I
CURRUMPAW is a vast cattle range in northern New Mexico. It is a land of
rich pastures and teeming flocks and herds, a land of rolling mesas and
precious running waters that at length unite in the Currumpaw River,
from which the whole region is named. And the king whose despotic power
was felt over its entire extent was an old gray wolf.
Old Lobo, or the king, as the Mexicans called him, was the gigantic
leader of a remarkable pack of gray wolves, that had ravaged the
Currumpaw Valley for a number of years. All the shepherds and ranchmen
knew him well, and, wherever he appeared with his trusty band, terror
reigned supreme among the cattle, and wrath and despair among their
owners. Old Lobo was a giant among wolves, and was cunning and strong
in proportion to his size. His voice at night was well-known and easily
distinguished from that of any of his fellows. An ordinary wolf might
howl half the night about the herdsman's bivouac without attracting
more than a passing notice, but when the deep roar of the old king came
booming down the canon, the watcher bestirred himself and prepared to
learn in the morning that fresh and serious inroads had been made among
the herds.
Old Lobo's band was but a small one. This I never quite understood, for
usually, when a wolf rises to the position and power that he had, he
attracts a numerous following. It may be that he had as many as he
desired, or perhaps his ferocious temper prevented the increase of his
pack. Certain is it that Lobo had only five followers during the latter
part of his reign. Each of these, however, was a wolf of renown, most
of them were above the ordinary size, one in particular, the second in
command, was a veritable giant, but even he was far below the leader
in size and prowess. Several of the band, besides the two leaders, were
especially noted. One of those was a beautiful white wolf, that the
Mexicans called Blanca; this was supposed to be a female, possibly
Lobo's mate. Another was a yellow wolf of remarkable swiftness, which,
according to current stories had, on several occasions, captured an
antelope for the pack.
It will be seen, then, that these wolves were thoroughly well-known to
the cowboys and shepherds. They were frequently seen and oftener heard,
and their lives were intimately associated with those of the cattlemen,
who would so gladly have destroyed them. There was not a stockman on the
Currumpaw who would not readily have given the value of many steers for
the scalp of any one of Lobo's band, but they seemed to possess charmed
lives, and defied all manner of devices to kill them. They scorned all
hunters, derided all poisons, and continued, for at least five years,
to exact their tribute from the Currumpaw ranchers to the extent, many
said, of a cow each day. According to this estimate, therefore, the band
had killed more than two thousand of the finest stock, for, as was only
too well-known, they selected the best in every instance.
The old idea that a wolf was constantly in a starving state, and
therefore ready to eat anything, was as far as possible from the
truth in this case, for these freebooters were always sleek and
well-conditioned, and were in fact most fastidious about what they ate.
Any animal that had died from natural causes, or that was diseased or
tainted, they would not touch, and they even rejected anything that
had been killed by the stockmen. Their choice and daily food was the
tenderer part of a freshly killed yearling heifer. An old bull or cow
they disdained, and though they occasionally took a young calf or colt,
it was quite clear that veal or horseflesh was not their favorite diet.
It was also known that they were not fond of mutton, although they often
amused themselves by killing sheep. One night in November, 1893, Blanca
and the yellow wolf killed two hundred and fifty sheep, apparently for
the fun of it, and did not eat an ounce of their flesh.
These are examples of many stories which I might repeat, to show the
ravages of this destructive band. Many new devices for their extinction
were tried each year, but still they lived and throve in spite of all
the efforts of their foes. A great price was set on Lobo's head, and in
consequence poison in a score of subtle forms was put out for him, but
he never failed to detect and avoid it. One thing only he feared--that
was firearms, and knowing full well that all men in this region carried
them, he never was known to attack or face a human being. Indeed, the
set policy of his band was to take refuge in flight whenever, in the
daytime, a man was descried, no matter at what distance. Lobo's habit of
permitting the pack to eat only that which they themselves had killed,
was in numerous cases their salvation, and the keenness of his scent to
detect the taint of human hands or the poison itself, completed their
immunity.
On one occasion, one of the cowboys heard the too familiar rallying-cry
of Old Lobo, and, stealthily approaching, he found the Currumpaw pack in
a hollow, where they had 'rounded' up a small herd of cattle. Lobo sat
apart on a knoll, while Blanca with the rest was endeavoring to 'cut
out' a young cow, which they had selected; but the cattle were standing
in a compact mass with their heads outward, and presented to the foe a
line of horns, unbroken save when some cow, frightened by a fresh onset
of the wolves, tried to retreat into the middle of the herd. It was only
by taking advantage of these breaks that the wolves had succeeded at all
in wounding the selected cow, but she was far from being disabled, and
it seemed that Lobo at length lost patience with his followers, for he
left his position on the hill, and, uttering a deep roar, dashed toward
the herd. The terrified rank broke at his charge, and he sprang in among
them. Then the cattle scattered like the pieces of a bursting bomb. Away
went the chosen victim, but ere she had gone twenty-five yards Lobo was
upon her. Seizing her by the neck, he suddenly held back with all his
force and so threw her heavily to the ground. The shock must have been
tremendous, for the heifer was thrown heels over head. Lobo also turned
a somersault, but immediately recovered himself, and his followers
falling on the poor cow, killed her in a few seconds. Lobo took no part
in the killing--after having thrown the victim, he seemed to say, "Now,
why could not some of you have done that at once without wasting so much
time?"
The man now rode up shouting, the wolves as usual retired, and he,
having a bottle of strychnine, quickly poisoned the carcass in three
places, then went away, knowing they would return to feed, as they had
killed the animal themselves. But next morning, on going to look for
his expected victims, he found that, although the wolves had eaten the
heifer, they had carefully cut out and thrown aside all those parts that
had been poisoned.
The dread of this great wolf spread yearly among the ranchmen, and
each year a larger price was set on his head, until at last it reached
$1,000, an unparalleled wolf-bounty, surely; many a good man has been
hunted down for less, Tempted by the promised reward, a Texan ranger
named Tannerey came one day galloping up the canyon of the Currumpaw. He
had a superb outfit for wolf-hunting--the best of guns and horses, and a
pack of enormous wolf-hounds. Far out on the plains of the Panhandle,
he and his dogs had killed many a wolf, and now he never doubted that,
within a few days, Old Lobo's scalp would dangle at his saddlebow.
Away they went bravely on their hunt in the gray dawn of a summer
morning, and soon the great dogs gave joyous tongue to say that they
were already on the track of their quarry. Within two miles, the grizzly
band of Currumpaw leaped into view, and the chase grew fast and furious.
The part of the wolf-hounds was merely to hold the wolves at bay till
the hunter could ride up and shoot them, and this usually was easy on
the open plains of Texas; but here a new feature of the country came
into play, and showed how well Lobo had chosen his range; for the rocky
canyons of the Currumpaw and its tributaries intersect the prairies in
every direction. The old wolf at once made for the nearest of these
and by crossing it got rid of the horseman. His band then scattered and
thereby scattered the dogs, and when they reunited at a distant point
of course all of the dogs did not turn up, and the wolves, no longer
outnumbered, turned on their pursuers and killed or desperately wounded
them all. That night when Tannerey mustered his dogs, only six of them
returned, and of these, two were terribly lacerated. This hunter made
two other attempts to capture the royal scalp, but neither of them was
more successful than the first, and on the last occasion his best horse
met its death by a fall; so he gave up the chase in disgust and went
back to Texas, leaving Lobo more than ever the despot of the region.
Next year, two other hunters appeared, determined to win the promised
bounty. Each believed he could destroy this noted wolf, the first by
means of a newly devised poison, which was to be laid out in an entirely
new manner; the other a French Canadian, by poison assisted with certain
spells and charms, for he firmly believed that Lobo was a veritable
"loup-garou," and could not be killed by ordinary means. But cunningly
compounded poisons, charms, and incantations were all of no avail
against this grizzly devastator. He made his weekly rounds and daily
banquets as aforetime, and before many weeks had passed, Calone and
Laloche gave up in despair and went elsewhere to hunt.
In the spring of 1893, after his unsuccessful attempt to capture Lobo,
Joe Calone had a humiliating experience, which seems to show that the
big wolf simply scorned his enemies, and had absolute confidence in
himself. Calone's farm was on a small tributary of the Currumpaw, in a
picturesque canyon, and among the rocks of this very canyon, within a
thousand yards of the house, Old Lobo and his mate selected their den
and raised their family that season. There they lived all summer and
killed Joe's cattle, sheep, and dogs, but laughed at all his poisons and
traps and rested securely among the recesses of the cavernous cliffs,
while Joe vainly racked his brain for some method of smoking them out,
or of reaching them with dynamite. But they escaped entirely unscathed,
and continued their ravages as before. "There's where he lived all last
summer," said Joe, pointing to the face of the cliff, "and I couldn't do
a thing with him. I was like a fool to him."