There are two sorts of people--those who point with pride and those
who view with alarm. They are quite right. The world will not soon
forget Parkman "of Ours." Here was a man of learning, common sense,
judgment and wide sympathies. Yet once he stumbled; the paregorical
imperative, which impels each of us to utter ignominious nonsense,
urged Francis Parkman to the like unhappiness, drove him to father
and put forth this void and singular statement:
I have often perplexed myself to divine the various motives
that give impulse to this strange migration; but whatever
they may be, whether an insane hope of a better condition
of life, or a desire of shaking off the restraints of law
and society, or mere restlessness, certain it is that
multitudes bitterly repent the journey.
The year was 1846; the place, Independence, in Missouri; that strange
migration was the winning of the West. Mr. Parkman viewed it with
alarm. The passage quoted may yet be found in the first chapter of
"The Oregon Trail." We, wise after the event, now point with pride to
that strange migration of our fathers. The Great Trek has lasted three
hundred years. To-day we dimly perceive that the history of America is
the story of the pioneer; that on our shifting frontiers the race has
been hammered and tempered to a cutting edge.
That insane hope of better things--the same which beckoned on the
Israelites and the Pilgrim Fathers; restraints of law and society,
which in Egypt made the Israelite a slave, in England gave the Puritan
to the pillory and the stocks, and in this western world of ours took
the form of a hollow squire, founder by letters patent of a landed
oligarchy--so that the bold and venturesome sought homes in the
unsquired wilderness; and restlessness, that quality which marks the
most notable difference between man and sandstone. Restlessness,
shaking off restraints, insane hopes--in that cadence of ideas what is
there of haunting, echolike and familiar? Restraints of society? When
the very stones of the streets shrieked at him the name of that
town--Independence! Now we know the words that haunted us: "Life,
liberty, and the pursuit of happiness!" Never was echo clearer.
The emigrants were there in exercise of those unavoidable rights.
Not happiness, or the overtaking of happiness; the pursuit of
happiness--the insane hope of a better condition of life.
That which perplexed Parkman looked upon, disapproving, was the
settlement of America--the greatest upbuilding of recorded time; and
the prime motive of that great migration was the motive of all
migrations--the search for food and land. They went west for food.
What they did there was to work; if you require a monument--take a
good look!
Here is the record of a few late camp fires of the Great Trek.
I
"Why-Why had been principally beaten about the face, and his
injuries, therefore, were slight."
--_The Romance of the First Radical._
"A fine face, marred by an expression of unscrupulous integrity."
--_Credit Lost._
The lady listened with fluttering attention. The lady was sweet and
twenty, and the narrator--myself--was spurred to greater effort.
Suddenly a thought struck her. It was a severe blow. She sat up
straight, she stiffened her lips to primness, her fine eyes darkened
with suspicion, her voice crisped to stern inquiry.
"I suppose, when Sunday came, you kept right on working?"
It was an acid supposition. Her dear little nose squinched to express
some strong emotion--loving-kindness, perhaps; her dear little upper
lip curled ominous. She looked as though she might bite.
"Kept right on working is right. We had to keep on working," I
explained. "We couldn't very well work six days gathering cattle and
then turn them all loose again on the seventh day--could we now?"
The lady frowned. The lady sniffed. She was not one to be turned aside
by subterfuge. She leaned forward to strike, and flattened her brows
in scorn. She looked uncommonly like a rattlesnake. She said:
"I suppose you couldn't put them in the barn-yards?"
And I learned about readers from her.
* * * * *
Cattle were once grazed to the nearest railroad--say, a thousand
miles--yes, and beyond that railroad to Wyoming grass; or Montana. No
one who saw those great herds forgot them or ever quite refrained from
speech of those stirring days, to children or grandchildren. That is
why so many think--not unnaturally--that range cattle were always held
under herd. But it is a mistaken impression. Cattle do not thrive
under herd.
Cattle on the free range--everybody's cattle--were turned loose and
mixed together. There were no fences except as deep rivers counted for
such; the Panama Canal was yet undug. Twice a year, in spring and
fall, everybody gets together to work the cattle at the rodeo, or
round-up. They brand the calves; they take into the day herd all
strays, all steers or cows to be shipped, and nothing more. From
cattle gathered each day steers and strays are cut out and thrown into
the day herd; all the others, the range cattle, are turned loose with
a vigorous shove in that direction most remote from to-morrow's
round-up.
Again, your ranch was that land to which you had either title or
claim; its purpose was to give a water right on stream or lake or to
hold spring, well or tank. But your range was either Texas land or
Uncle Sam's land as far as your cattle would range from your various
water rights--say, twenty-five miles in each direction. Your range was
that country where you were reasonably sure your cattle would not be
stolen by strangers.
Here was the way of the Bar Cross round-up; with slight variations it
was the way of any round-up. The Bar Cross Company, running the
biggest brand on the Jornada range, supplied one foreman, one straw
boss, three top hands and the captain of the day herd; one horse
wrangler, who herded the saddle horses by day; one night wrangler, who
herded them by night; and mounts for these eight. The Bar Cross also
furnished one red-headed cook; one chuck wagon and the chuck--chuck
being grub--and one bed wagon to haul bed rolls from camp to camp, and
also to haul wood and water between times. Item: Four mules for the
chuck wagon, and two for the bed wagon. The night wrangler drove the
bed wagon; night wranglers were not supposed to sleep.
Other ranchmen, co-users of the Bar Cross range, sent each a man and
his mount to represent. A man with many cattle might send two or more
men; the 7 T X--next to the Bar Cross the biggest brand on the
Jornada--sent four. Each man or each two men brought tarp and bedding
on a pack horse.
From north, south, east and west came the stray men, each with mount
and bed. Stray men stayed with the outfit as long as it pleased them.
When they were satisfied they cut out from the day herd their own
cattle, together with those of their neighbors, and drove them home.
As a usual thing, three or four would throw in and drive back
together. If by chance some man was homeward bound and alone, the Bar
Cross detailed a man to help him home; a friendly and not imprudent
custom.
To sum up: The Bar Cross paid nine men, and provided good grub for all
comers; in return it had the help of twenty-five to forty men in
working the range; the rodeo, or round-up.
During the weeks or months of that working, wherever some other outfit
gave a round-up--east, west, south or north--there, with mount and
bed, went either a Bar Cross man or one from some other brand of the
Jornada people, bringing back all Jornada cattle.
A word about horses. In the fall, when grass was green and good, a
mount was eight to thirteen head. One must be gentle; he was night
horse; every man stood guard at night two and a half to three hours;
all night in case of storm. For the others, the best were cutting
horses, used afternoons, when the day's drive was worked; the poorest
were circle horses and were ridden in the forenoon, when the round-up
was made. But in the spring it is different. Grass is scant and short;
corn is fed, and four horses go to a mount; the range is worked
lightly.
So much was needful by way of glossary and guide; so partly to avoid
such handicap as we meet in telling a baseball story to an Englishman.
It is a singular thing that with the Bar Cross were found the top
ropers, crack riders, sure shots--not only the slickest cowmen, but
also the wisest cow ponies. Our foremen were "cowmen right," our
wranglers held the horses, our cooks would fry anything once. But you
know how it is--your own organization--firm, farm or factory--is
doubtless the best of its kind. No? You surprise me. You have missed
much--faith in others, hope for others, comradeship.
It is laughable to recall that men of other brands disputed the
headship of the Bar Cross. Nor was this jest or bravado; the poor
fellows were sincere enough. Indeed, we thought this pathetic loyalty
rather admirable than otherwise. Such were the 101, in Colorado; the X
I T, in the Panhandle; the Block and the V V, between the Pecos and
the Front Range; the Bar W, west of the White Mountain; the V Cross T,
the John Cross, the Diamond A and the L C, west of the Rio Grande.
Even from Arizona, the T L, the Toltec Company--Little Colorado River
way--put forth absurd pretensions.
The Bar Cross men smiled, knowing what they knew. That sure knowledge
was the foundation of the gay and holdfast spirit they brought to
confront importunate life. No man wanted to be the weak link of that
strong chain; each brought to his meanest task the earnestness that is
remarked upon when Mr. Ty Cobb slides into second base; they bent
every energy on the thing they did at the joyful time of doing it. In
this way only is developed that rare quality to which the scientific
give the name of pep or punch. Being snappy made them happy, and being
happy made them snappy; establishing what is known to philosophers as
the virtuous circle. The nearest parallel is newspaper circulation,
which means more advertising, which boosts circulation, and so onward
and upward.
In that high eagerness of absorption, a man "working for the brand"
did not, could not, center all thoughts on self; he trusted his
fellows, counted upon them, joyed in their deeds. And to forget self
in the thought of others is for so long to reach life at its highest.
* * * * *
The Bar Cross had worked the northern half of the range, getting back
to Engle, the center and the one shipping point of the Jornada, with
fifteen hundred steers--finding there no cars available, no prospect
of cars for ten days to come. To take those steers to the south and
back meant that they would be so gaunted as to be unfit for shipment.
So the wagon led on softly, drifting down to the river, to a beating
of _bosques_ for outlaw cattle and a combing of half-forgotten ridges
and pockets behind Christobal Mountain. It was a work which because of
its difficulty had been shirked for years; the river cattle mostly
came out on the plains in the rainy season, and got their just deserts
there. Waiting for cars, the outfit was marking time anyhow. Any
cattle snared on the river were pure gain. The main point was to
handle the stock tenderly. From working the _bosques_ the outfit
expected few cattle and got less.--The poets babble about the bosky
dell; _bosque_, literally translated, means "woods." Yet for this
purpose if you understand the word as "jungle," you will be the less
misled.
Johnny Dines sat tailor-wise on his horse at the crest of a sandy
knoll and looked down at the day herd, spread out over a square mile
of tableland, and now mostly asleep in the brooding heat of afternoon.
About the herd other riders, six in all, stood at attention, black
silhouettes, or paced softly to turn back would-be stragglers.
Of these riders Neighbor Jones alone was a Bar Cross man. He was
captain of the day herd, a fixture; for him reluctant straymen were
detailed in turn, day by day, as day herders. Johnny represented a
number of small brands in the north end of the Black Range. His face
was sparkling, all alive; he was short, slender, black-haired,
black-eyed, two and twenty. He saw--Neighbor Jones himself not
sooner--what turmoil rose startling from a lower bench to riverward; a
riot of wild cattle with riders as wild on lead and swing and point.
As a usual thing, the day's catch comes sedately to the day herd; but
this day's catch was _bosque_ cattle--renegades and desperates of a
dozen brands.
Jody Weir, on Johnny's right, sat on the sand in the shadow of his
horses. This was not ethical; seeing him, Yoast and Ralston, leading
the riot, turned that way, drew aside to right and left, and so loosed
the charging hurricane directly at the culprit.
Weir scrambled to saddle and spurred from under. The other riders
closed in on the day herd, stirring them up the better to check the
outlaws. Half of the round-up crew followed Yoast to the right of the
now roused and bellowing day herd, bunching them; the others followed
Ralston on Johnny's side of the herd.
Cole Ralston was the Bar Cross foreman. Overtaking Johnny, he raised
a finger; the two drew rein and let the others pass by. Cole spoke to
the last man.
"Spike, when they quiet down you ride round and tell all these
day-herder waddies that if any of 'em want to write letters they can
slip in to the wagon. I'm sending a man to town soon after supper."
He turned to Johnny, laughing.
"Them outcasts was sure snaky. We near wasted the whole bunch. Had to
string 'em out and let 'em run so they thought they was getting away
or they'd ha' broke back into the brush."
"Two bull fights started already," observed Johnny. "Your
Sunday-School bulls are hunting up the wild ones, just a-snuffin'."
"The boys will keep 'em a-moving," said Cole. "Dines, you ride your
own horses, so I reckon you're not drawing pay from the ninety-seven
piney-woods brands you're lookin' out for. Just turning their cattle
in a neighborly way?"
"Someone had to come."
"Well, then," said Cole, "how would you like a Bar Cross mount?"
Slow red tinged the olive of Johnny's cheek, betraying the quickened
heartbeats.
"You've done hired a hand--quick as ever I throw these cattle back
home."
"Wouldn't Walter Hearn cut out your milk-pen brands as close as you
would?"
"Sure! He's one of the bunch."
"Your pay started this morning, then. Here's the lay. To-morrow we
work the herd and start the west-bound strays home. Walt can throw in
with the S S Bar man and I'll send Lon along to represent the Bar
Cross. Hiram goes to the John Cross work, at the same time helpin'
Pink throw back the John Cross stuff. So that leaves us shy a short
man. That's you. Send your horses home with Walt."
"I'd like to keep one with me for my private."
"All right. Leave him at the horse camp. Can't carry any idlers with
the _caballada_--makes the other horses discontented. You drift into
the wagon early, when you see the horse herd coming. I'm goin' to send
you to the horse camp to get you a mount. We'll cut out all the lame
ones and sore backs from our mounts too. I'll give you a list of fresh
ones to bring back for us. You go up to Engle after supper and then
slip out to Moongate to-morrow. We'll be loadin' 'em at Engle when you
get back. No hurry; take your time."
He rode on. Behind him the most joyous heart between two oceans
thumped at Johnny's ribs. It is likely that you see no cause for
pride. You see a hard job for a scanty wage; to Johnny Dines it was
accolade and shoulder stroke. Johnny's life so far had been made up
all of hardships well borne. But that was what Johnny did not know or
dream; to-day, hailed man-grown, he thought of his honors, prince and
peer, not as deserved and earned, but as an unmerited stroke of good
fortune.
The herd, suddenly roused, became vociferous with query and rumor;
drifted uneasily a little, muttered, whispered, tittered, fell quiet
again, to cheerful grazing. The fresh wild cattle, nearing the
periphery, glimpsed the dreaded horsemen beyond, and turned again to
hiding in the center. Cole and most of his riders drew away and paced
soberly campward, leaving ten herders where they found six.
Jody Weir rode over to Johnny.
"Old citizen," he said, "the rod tells me you are for Engle, and if I
wanted to send letters I might go write 'em. But I beat him to it.
Letter to my girl all written and ready. All I had to do was to put in
a line with my little old pencil, telling her we'd work the herd
to-morrow and start home next day. She'll be one pleased girl; she
sure does love her little Jody."
Johnny knotted his brows in puzzlement. "But who reads your letters to
her?" he said wonderingly.
"Now what you doin'--tryin' to slur my girl? She's educated, that
child is."
"No; but when you said she--she liked her little Jody--why, I
naturally supposed"--Johnny hesitated--"her eyesight, you know, might
be--"
Weir slapped his leg and guffawed.
"Thought she was blind, did you? Well, she ain't. If she was I
wouldn't be writing this letter. Most of it is heap private and
confidential." His face took on a broad and knowing leer as he handed
over the letter. It was fat; it was face up; it bore the address: