RECEIVING AT LOS LOBOS
The trip to Lasalle County was mere pastime. All three of the outfits
kept in touch with each other, camping far enough apart to avoid any
conflict in night-herding the remudas. The only incident to mar the
pleasure of the outing was the discovery of ticks in many of our
horses’ ears. The pasture in which they had wintered was somewhat
brushy, and as there had been no frost to kill insect life, myriads of
seed-ticks had dropped from the mesquite thickets upon the animals when
rubbing against or passing underneath them. As the inner side of a
horse’s ear is both warm and tender, that organ was frequently infested
with this pest, whose ravages often undermined the supporting
cartilages and produced the drooping or “gotch” ear. In my remuda over
one half the horses were afflicted with ticks, and many of them it was
impossible to bridle, owing to the inflamed condition of their ears.
Fortunately we had with us some standard preparations for blistering,
so, diluting this in axle-grease, we threw every animal thus affected
and thoroughly swabbed his ears. On reaching the Nueces River, near the
western boundary of Lasalle County, the other two outfits continued on
down that stream for their destination in the lower country. Flood
remained behind with me, and going into camp on the river with my
outfit, the two of us rode over to Los Lobos Ranch and announced
ourselves as ready to receive the cattle. Dr. Beaver, the seller of the
herd, was expecting us, and sending word of our arrival to neighboring
cowmen, we looked over the corrals before returning to camp. They had
built a new branding-chute and otherwise improved their facilities for
handling cattle. The main inclosure had been built of heavy palisades
in an early day, but recently several of smaller sized lumber had been
added, making the most complete corrals I had ever seen. An abundance
of wood was at hand for heating the branding-irons, and every little
detail to facilitate the work had been provided for. Giving notice that
we would receive every morning on the open prairie only, we declined an
invitation to remain at the ranch and returned to my wagon.
In the valley the grass was well forward. We had traveled only some
twenty miles a day coming down, and our horses had fared well. But as
soon as we received any cattle, night-herding the remuda would cease,
and we must either hobble or resort to other measures. John Levering
was my horse-wrangler. He had made two trips over the trail with Fant’s
herds in the same capacity, was careful, humane, and an all-round
horseman. In employing a cook, I had given the berth to Neal Parent, an
old boyhood chum of mine. He never amounted to much as a cow-hand, but
was a lighthearted, happy fool; and as cooking did not require much
sense, I gave him the chance to make his first trip. Like a court
jester, he kept the outfit in fine spirits and was the butt of all
jokes. In entertaining company he was in a class by himself, and spoke
with marked familiarity of all the prominent cowmen in southern Texas.
To a stranger the inference might be easily drawn that Lovell was in
his employ.
As we were expecting to receive cattle on the third day, the next
morning the allotment of horses was made. The usual custom of giving
the foreman first choice was claimed, and I cut twelve of solid colors
but not the largest ones. Taking turns, the outfit roped out horse
after horse until only the ten extra ones were left. In order that
these should bear a fair share in the work, I took one of them for a
night-horse and allotted the others to the second, third, and last
guard in a similar capacity. This gave the last three watches two
horses apiece for night work, but with the distinct understanding that
in case of accident or injury to any horse in the remuda, they could be
recalled. There was little doubt that before the summer ended, they
would be claimed to fill vacancies in the regular mounts. Flood had
kept behind only two horses with which to overtake the other outfits,
and during his stay with us would ride these extras and loans from my
mount.
The entire morning was spent working with the remuda. Once a man knew
his mount, extra attention was shown each horse. There were witches’
bridles to be removed from their manes, extra long tails were thinned
out to the proper length, and all hoofs trimmed short. The horses were
fast shedding their winter coats, matting the saddle blankets with
falling hair, and unless carefully watched, galled backs would result.
The branding-irons had been altered en route, and about noon a vaquero
came down the river and reported that the second round-up of the day
would meet just over the county line in Dimmit. He belonged at Los
Lobos, and reported the morning rodeo as containing over five hundred
beeves, which would be ready for delivery at our pleasure. We made him
remain for dinner, after which Flood and I saddled up and returned with
him. We reached the round-up just as the cutting-out finished. They
were a fine lot of big rangy beeves, and Jim suggested that we pass
upon them at once. The seller agreed to hold them overnight, and Flood
and I culled back about one hundred and twenty which were under age or
too light. The round-up outfit strung the cattle out and counted them,
reporting a few over seven hundred head. This count was merely informal
and for the information of the seller; but in the morning the final one
would be made, in which we could take a hand.
After the cut had started in for the ranch, we loitered along, looking
them over, and I noticed several that might have been thrown out.
“Well, now,” said Flood, “if you are going to be so very choice as all
that, I might as well ride on. You can’t use me if that bunch needs any
more trimming. I call them a fine lot of beeves. It’s all right for Don
to rib the boys up and make them think that the cattle have to be
top-notchers. I’ve watched him receive too often; he’s about the
easiest man I know to ring in short ages on. Just so a steer looks
nice, it’s hard for the old man to turn one back. I’ve seen him
receiving three-year-olds, when one fourth of the cattle passed on were
short twos. And if you call his attention to one, he’ll just smile that
little smile of his, and say, ‘yes, he may be shy a few months, but
he’ll grow.’ But then that’s just old man Don’s weakness for cattle; he
can’t look a steer in the face without falling in love with him. Now,
I’ve received before when by throwing out one half the stock offered,
you couldn’t get as uniform a bunch of beeves as those are. But you go
right ahead, Tom, and be sure that every hoof you accept will dress
five hundred pounds at Fort Buford. I’ll simply sit around and clerk
and help you count and give you a good chance to make a reputation.”
Los Lobos was still an open range. They claimed to have over ten
thousand mixed cattle in the straight ranch brand. There had been no
demand for matured beeves for several years, and now on effecting this
sale they were anxious to deliver all their grown steers. Dr. Beaver
informed us that, previous to our arrival, his foreman had been
throwing everything in on the home range, and that he hoped to deliver
to us over two thousand head from his own personal holdings. But he was
liberal with his neighbors, for in the contingent just passed upon,
there must have been over a hundred head in various ranch brands.
Assuring him that we would be on hand in the morning to take possession
of the cattle, and requesting him to have a fire burning, on coming
opposite the camp, we turned off and rode for our wagon. It meant a big
day’s work to road-brand this first contingent, and with the first sign
of dawn, my outfit were riding for Los Lobos. We were encamped about
three miles from the corrals, and leaving orders for the cook to follow
up, the camp was abandoned with the exception of the remuda. It was
barely sun-up when we counted and took possession of the beeves. On
being relieved, the foreman of Los Lobos took the ranch outfit and
started off to renew the gathering. We penned the cattle without any
trouble, and as soon as the irons were ready, a chuteful were run in
and the branding commenced. This branding-chute was long enough to
chamber eight beeves. It was built about a foot wide at the bottom and
flared upward just enough to prevent an animal from turning round. A
heavy gate closed the exit, while bull-bars at the rear prevented the
occupant from backing out. A high platform ran along either side of the
branding-chute, on which the men stood while handling the irons.
Two men did the branding. “Runt” Pickett attended the fire, passing up
the heated irons, and dodging the cold branding-steel. A single iron
was often good for several animals, and sometimes a chuteful was
branded with two irons. It was necessary that the work should be well
done; not that a five months’ trip required it, but the unforeseen must
be guarded against. Many trail herds had met disaster and been
scattered to the four winds with nothing but a road brand to identify
them afterward. The cattle were changing owners, and custom decreed
that an abstract of title should be indelibly seared on their sides.
The first guard, Jake Blair, Morg Tussler, and Clay Zilligan, were
detailed to cut and drive the squads into the chute. These three were
the only mounted men, the others being placed so as to facilitate the
work. Cattle are as innocent as they are strong, and in this necessary
work everything was done quietly, care being taken to prevent them from
becoming excited. As fast as they were released from the chute, Dr.
Beaver took a list of the ranch brands, in order to bill of sale them
to Lovell and settle with his neighbors.
The work moved with alacrity. As one chuteful was being freed the next
one was entering. Gates closed in their faces and the bull-bars at the
rear locked them as in a vice. We were averaging a hundred an hour, but
the smoke from the burning hair was offensive to the lungs. During the
forenoon Burl Van Vedder and Vick Wolf “spelled” Flood and myself for
half an hour at a time, or until we could recover from the nauseous
fumes. When the cook called us to dinner, we had turned out nearly five
hundred branded cattle. No sooner was the midday meal bolted than the
cook was ordered back to camp with his wagon, the branded contingent of
cattle following in charge of the first guard. Less than half an hour
was lost in refreshing the inner man, and ordering “G—G” Cederdall, Tim
Stanley, and Jack Splann of the second guard into their saddles to take
the place of the relieved men, we resumed our task. The dust of the
corrals settled on us unheeded, the smoke of the fire mingled with that
of the singeing hair and its offensive odors, bringing tears to our
eyes, but the work never abated until the last steer had passed the
chute and bore the “Open A.”
The work over, a pretense was made at washing the dust and grime from
our faces. It was still early in the day, and starting the cattle for
camp, I instructed the boys to water and graze them as long as they
would stand up. The men all knew their places on guard, this having
been previously arranged; and joining Dr. Beaver, Jim and I rode for
the ranch about a mile distant. The doctor was a genial host, and
prescribed a series of mint-juleps, after which he proposed that we
ride out and meet the cattle gathered during the day. The outfit had
been working a section of country around some lagoons, south of the
ranch, and it was fully six o’clock when we met them, heading homeward.
The cattle were fully up to the standard of the first bunch, and
halting the herd we trimmed them down and passed on them. After Flood
rode out of this second contingent, I culled back about a dozen light
weights. On finishing, Jim gave me a quiet wink, and said something to
Dr. Beaver about a new broom. But I paid no attention to these remarks;
in a country simply teeming with prime beeves, I was determined to get
a herd to my liking. Dr. Beaver had assured Lovell that he and his
neighbors would throw together over four thousand beeves in making up
the herd, and now I was perfectly willing that they should. It would
take two days longer to gather the cattle on the Los Lobos range, and
then there were the outside offerings, which were supposed to number
fully two thousand. There was no excuse for not being choice.
On returning to Los Lobos about dusk, rather than offend its owner,
Flood consented to remain at the ranch overnight, but I rode for camp.
Darkness had fallen on my reaching the wagon, the herd had been bedded
down, and Levering felt so confident that the remuda was contented that
he had concluded to night-herd them himself until midnight, and then
turn them loose until dawn. He had belled a couple of the leaders, and
assured me that he would have them in hand before sun-up. The cook was
urging me to supper, but before unsaddling, I rode around both herd and
remuda. The cattle were sleeping nicely, and the boys assured me that
they had got a splendid fill on them before bedding down. That was the
only safe thing to do, and after circling the saddle stock on the
opposite side of camp, I returned to find that a stranger had arrived
during my brief absence. Parent had fully enlightened him as to who he
was, who the outfit were, the destination of the herd, the names of
both buyer and seller, and, on my riding in, was delivering a voluble
dissertation on the tariff and the possible effect on the state of
putting hides on the free list. And although in cow-camps a soldier’s
introduction is usually sufficient, the cook inquired the stranger’s
name and presented me to our guest with due formality. Supper being
waiting, the stranger was invited to take pot-luck with us, and before
the meal was over recognized me. He was a deputy cattle inspector for
Dimmit County, and had issued the certificate for Flood’s herd the year
before. He had an eye for the main chance, and informed me that fully
one half the cattle making up our herd belonged to Dimmit; that the
county line was only a mile up the river, and that if I would allow the
herd to drift over into his territory, he would shade the legal rate.
The law compelling the inspection of herds before they could be moved
out of the county, like the rain, fell upon the just and the unjust. It
was not the intent of the law to impose a burden on an honest drover.
Yet he was classed with the rustler, and must have in his possession a
certificate of inspection before he could move out a purchased herd, or
be subject to arrest. A list of brands was recorded, at the county
seat, of every herd leaving, and if occasion required could be referred
to in future years. No railroad would receive any consignment of hides
or live stock, unless accompanied by a certificate from the county
inspector. The legal rate was ten cents on the first hundred, and three
cents on all over that number, frequently making the office a lucrative
one.
Once the object of his call was made clear, I warmed to our guest. If
the rate allowed by law was enforced, it meant an expense of over a
hundred dollars for a certificate of inspection covering both herd and
saddle stock. We did not take out certificates in Medina on the remudas
as a matter of economy. By waiting until the herd was ready, the two
would be inspected as one, and the lower rate apply. So I urged the
deputy to make himself at home and share my blankets. Pretending that I
remembered him well, I made numerous inquiries about the ranch where we
received our herd the year before, and by the time to turn in, we were
on the most friendly terms. The next morning I offered him a horse from
our extras, assuring him that Flood would be delighted to renew his
acquaintance, and invited him to go with us for the day. Turning his
horse among ours, he accepted and rode away with us. The cattle passed
on the evening before had camped out several miles from the corrals and
were grazing in when we met them. Flood and the Doctor joined us
shortly afterward, and I had a quiet word with Jim before he and the
inspector met. After the count was over, Flood made a great ado over my
guest and gave him the glad hand as if he had been a long-lost brother.
We were a trifle short-handed the second day, and on my guest
volunteering to help, I assigned him to Runt Pickett’s place at the
fire, where he shortly developed a healthy sweat. As we did not have a
large bunch of beeves to brand that day, the wagon did not come over
and we branded them at a single shift. It was nearly one o’clock when
we finished, and instead of going in to Los Lobos, we left the third
guard, Wayne Outcault, “Dorg” Seay, and Owen Ubery, to graze the cattle
over to our camp.
The remainder of the afternoon was spent in idleness and in the
entertainment of our guest. Official-like, he pretended he could hardly
spare the time to remain another night, but was finally prevailed on
and did so. After dark, I took him some distance from camp, and the two
of us had a confidential chat. I assured him if there was any object in
doing so, we could move camp right to or over the county line, and
frankly asked him what inducement he would offer. At first he thought
that throwing off everything over a hundred dollars would be about
right. But I assured him that there were whole families of inspectors
in Lasalle County who would discount that figure, and kindly advised
him, if he really wanted the fee, to meet competition at least. We
discussed the matter at length, and before returning to camp, he
offered to make out the certificate, covering everything, for fifty
dollars. As it was certain to be several days yet before we would
start, and there was a prospect of a falling market in certificates of
inspection, I would make no definite promises. The next morning I
insisted that he remain at some near-by ranch in his own territory,
and, if convenient, ride down every few days and note the progress of
the herd.
We were promised a large contingent of cattle for that day. The ranch
outfit were to make three rodeos down the river the day before, where
the bulk of their beeves ranged. Flood was anxious to overtake the
other outfits before they reached the lower country, and as he assured
me I had no further use for him, we agreed that after receiving that
morning he might leave us. Giving orders at camp to graze the received
beeves within a mile of the corrals by noon, and the wagon to follow,
we made an early start, Flood taking his own horses with him. We met
the cattle coming up the river a thousand strong. It was late when the
last round-up of the day before had finished, and they had camped for
the night fully five miles from the corrals. It took less than an hour
to cull back and count, excuse the ranch outfit, and start this
contingent for the branding-pens in charge of my boys. Flood was in a
hurry, and riding a short distance with him, I asked that he pass or
send word to the county seat, informing the inspector of hides and
animals that a trail herd would leave Los Lobos within a week. Jim knew
my motive in getting competition on the inspection, and wishing me luck
on my trip, I wrung his hand in farewell until we should meet again in
the upper country.
The sun was setting that night when we finished road-branding the last
of the beeves received in the morning. After dinner, when the wagon
returned to camp, I instructed Parent to move up the river fully a
mile. We needed the change, anyhow, and even if it was farther, the
next morning we would have the Los Lobos outfit to assist in the
branding, as that day would finish their gathering. The outside cattle
were beginning to report in small bunches, from three hundred upward.
Knowing that Dr. Beaver was anxious to turn in as many as possible of
his own, we delayed receiving from the neighboring ranches for another
day. But the next morning, as we were ironing-up the last contingent of
some four hundred Los Lobos beeves, a deputy inspector for Lasalle
arrived from the county seat. He was likewise officious, and professed
disappointment that the herd was not ready to pass upon. On his
arrival, I was handling the irons, and paid no attention to him until
the branding was over for the morning. When he introduced himself, I
cordially greeted him, but at the first intimation of disappointment
from his lips, I checked him.
Using the best diplomacy at my command, I said, “Well, I’m sorry to
cause you this long ride when it might have been avoided. You see, we
are receiving cattle from both this and Dimmit County. In fact, we are
holding our herd across the line just at present. On starting, we
expect to go up the river to the first creek, and north on it to the
Leona River. I have partially promised the work to an inspector from
Dimmit. He inspected our herd last year, and being a personal friend
that way, you couldn’t meet his figures. Very sorry to disappoint you,
but won’t you come over to the wagon and stay all night?”
But Dr. Beaver, who understood my motive, claimed the privilege of
entertaining the deputy at Los Lobos, and I yielded. We now had a few
over twenty-four hundred beeves, of which nineteen hundred were in the
Los Lobos brand, the others being mixed. There was a possibility of
fully a hundred more coming in with the neighboring cattle, and Dr.
Beaver was delighted over the ranch delivery. The outside contingents
were in four bunches, then encamped in different directions and within
from three to five miles of the ranch. Taking Vick Wolf with me for the
afternoon, I looked over the separate herds and found them numbering
more than fifteen hundred. They were the same uniform Nueces Valley
cattle, and as we lacked only a few over a thousand, the offerings were
extremely liberal. Making arrangements with three of the four herds to
receive the next day, Vick and I reached our camp on the county line
about sunset. The change was a decided advantage; wood, water, and
grass were plentiful, and not over a mile farther from the
branding-pens.
The next morning found us in our saddles at the usual early hour. We
were anxious to receive and brand every animal possible that day, so
that with a few hours’ work the next forenoon the herd would be ready
to start. After we had passed on the first contingent of the outside
cattle, and as we were nearing the corrals, Dr. Beaver overtook us.
Calling me aside, he said: “Quirk, if you play your cards right, you’ll
get a certificate of inspection for nothing and a chromo as a pelon.
I’ve bolstered up the Lasalle man that he’s better entitled to the work
than the Dimmit inspector, and he’ll wait until the herd is ready to
start. Now, you handle the one, and I’ll keep the other as my guest. We
must keep them apart and let them buck each other to their hearts’
content. Every hoof in your herd will be in a ranch brand of record;
but still the law demands inspection and you must comply with it. I’ll
give you a duplicate list of the brands, so that neither inspector need
see the herd, and if we don’t save your employer a hundred dollars,
then we are amateurs.”
Everything was pointing to an auspicious start. The last cattle on the
delivery were equal to the first, if not better. The sky clouded over,
and before noon a light shower fell, settling the dust in the corrals.
Help increased as the various bunches were accepted, and at the end of
the day only a few over two hundred remained to complete our numbers.
The last contingent were fully up to the standard; and rather than
disappoint the sellers, I accepted fifty head extra, making my herd at
starting thirty-four hundred and fifty. When the last beef had passed
the branding-chute, there was nothing remaining but to give a receipt
to the seller for the number of head received, in behalf of my
employer, pending a later settlement between them.
Meanwhile competition in the matter of inspection had been carefully
nursed. Conscious of each other’s presence, and both equally anxious
for the fee, the one deputy was entertained at my camp and the other at
Los Lobos. They were treated courteously, but given to understand that
in the present instance money talked. With but a small bunch of beeves
to brand on the starting day, the direction in which the herd was
allowed to leave the bed-ground would be the final answer. If west,
Dimmit had underbid Lasalle; if the contrary, then the departure of
this herd would be a matter of record in the latter county. Dr. Beaver
enjoyed the situation hugely, acting the intermediary in behalf of his
guest. Personally I was unconcerned, but was neutral and had little to
say.
My outfit understood the situation perfectly. Before retiring on the
night of our last camp on the county line, and in the presence of the
Dimmit inspector, the last relief received instructions, in the absence
of contrary orders, to allow the herd to drift back into Lasalle in the
morning. Matters were being conducted in pantomime, and the players
understood their parts. Our guest had made himself useful in various
ways, and I naturally felt friendly towards him. He had stood several
guards for the boys, and Burl Van Vedder, of the last watch, had secret
instructions to call him for that guard.
The next morning the camp was not astir as early as usual. On the
cook’s arousing us, in the uncertain light of dawn, the herd was slowly
rising, and from the position of a group of four horsemen, it was
plainly evident that our guest had shaded all competition. Our camp was
in plain view of Los Lobos, and only some five or six miles distant.
With the rising of the sun, and from the top of a windmill derrick, by
the aid of a field-glass, the Lasalle inspector had read his answer;
and after the work in the morning was over, and the final papers had
been exchanged, Dr. Beaver insisted that, in commiseration of his
departed guest, just one more mint-julep should be drunk standing.
When Don Lovell glanced over my expense account on our arrival at
Abilene, he said: “Look here, Tom, is this straight?—twenty dollars for
inspection?—the hell you say! Corrupted them, did you? Well, that’s the
cheapest inspection I ever paid, with one exception. Dave Sponsilier
once got a certificate for his herd for five dollars and a few drinks.
But he paid for it a month in advance of the starting of the herd. It
was dated ahead, properly sealed, and all ready for filling in the
brands and numbers. The herd was put up within a mile of where four
counties cornered, and that inspector was a believer in the maxim of
the early bird. The office is a red-tape one, anyhow, and little harm
in taking all the advantage you can.—This item marked ‘sundries’ was
DRY goods, I suppose? All right, Quirk; I reckon rattlesnakes were
rather rabid this spring.”