WELLS BROTHERS
The Young Cattle Kings
by
ANDY ADAMS
1911
[Illustration: THEY CHANGED TO FRESH ONES AT NOON (p.26)]
CONTENTS
I. WAIFS OF THE PLAIN
II. THE HOSPITAL ON THE BEAVER
III. THE BOTTOM RUNG
IV. THE BROTHERS CLAIM A RANGE
V. A FALL OF CRUMBS
VI. SUNSHINE AND SHADOW
VII. ALL IN THE DAY'S WORK
VIII. THE LINES OF INTRENCHMENT
IX. A WINTRY CRUCIBLE
X. GOOD FIGHTING
XI. HOLDING THE FORT
XII. A WINTER DRIFT
XIII. A WELCOME GUEST
XIV. AN ILL WIND
XV. WATER! WATER!
XVI. A PROTECTED CREDIT
XVII. "THE WAGON"
XVIII. AN OPEN WINTER
XIX. AN INDIAN SCARE
XX. HARVEST ON THE RANGE
XXI. LIVING IN THE SADDLE
XXII. INDEPENDENCE
CHAPTER I
WAIFS OF THE PLAIN
The first herd of trail cattle to leave Dodge City, Kansas, for the
Northwest, during the summer of 1885, was owned by the veteran drover,
Don Lovell. Accidents will happen, and when about midway between the
former point and Ogalalla, Nebraska, a rather serious mishap befell
Quince Forrest, one of the men with the herd. He and the horse wrangler,
who were bunkies, were constantly scuffling, reckless to the point of
injury, the pulse of healthy manhood beating a constant alarm to
rough contest.
The afternoon previous to the accident, a wayfaring man had overtaken
the herd, and spent the night with the trail outfit. During the evening,
a flock of sand-hill cranes was sighted, when the stranger expressed a
wish to secure a specimen of the bird for its splendid plumage. On
Forrest's own suggestion, his being a long-range pistol and the covey
wary, the two exchanged belts. The visitor followed the flock, stealing
within range a number of times, and emptying the six-shooter at every
chance. On securing a fine specimen near nightfall, he returned to the
herd, elated over his chance shot and beautiful trophy. However, before
returning the belt, he had refilled the cylinder with six instead of
five cartridges, thus resting the hammer on a loaded shell. In the
enthusiasm of the moment, and ignorant of its danger, belt and pistol
were returned to their owner.
Dawn found the camp astir. The sun had flooded the plain while the
outfit was breakfasting, the herd was grazing forward in pastoral
contentment, the horses stood under saddle for the morning's work, when
the trail foreman, Paul Priest, languidly remarked: "If everybody's
ready, we'll ride. Fill the canteens; it's high time we were in the
saddle. Of course, that means the parting tussle between Quince and the
wrangler. It would be a shame to deny those lads anything so enjoyable--
they remind me so much of mule colts and half-grown dogs. Now, cut in
and worry each other a spell, because you'll be separated until noon.
Fly at it, or we mount."
The two addressed never cast a glance at each other, but as the men
swung into their saddles, the horse wrangler, with the agility of a
tiger, caught his bunkie in the act of mounting, dragging him to the
ground, when the expected scuffle ensued. The outfit had barely time to
turn their horses, to witness the contest, when the two crashed against
the wagon wheel and Forrest's pistol was discharged. The men dismounted
instantly, the wrangler eased the victim to the ground, and when the
outfit gathered around, the former was smothering the burning clothing
of his friend and bunkmate. A withdrawn boot, dripping with blood, was
the first indication of the havoc wrought, and on stripping it was found
that the bullet had ploughed an open furrow down the thigh, penetrating
the calf of the leg from knee to ankle, where it was fortunately
deflected outward and into the ground.
The deepest of regret was naturally expressed. The jocular remarks of
the foreman, the actions of the wrangler, were instantly recalled to the
surrounding group, while the negligence which caused the accident was
politely suppressed. The stranger, innocently unaware of any mistake on
his part, lent a valuable hand in stanching the blood and in washing and
binding up the wounds. No bones were injured, and with youth and a
buoyant constitution, there was every hope of recovery.
However, some disposition must be made of the wounded man. No one could
recall a house or settlement nearer than the Republican River, unless
down the Beaver, which was uncertain, when the visitor came to the
rescue. He was positive that some two years before, an old soldier had
taken a homestead five or six miles above the trail crossing on the
Beaver. He was insistent, and the foreman yielded so far as to order the
herd grazed forward to the Beaver, which was some ten miles distant in
their front. All the blankets in the outfit were accordingly brought
into use, in making a comfortable bed in the wagon, and the caravan
started, carrying the wounded man with it. Taking the stranger with him,
the foreman bore away in the direction of the supposed homestead, having
previously sent two men on an opposite angle, in search of any
settlement down the creek.
The visitor's knowledge of the surrounding country proved to be correct.
About six miles above the trail crossing, the Beaver, fringed with
willows, meandered through a narrow valley, in which the homestead was
located. The presence of the willows was an indication of old beaver
dams, which the settler had improved until the water stood in long,
placid pools. In response to their hail, two boys, about fourteen and
sixteen years of age, emerged from the dug-out and greeted the horsemen.
On inquiry, it proved that their father had died during the previous
winter, at a settlement on the Solomon River, and the boys were then
confronted with the necessity of leaving the claim to avoid suffering
want. It was also learned that their mother had died before their father
had taken the homestead, and therefore they were left orphans to fight
their own battle.
The boys gave their names as Joel and Dell Wells. Both were bright-eyed
and alert, freckled from the sun, ragged and healthy. Joel was the
oldest, broad-shouldered for his years, distant by nature, with a shock
of auburn hair, while Dell's was red; in height, the younger was the
equal of his brother, talkative, and frank in countenance. When made
acquainted with the errand of the trail boss, the older boy shook his
head, but Dell stepped forward: "Awful sorry," said he, with a sweep of
his hand, "but our garden failed, and there won't be a dozen
roasting-ears in that field of corn. If hot winds don't kill it, it
might make fodder. We expect to pull out next week."
"Have you no cows?" inquired the trail foreman.
"We had two, but the funeral expenses took them, and then pa's pension
was stopped. You see--"
"I see," said the trail foreman, dismounting. "Possibly we can help each
other. Our wagon is well provisioned. If you'll shelter and nurse this
wounded man of mine--"
"We can't winter here," said Joel, stepping forward, "and the sooner we
get out and find work the better."
"Oh, I was figuring on paying you wages," countered the trail man, now
aware of their necessity, "and I suppose you could use a quarter
of beef."
"Oh goodness," whispered Dell to his brother; "think, fresh meat."
"And I'll give each of you twenty-five dollars a month--leave the money
with my man or pay you in advance. If you say the word, I'll unload my
wagon right here, and grub-stake you for two months. I can get more
provision at the Republican River, and in the mean time, something
may turn up."
The stranger also dismounted and took part in urging the necessity of
accepting the offer. Dell brightened at every suggestion, but his
brother was tactful, questioning and combating the men, and looking
well to the future. A cold and unfriendly world, coupled with
misfortune, had aged the elder boy beyond his years, while the younger
one was sympathetic, trustful, and dependent.
"Suppose we are delayed in reaching the Solomon until fall," said Dell
to his brother; "that will put us into the settlements in time for
corn-shucking. If you get six-bits a day, I'm surely worth fifty cents."
"Suppose there is no corn to shuck," replied Joel. "Suppose this wounded
man dies on our hands? What then? Haven't you heard pa tell how soldiers
died from slight wounds?--from blood-poisoning? If we have to go, we
might as well go at once."
According to his light, the boy reasoned well. But when the wayfaring
man had most skillfully retold the story of the Good Samaritan, the
older boy relented somewhat, while Dell beamed with enthusiasm at the
opportunity of rendering every assistance.
"It isn't because we don't want to help you," protested Joel, but it's
because we're so poor and have nothing to offer."
"You have health and willing hands," said the trail boss; "let me do the
rest."
"But suppose he doesn't recover as soon as expected," cautiously
protested Joel, "where are we to get further provision?"
"Good suggestion," assented the trail foreman. "But here: I'll leave two
good horses in your care for the wounded man, and all you need to do is
to ride down to the trail, hail any passing herd, and simply tell them
you are harboring a crippled lad, one of Don Lovell's boys, and you can
levy on them for all they have. It's high time you were getting
acquainted with these trail outfits. Shelter this man of mine, and all
will come out well in the end. Besides, I'll tell old man Don about you
boys, and he might take you home to his ranch with him. He has no boys,
and he might take a fancy to you two."
Dell's eyes moistened at the suggestion of a home. The two brothers
reëntered the dug-out, and the men led their horses down to the creek
for a drink. A span of poor old mules stood inside a wooden corral, a
rickety wagon and a few rusty farming implements were scattered about,
while over all the homestead was the blight of a merciless
summer drouth.
"What a pretty little ranch this would make," said the trail boss to the
stranger. "If these boys had a hundred cows, with this water and range,
in a few years they would be independent men. No wonder that oldest boy
is cautious. Just look around and see the reward of their father's and
their own labor. Their very home denies them bread."
"Did you notice the older boy brighten," inquired the visitor, "when you
suggested leaving horses in their care? It was the only argument that
touched him."
"Then I'll use it," said the trail boss, brightening. "We have several
cow horses in our remuda, unfit for saddle,--galled backs and the
like,--and if these boys would care for them, I'll make their hungry
hearts happy. Care and attention and a month's rest would make the
ponies as sound as a dollar. You suggest my giving them each a saddle
pony; argue the matter, and try and win me over."
The men retraced their steps, leading their horses, and when scarcely
halfway from the creek to the dug-out, Dell ran down to meet them. "If
you can spare us a few blankets and a pillow," earnestly said the boy,
"we'll take the wounded man. He's liable to be feverish at night, and
ought to have a pillow. Joel and I can sleep outside or in the stable."
"Hurrah for the Wells boys!" shouted the trail boss. "Hereafter I'll bet
my money, horse and saddle, on a red-headed boy. Blankets? Why, you can
have half a dozen, and as to pillows, watch me rob the outfit. I have a
rubber one, there are several moss ones, and I have a lurking suspicion
that there are a few genuine goose-hair pillows in the outfit, and you
may pick and choose. They are all yours for the asking."
The men parleyed around some little time, offering pretexts for entering
the shack, the interior of which bespoke its own poverty. When all
agreements had been reviewed, the men mounted their horses, promising to
fulfill their part of the covenant that afternoon or evening.
Once out of hearing, the stranger remarked: "That oldest boy is all
right; it was their poverty that caused him to hesitate; he tried to
shield their want. We men don't always understand boys. Hereafter, in
dealing with Joel, you must use some diplomacy. The death of his parents
has developed a responsibility in the older boy which the younger one
doesn't feel. That's about all the difference in the two lads. You must
deal gently with Joel, and never offend him or expose his needs."
"Trust me," replied the foreman, "and I'll coach Quince--that's the name
of the wounded man. Within an hour, he'll be right at home with those
boys. If nothing serious happens to his wound, within a week he'll have
those youngsters walking on clouds."
The two men rode out of the valley, when they caught sight of a dust
cloud, indicating the locality of the trailing herd, then hidden behind
the last divide before reaching Beaver Creek. On every hand the
undulating plain rolled away to low horizons, and the men rode forward
at a leisurely pace.
"I've been thinking of those boys," suddenly said the trail foreman,
arousing himself from a reverie. "They're to be pitied. This government
ought to be indicted for running a gambling game, robbing children,
orphan children of a soldier, at that. There's a fair sample of the skin
game the government's running--bets you one hundred and sixty acres
against fourteen dollars you can't hold down a homestead for five years.
And big as the odds look, in nine cases out of ten, in this country, the
government wins. It ought to be convicted on general principles. Men are
not to be pitied, but it's a crime against women and children."
"Oh, you cowmen always rail at the settler," retorted the stranger; "you
would kick if you were being hung. There's good in everything. A few
years of youthful poverty, once they reach manhood, isn't going to hurt
those boys. The school of experience has its advantages."
"If it's convenient, let's keep an eye on those boys the next few
years," said the trail boss, catching sight of his remuda. "Now, there's
the wagon. Suppose you ride down to the Beaver and select a good camp,
well above the trail crossing, and I'll meet the commissary and herd.
We'll have to lay over this afternoon, which will admit of watering the
herd twice to-day. Try and find some shade."
The men separated, riding away on different angles. The foreman hailed
his wagon, found the victim resting comfortably, and reported securing a
haven for the wounded man. Instructing his cook to watch for a signal,
at the hands of the stranger, indicating a camp on the creek, he turned
and awaited the arrival of the lead cattle of the trailing column.
Issuing orders to cover the situation, he called off half the men, first
veering the herd to the nearest water, and rode to overtake his wagon
and saddle horses.
Beaver Creek was barely running water, with an occasional long pool. A
hedge of willows was interwoven, Indian fashion, from which a tarpaulin
was stretched to the wagon bows, forming a sheltered canopy. Amid a fire
of questions, the wounded man was lifted from the wagon.
"Are you sure there isn't a woman at this nester's shack," said he
appealingly to the bearers of the blanket stretcher. "If there is, I
ain't going. Paul, stand squarely in front of me, where I can see your
eyes. After what I've been handed lately, it makes me peevish. I want to
feel the walnut juice in your hand clasp. Now, tell it all over
once more."
The stranger was artfully excused, to select a beef, after which the
foreman sat down beside his man, giving him all the details and making
valuable suggestions. He urged courteous treatment of their guest while
he remained; that there was nothing to be gained, after the accident, by
insult to a visitor, and concluded by praising the boys and bespeaking
their protection.
The wounded man was Southern by birth and instinct, and knew that the
hospitality of ranch and road and camp was one and the same. "Very
well," said he, "but in this instance, remember it's my calf that's
gored. Serves me right, though, kittening up to every stranger that
comes along. I must be getting tired of you slatterly cow hands." He
hesitated a moment. "The one thing I like," he continued, "about this
nester layout is those red-headed boys. And these two are just about
petting age. I can almost see them eating sugar out of my hand."
After dinner, and now that a haven was secured, the question of medical
aid was considered. The couriers down the Beaver had returned and
reported no habitation in that direction. Fortunately the destination of
the stranger was a settlement on the Republican River, and he
volunteered to ride through that afternoon and night and secure a
surgeon. Frontier physicians were used to hundred-mile calls. The owner
of the herd, had he been present, would have insisted on medical
attention, the wounded man reluctantly consented, and the stranger,
carrying a hastily written letter to Mr. Lovell, took his departure.
Early evening found the patient installed, not in the dug-out, but in a
roomy tent. A quarter of beef hung on a willow, the one-room shack was
bountifully provisioned, while the foreman remained to await the arrival
of a physician. The day had brought forth wonders to Joel and Dell--from
the dark hour of want to the dawn of plenty, while the future was a
sealed book. In addition to the promised horses, Forrest's saddle hung
in the sod stable, while two extra ponies aroused the wonder of the
questioning boys.
"I just brought these two along," explained the foreman, "as their backs
were galled during a recent rainy spell. You can see they are unfit for
saddle, but with a little attention can be cured--I'll show you how. You
have an abundance of water, and after I leave, wash their backs, morning
and evening, and they'll be well in a month. Since you are running a
trail hospital, you want to cater to man and beast. Of course, if you
boys nurse this man through to health and strength, I'll make an appeal
to Mr. Lovell to give you these ponies. They'll come in handy, in case
you return to the Solomon, or start a little cattle ranch here."
The sun set in benediction on the little homestead. The transformation
seemed magical. Even the blight of summer drouth was toned and tempered
by the shadows of evening. The lesson of the day had filled empty hearts
with happiness, and when darkness fell, the boys threw off all former
reserve, and the bond of host and guest was firmly established. Forrest,
even, cemented the tie, by dividing any needful attention between
the boys.
"Do you know," said he to the foreman indifferently, in the presence of
the lads, "that I was thinking of calling the oldest one Doc and the
youngest one Nurse, but now I'm going to call them just plain Joel and
Dell, and they can call me Mr. Quince. Honor bright, I never met a boy
who can pour water on a wound, that seems to go to the right spot, like
Dell Wells. One day with another, give me a red-headed boy."