I
We were trailing the 'riders' of P Ranch across the plains to a hollow
in the hills called the 'Troughs,' where they were to round up a lot of
cattle for a branding. On the way we fell in behind a bunch of some
fifty cows and yearlings which one of the riders had picked up; and,
while he dashed off across the desert for a 'stray,' we tenderfeet drove
on the herd. It was hot, and the cattle lagged, so we urged them on. All
at once I noticed that the whole herd was moving with a swinging,
warping gait, with switching tails, and heads thrown round from side to
side as if every steer were watching us. We were not near enough to see
their eyes, but the rider, far across the desert, saw the movement and
came cutting through the sage, shouting and waving his arms to stop us.
We had pushed the driving too hard. Mutiny was spreading among the
cattle, already manifest in a sullen ugly temper that would have brought
the herd charging us in another minute, had not the cowboy galloped in
between us just as he did--so untamed, unafraid, and instinctively
savage is the spirit of the herd.
It is this herd-spirit that the cowboy, on his long, cross-desert drives
to the railroad, most fears. The herd is like a crowd, easily led,
easily excited, easily stampeded,--when it becomes a mob of frenzied
beasts, past all control,--the spirit of the city 'gang' at riot in the
plains.
If one would know how thin is the coat of domestication worn by the
tamest of animals, let him ride with the cattle across the rim-rock
country of southeastern Oregon. No better chance to study the spirit of
the herd could possibly be had. And in contrast to the cattle, how
intelligent, controlled, almost human, seems the plainsman's horse!