The gate was closed
after him and the rider had went thru and then Smoky felt some slack.
He took advantage of that and started out full speed again; he was out
of the corral and in the open, the rope that was still on him was only
felt and wasn't holding him from lining out.
A shallow creek bottom full of tall green feed was by that corral and
Smoky headed down it; any place would do so long as he could run and
keep a distance between him and that rider, but that run wasn't to last
long, once again he felt the rope tighten till he was brought to a
stop, and facing the rider once more watched him get off his horse and
fasten the end of the long rope to a log.
"Well, little horse," says the cowboy as he stood there and watched
him for a spell, "don't play too rough with this rope, the better you
treat it the better it'll treat you," and with that he got on his horse
and rode off towards the corrals where more broncs waited for the same
eddication that Smoky had just got.
That long soft and thick cotton rope, and that log which held Smoky
was the means of his first learnings as to ways for usefulness to the
human. The more he'd fight that rope and try to get away from it the
more he'd learn that his fighting and tearing was of _no use_. That
rope was on the job steady and to learn him to turn as he run and hit
the end of it, it would take the stiffness out of his neck and there'd
come a time when he'd give to a pull from either side without fighting
and wanting to be convinced that it could be done. The log which the
rope was tied to was part of the teaching apparatus, heavy enough to
hold the pony, and even tho it could be dragged around some Smoky
couldn't get very far with it.
The little horse realized somehow as he sized up the contraption that
the end had come to all he'd enjoyed with the freedom he'd had, cool
shades,--clear streams, and grassy ranges to all roam on as he pleased
had been took away from him; he didn't know what was to come next, but
he did know that he was on that creek bottom, close to corrals, and
there to stay for a spell.