ORGANIZING THE FORCES
Don Lovell and Jim Flood returned from Lasalle County on the last day
of February. They had spent a week along the Upper Nueces, and before
returning to the ranch closed a trade on thirty-four hundred five and
six year old beeves. According to their report, the cattle along the
river had wintered in fine condition, and the grass had already started
in the valley. This last purchase concluded the buying for trail
purposes, and all absent foremen were notified to be on hand at the
ranch on March 10, for the beginning of active operations. Only some
ten of us had wintered at headquarters in Medina County, and as about
ninety men would be required for the season’s work, they would have to
be secured elsewhere. All the old foremen expected to use the greater
portion of the men who were in their employ the year before, and could
summon them on a few days’ notice. But Forrest and myself were
compelled to hire entirely new outfits, and it was high time we were
looking up our help.
One of Flood’s regular outfit had married during the winter, and with
Forrest’s and my promotion, he had only to secure three new men. He had
dozens of applications from good cow-hands, and after selecting for
himself offered the others to Quince and me. But my brother Bob arrived
at the ranch, from our home in Karnes County, two days later, having
also a surplus of men at his command. Although he did not show any
enthusiasm over my promotion, he offered to help me get up a good
outfit of boys. I had about half a dozen good fellows in view, and on
Bob’s approval of them, he selected from his overplus six more as first
choice and four as second. It would take me a week of constant riding
to see all these men, and as Flood and Forrest had made up an outfit
for the latter from the former’s available list, Quince and I saddled
up and rode away to hire outfits. Forrest was well acquainted in
Wilson, where Lovell had put up several trail herds, and as it joined
my home county, we bore each other company the first day.
A long ride brought us to the Atascosa, where we stayed all night. The
next morning we separated, Quince bearing due east for Floresville,
while I continued southeast towards my home near Cibollo Ford on the
San Antonio River. It had been over a year since I had seen the family,
and on reaching the ranch, my father gruffly noticed me, but my mother
and sisters received me with open arms. I was a mature man of
twenty-eight at the time, mustached, and stood six feet to a
plumb-line. The family were cognizant of my checkered past, and
although never mentioning it, it seemed as if my misfortunes had
elevated me in the estimation of my sisters, while to my mother I had
become doubly dear.
During the time spent in that vicinity, I managed to reach home at
night as often as possible. Constantly using fresh horses, I covered a
wide circle of country, making one ride down the river into Goliad
County of over fifty miles, returning the next day. Within a week I had
made up my outfit, including the horse-wrangler and cook. Some of the
men were ten years my senior, while only a few were younger, but I knew
that these latter had made the trip before and were as reliable as
their elders. The wages promised that year were fifty dollars a month,
the men to furnish only their own saddles and blankets, and at that
figure I picked two pastoral counties, every man bred to the
occupation. The trip promised six months’ work with return passage, and
I urged every one employed to make his appearance at headquarters, in
Medina, on or before the 15th of the month. There was no railroad
communication through Karnes and Goliad counties at that time, and all
the boys were assured that their private horses would have good
pasturage at the home ranch while they were away, and I advised them
all to come on horseback. By this method they would have a fresh horse
awaiting them on their return from the North with which to continue
their homeward journey. All the men engaged were unmarried, and taken
as a whole, I flattered myself on having secured a crack outfit.
I was in a hurry to get back to the ranch. There had been nothing said
about the remudas before leaving, and while we had an abundance of
horses, no one knew them better than I did. For that reason I wanted to
be present when their allotment was made, for I knew that every foreman
would try to get the best mounts, and I did not propose to stand behind
the door and take the culls. Many of the horses had not had a saddle on
them in eight months, while all of them had run idle during the winter
in a large mesquite pasture and were in fine condition with the opening
of spring. So bidding my folks farewell, I saddled at noon and took a
cross-country course for the ranch, covering the hundred and odd miles
in a day and a half. Reaching headquarters late at night, I found that
active preparations had been going on during my absence. There were new
wagons to rig, harness to oil, and a carpenter was then at work
building chuck-boxes for each of the six commissaries. A wholesale
house in the city had shipped out a stock of staple supplies, almost
large enough to start a store. There were whole coils of new rope of
various sizes, from lariats to corral cables, and a sufficient amount
of the largest size to make a stack of hobbles as large as a haycock.
Four new branding-irons to the wagon, the regulation “Circle Dot,”
completed the main essentials.
All the foremen had reported at the ranch, with the exception of
Forrest, who came in the next evening with three men. The division of
the horses had not even come up for discussion, but several of the boys
about headquarters who were friendly to my interests posted me that the
older foremen were going to claim first choice. Archie Tolleston, next
to Jim Flood in seniority in Lovell’s employ, had spent every day
riding among the horses, and had even boasted that he expected to claim
fifteen of the best for his own saddle. Flood was not so particular, as
his destination was in southern Dakota, but my brother Bob was again
ticketed for the Crow Agency in Montana, and would naturally expect a
good remuda. Tolleston was going to western Wyoming, while the Fort
Buford cattle were a two-weeks’ later delivery and fully five hundred
miles farther travel. On my return Lovell was in the city, but I felt
positive that if he took a hand in the division, Tolleston would only
run on the rope once.
A few days before the appointed time, the men began thronging into
headquarters. Down to the minutest detail about the wagons and mule
teams, everything was shipshape. The commissary department was stocked
for a month, and everything was ready to harness in and move. Lovell’s
headquarters was a stag ranch, and as fast as the engaged cooks
reported, they were assigned to wagons, and kept open house in
relieving the home cocinero. In the absence of our employer, Flood was
virtually at the head of affairs, and artfully postponed the division
of horses until the last moment. My outfit had all come in in good
time, and we were simply resting on our oars until the return of old
man Don from San Antonio. The men were jubilant and light-hearted as a
lot of school-boys, and with the exception of a feeling of jealousy
among the foremen over the remudas, we were a gay crowd, turning night
into day. But on the return of our employer, all frivolity ceased, and
the ranch stood at attention. The only unfinished work was the division
of the horses, and but a single day remained before the agreed time for
starting. Jim Flood had met his employer at the station the night
before, and while returning to the ranch, the two discussed the
apportionment of the saddle stock. The next morning all the foremen
were called together, when the drover said to his trail bosses:
“Boys, I suppose you are all anxious to get a good remuda for this
summer’s trip. Well, I’ve got them for you. The only question is, how
can we distribute them equitably so that all interests will be
protected. One herd may not have near the distance to travel that the
others have. It would look unjust to give it the best horses, and yet
it may have the most trouble. Our remudas last year were all picked
animals. They had an easy year’s work. With the exception of a few
head, we have the same mounts and in much better condition than last
year. This is about my idea of equalizing things. You four old foremen
will use your remudas of last year. Then each of you six bosses select
twenty-five head each of the Dodge horses,—turn and turn about. Add
those to your old remudas, and cull back your surplus, allowing ten to
the man, twelve to the foreman, and five extra to each herd in case of
cripples or of galled backs. By this method, each herd will have two
dozen prime saddlers, the pick of a thousand picked ones, and fit for
any man who was ever in my employ. I’m breaking in two new foremen this
year, and they shall have no excuse for not being mounted, and will
divide the remainder. Now, take four men apiece and round up the saddle
stock, and have everything in shape to go into camp to-night. I’ll be
present at the division, and I warn you all that I want no clashing.”
A ranch remuda was driven in, and we saddled. There were about thirty
thousand acres in the pasture, and by eleven o’clock everything was
thrown together. The private horses of all the boys had been turned
into a separate inclosure, and before the cutting out commenced, every
mother’s son, including Don Lovell, arrived at the round-up. There were
no corrals on the ranch which would accommodate such a body of animals,
and thus the work had to be done in the open; but with the force at
hand we threw a cordon around them, equal to a corral, and the cutting
out to the four quarters commenced.
The horses were gentle and handled easily. Forrest and I turned to and
helped our old foreman cut out his remuda of the year before. There
were several horses in my old mount that I would have liked to have
again, but I knew it was useless to try and trade Jim out of them, as
he knew their qualities and would have robbed me in demanding their
equivalent. When the old remudas were again separated, they were
counted and carefully looked over by both foremen and men, and were
open to the inspection of all who cared to look. Everything was passing
very pleasantly, and the cutting of the extra twenty-five began. Then
my selfishness was weighed in the balance and found to be full weight.
I had ridden over a hundred of the best of them, but when any one
appealed to me, even my own dear brother, I was as dumb as an oyster
about a horse. Tolleston, especially, cursed, raved, and importuned me
to help him get a good private mount, but I was as innocent as I was
immovable. The trip home from Dodge was no pleasure jaunt, and now I
was determined to draw extra pay in getting the cream of that horse
herd. There were other features governing my actions: Flood was
indifferent; Forrest, at times, was cruel to horses, and had I helped
my brother, I might have been charged with favoritism. Dave Sponsilier
was a good horseman, as his selections proved, and I was not wasting
any love and affection on Archie Tolleston that day, anyhow.
That no undue advantage should be taken, Lovell kept tally of every
horse cut out, and once each foreman had taken his number, he was waved
out of the herd. I did the selecting of my own, and with the assistance
of one man, was constantly waiting my turn. With all the help he could
use, Tolleston was over half an hour making his selections, and took
the only blind horse in the entire herd. He was a showy animal, a
dapple gray, fully fifteen hands high, bred in north Texas, and
belonged to one of the whole remudas bought in Dodge. At the time of
his purchase, neither Lovell nor Flood detected anything wrong, and no
one could see anything in the eyeball which would indicate he was
moon-eyed. Yet any horseman need only notice him closely to be
satisfied of his defect, as he was constantly shying from other horses
and objects and smelled everything which came within his reach. There
were probably half a dozen present who knew of his blindness, but not a
word was said until all the extras were chosen and the culling out of
the overplus of the various remudas began. It started in snickers, and
before the cutting back was over developed into peals of laughter, as
man after man learned that the dapple gray in Tolleston’s remuda was
blind.
Among the very last to become acquainted with the fact was the trail
foreman himself. After watching the horse long enough to see his
mistake, Tolleston culled the gray back and rode into the herd to claim
another. But the drover promptly summoned his foreman out, and, as they
met, Lovell said to his trail boss, “Arch, you’re no better than
anybody else. I bought that gray and paid my good money for him. No
doubt but the man who sold him has laughed about it often since, and if
ever we meet, I’ll take my hat off and compliment him on being the only
person who ever sold me a moon-eyed horse. I’m still paying my tuition,
and you needn’t flare up when the laugh’s on you. You have a good
remuda without him, and the only way you can get another horse out of
that herd is with the permission of Quince Forrest and Tom Quirk.”
“Well, if the permission of those new foremen is all I lack, then I’ll
cut all the horses I want,” retorted Tolleston, and galloped back
towards the herd. But Quince and I were after him like a flash,
followed leisurely by Lovell. As he slacked his mount to enter the mass
of animals, I passed him, jerking the bridle reins from his hand.
Throwing my horse on his haunches, I turned just as Forrest slapped
Tolleston on the back, and said: “Look-ee here, Arch; just because
you’re a little hot under the collar, don’t do anything brash, for fear
you may regret it afterward. I’m due to take a little pasear myself
this summer, and I always did like to be well mounted. Now, don’t get
your back up or attempt to stand up any bluffs, for I can whip you in
any sized circle you can name. You never saw me burn powder, did you?
Well, just you keep on acting the d—— fool if you want a little smoke
thrown in your face. Just fool with me and I’ll fog you till you look
like an angel in the clouds.”
But old man Don reached us, and raised his hand. I threw the reins back
over the horse’s head. Tolleston was white with rage, but before he
could speak our employer waved us aside and said, “Tom, you and Quince
clear right out of here and I’ll settle this matter. Arch, there’s your
remuda. Take it and go about your business or say you don’t want to.
Now, we know each other, and I’ll not mince or repeat any words with
you. Go on.”
“Not an inch will I move until I get another horse,” hissed Tolleston
between gasps. “If it lies between you and me, then I’ll have one in
place of that gray, or you’ll get another foreman. Now, you have my
terms and ticket.”
“Very well then, Archie; that changes the programme entirely,” replied
Lovell, firmly. “You’ll find your private horse in the small pasture,
and we’ll excuse you for the summer. Whenever a man in my employ gets
the impression that I can’t get along without him, that moment he
becomes useless to me. It seems that you are bloated with that idea,
and a season’s rest and quiet may cool you down and make a useful man
of you again. Remember that you’re always welcome at my ranch, and
don’t let this make us strangers,” he called back as he turned away.
Riding over with us to where a group were sitting on their horses, our
employer scanned the crowd without saying a word. Turning halfway in
his saddle, he looked over towards Flood’s remuda and said: “One of you
boys please ride over and tell Paul I want him.” During the rather
embarrassing interim, the conversation instantly changed, and we
borrowed tobacco and rolled cigarettes to kill time.
Priest was rather slow in making his appearance, riding leisurely, but
on coming up innocently inquired of his employer, “Did you want to see
me?”
“Yes. Paul, I’ve just lost one of my foremen. I need a good reliable
man to take a herd to Fort Washakie. It’s an Indian agency on the head
waters of the North Platte in Wyoming. Will you tackle the job?”
“A good soldier is always subject to orders,” replied The Rebel with a
military salute. “If you have a herd for delivery in Wyoming, give me
the men and horses, and I’ll put the cattle there if possible. You are
the commandant in the field, and I am subject to instructions.”
“There’s your remuda and outfit, then,” said Lovell, pointing to the
one intended for Tolleston, “and you’ll get a commissary at the ranch
and go into camp this evening. You’ll get your herd in Nueces County,
and Jim will assist in the receiving. Any other little details will all
be arranged before you get away.”
Calling for all the men in Tolleston’s outfit, the two rode away for
that remuda. Shortly before the trouble arose, our employer instructed
those with the Buford cattle to take ten extra horses for each herd.
There were now over a hundred and forty head to be culled back, and
Sponsilier was entitled to ten of them. In order to be sure of our
numbers, we counted the remaining band, and Forrest and I trimmed them
down to two hundred and fifty-four head. As this number was too small
to be handled easily in the open, we decided to take them into the
corrals for the final division. After the culling back was over, and
everything had started for the ranch, to oblige Sponsilier, I remained
behind and helped him to retrim his remuda. Unless one knew the horses
personally, it was embarrassing even to try and pick ten of the best
ones from the overplus. But I knew many of them at first hand, and at
Dave’s request, after picking out the extra ones, continued selecting
others in exchange for horses in his old band. We spent nearly an hour
cutting back and forth, or until we were both satisfied that his saddle
stock could not be improved from the material at hand.
The ranch headquarters were fully six miles from the round-up. Leaving
Sponsilier delighted with the change in his remuda, I rode to overtake
the undivided band which were heading for the ranch corrals. On coming
up with them, Forrest proposed that we divide the horses by a running
cut in squads of ten, and toss for choice. Once they were in the
corrals, this could have been easily done by simply opening a gate and
allowing blocks of ten to pass alternately from the main into smaller
inclosures. But I was expecting something like this from Quince, and
had entirely different plans of my own. Forrest and I were good
friends, but he was a foxy rascal, and I had never wavered in my
determination to get the pick of that horse herd. Had I accepted his
proposal, the chance of a spinning coin might have given him a decided
advantage, and I declined his proposition. I had a remuda in sight that
my very being had hungered for, and now I would take no chance of
losing it. But on the other hand, I proposed to Forrest that he might
have the assistance of two men in Flood’s outfit who had accompanied
the horse herd home from Dodge. In the selecting of Jim’s extra
twenty-five, the opinion of these two lads, as the chosen horses
proved, was a decided help to their foreman. But Quince stood firm, and
arguing the matter, we reached the corrals and penned the band.
The two top bunches were held separate and were left a mile back on the
prairie, under herd. The other remudas were all in sight of the ranch,
while a majority of the men were eating a late dinner. Still contending
for his point, Forrest sent a lad to the house to ask our employer to
come over to the corrals. On his appearance, accompanied by Flood, each
of us stated our proposition.
“Well, the way I size this up,” said old man Don, “one of you wants to
rely on his own judgment and the other don’t. It looks to me, Quince,
you want a gambler’s chance where you can’t lose. Tom’s willing to bank
on his own judgment, but you ain’t. Now, I like a man who does his own
thinking, and to give you a good lesson in that line, why, divide them,
horse and horse, turn about. Now, I’ll spin this coin for first pick,
and while it’s in the air, Jim will call the turn.... Tom wins first
choice.”
“That’s all right, Mr. Lovell,” said Quince, smilingly. “I just got the
idea that you wanted the remudas for the Buford herds to be equally
good. How can you expect it when Tom knows every horse and I never
saddled one of them. Give me the same chance, and I might know them as
well as the little boy knew his pap.”
“You had the same chance,” I put in, “but didn’t want it. You were
offered the Pine Ridge horses last year to take back to Dodge, and you
kicked like a bay steer. But I swallowed their dust to the Arkansaw,
and from there home we lived in clouds of alkali. You went home drunk
and dressed up, with a cigar in your mouth and your feet through the
car window, claiming you was a brother-in-law to Jay Gould, and simply
out on a tour of inspection. Now you expect me to give you the benefit
of my experience and rob myself. Not this summer, John Quincy.”
But rather than let Forrest feel that he was being taken advantage of,
I repeated my former proposition. Accepting it as a last resort, the
two boys were sent for and the dividing commenced. Remounting our
horses, we entered the large corral, and as fast as they were selected
the different outfits were either roped or driven singly through a
guarded gate. It took over an hour of dusty work to make the division,
but when it was finished I had a remuda of a hundred and fifty-two
saddle horses that would make a man willing to work for his board and
the privilege of riding them. Turning out of the corrals, Priest and I
accompanied the horses out on the prairie where our toppy ones were
being grazed. Paul was tickled over my outfit of saddle stock, but gave
me several hints that he was entitled to another picked mount. I
attempted to explain that he had a good remuda, but he still insisted,
and I promised him if he would be at my wagon the next morning when we
corralled, he should have a good one. I could well afford to be
generous with my old bunkie.
There now only remained the apportionment of the work-stock. Four mules
were allowed to the wagon, and in order to have them in good condition
they had been grain-fed for the past month. In their allotment the
Buford herds were given the best teams, and when mine was pointed out
by my employer, the outfit assisted the cook to harness in. Giving him
instructions to go into camp on a creek three miles south of
headquarters, my wagon was the second one to get away. Some of the
teams bolted at the start, and only for timely assistance Sponsilier’s
commissary would have been overturned in the sand. Two of the wagons
headed west for Uvalde, while my brother Bob’s started southeast for
Bee County. The other two belonging to Flood and The Rebel would camp
on the same creek as mine, their herds being also south. Once the
wagons were off, the saddle stock was brought in and corralled for our
first mounts. The final allotment of horses to the men would not take
place until the herds were ready to be received, and until then, they
would be ridden uniformly but promiscuously. With instructions from our
employer to return to the ranch after making camp, the remudas were
started after the wagons.
On our return after darkness, the ranch was as deserted as a
school-house on Saturday. A Mexican cook and a few regular ranch hands
were all that were left. Archie Tolleston had secured his horse and
quit headquarters before any one had even returned from the round-up.
When the last of the foremen came in, our employer delivered his final
messages. “Boys,” said he, “I’ll only detain you a few minutes. I’m
going west in the morning to Uvalde County, and will be present at the
receiving of Quince and Dave’s herds. After they start, I’ll come back
to the city and take stage to Oakville. But you go right ahead and
receive your cattle, Bob, for we don’t know what may turn up. Flood
will help Tom first, and then Paul, to receive their cattle. That will
give the Buford herds the first start, and I’ll be waiting for you at
Abilene when you reach there. And above all else, boys, remember that
I’ve strained my credit in this drive, and that the cattle must be A 1,
and that we must deliver them on the spot in prime condition. Now,
that’s all, but you’d better be riding so as to get an early start in
the morning.”
Our employer walked with us to the outer gate where our horses stood at
the hitch-rack. That he was reticent in his business matters was well
known among all his old foremen, including Forrest and myself. If he
had a confidant among his men, Jim Flood was the man—and there were a
few things he did not know. As we mounted our horses to return to our
respective camps, old man Don quietly took my bridle reins in hand and
allowed the others to ride away. “I want a parting word with you, Tom,”
said he a moment later. “Something has happened to-day which will
require the driving of the Buford herds in some road brand other than
the ‘Circle Dot.’ The first blacksmith shop you pass, have your irons
altered into ‘Open A’s,’ and I’ll do the same with Quince and Dave’s
brands. Of the why or wherefore of this, say nothing to any one, as no
one but myself knows. Don’t breathe a word even to Flood, for he don’t
know any more than he should. When the time comes, if it ever does,
you’ll know all that is necessary—or nothing. That’s all.”