THE HOSPITAL ON THE BEAVER
The patient passed a feverish night. Priest remained on watch in the
tent, but on several occasions aroused the boys, as recourse to pouring
water was necessary to relieve the pain. The limb had reached a swollen
condition by morning, and considerable anxiety was felt over the
uncertainty of a physician arriving. If summoned the previous evening,
it was possible that one might arrive by noon, otherwise there was no
hope before evening or during the night.
"Better post a guide on the trail," suggested Joel. "If a doctor comes
from the Republican, we can pilot him across the prairie and save an
hour's time. There's a dim wagon trail runs from here to the first
divide, north of the trail crossing on Beaver. Pa used it when he went
to Culbertson to draw his pension. It would save the doctor a six or
seven mile drive."
"Now, that suggestion is to the point," cheerfully assented the trail
foreman. "The herd will noon on the first divide, and we can post the
boys of the cut-off. They'll surely meet the doctor this afternoon or
evening. Corral the horses, and I'll shorten up the stirrup straps on
Forrest's saddle. Who will we send?"
"I'll go," said Dell, jumping at the opportunity. He had admired the
horses and heavy Texas saddles the evening previous, and now that a
chance presented itself, his eyes danced at the prospect. "Why, I can
follow a dim wagon track," he added. "Joel and I used to go halfway to
the divide, to meet pa when he bought us new boots."
"I'll see who can best be spared," replied Priest. "Your patient seems
to think that no one can pour water like you. Besides, there will be
plenty of riding to do, and you'll get your share."
The foreman delayed shortening the stirrup straps until after the horse
stood saddled, when he adjusted the lacings as an object lesson to the
boys. Both rode the same length of stirrup, mounting the horse to be
fitted, and when reduced to the proper length, Dell was allowed to ride
past the tent for inspection.
"There's the making of a born cowman," said Forrest, as Dell halted
before the open tent. "It's an absolute mistake to think that that boy
was ever intended for a farmer. Notice his saddle poise, will you,
Paul? Has a pretty foot, too, even if it is slightly sun-burned. We must
get him some boots. With that red hair, he never ought to ride any other
horse than a black stallion."
When the question arose as to which of the boys was to be sent to
intercept the moving herd and await the doctor, Forrest decided the
matter. "I'll have to send Joel," said he, "because I simply can't spare
Dell. The swelling has benumbed this old leg of mine, and we'll have to
give it an occasional rubbing to keep the circulation up. There's where
Dell has the true touch; actually he reminds me of my mother. She could
tie a rag around a sore toe, in a way that would make a boy forget all
his trouble. Hold Joel a minute."
The sound of a moving horse had caught the ear of the wounded man, and
when the older boy dismounted at the tent opening, he continued: "Now,
Joel, don't let that cow outfit get funny with you. Show them the brand
on that horse you're riding, and give them distinctly to understand,
even if you are barefooted, that you are one of Don Lovell's men. Of
course you don't know him, but with that old man, it's love me, love my
dog. Get your dinner with the outfit, and watch for a dust cloud in the
south. There's liable to be another herd along any day, and we'll need
a cow."
Forrest was nearly forty, while Priest was fully fifty years of age;
neither had ever had children of his own, and their hearts went out in
manly fullness to these waifs of the plain. On the other hand, a day had
brought forth promise and fulfillment, from strangers, to the boys,
until the latter's confidence knew no bounds. At random, the men
virtually spoke of the cattle on a thousand hills, until the boys fully
believed that by merely waving a wand, the bells would tinkle and a cow
walk forth. Where two horses were promised, four had appeared. Where
their little store of provision was as good as exhausted, it had been
multiplied many fold. Where their living quarters were threatened with
intrusion, a tent, with fly, was added; all of which, as if by magic,
had risen out of a dip in the plain.
There was no danger, at the hands of the trail men, of any discourtesy
to Joel, but to relieve any timidity, the foreman saddled his horse and
accompanied the boy a mile or more, fully reviewing the details of his
errand. Left behind, and while rubbing the wounded limb, Dell regaled
his patient with a scrap of family history. "Pa never let us boys go
near the trail," said he. "It seemed like he was afraid of you Texas
men; afraid your cattle would trample down our fields and drink up all
our water. The herds were so big."
"Suppose the cattle would drink the water," replied Forrest, "the owner
would pay for it, which would be better than letting it go to waste. One
day's hot winds would absorb more water than the biggest herd of cattle
could drink. This ain't no farming country."
"That's so," admitted Dell; "we only had one mess of peas this season,
and our potatoes aren't bigger than marbles. Now, let me rub your knee,
there where the bullet skipped, between the bandages."
The rubbing over, Forrest pressed home the idea of abandoning farming
for cattle ranching. "What your father ought to have done," said he,
"was to have made friends with the Texas drovers; given them the water,
with or without price, and bought any cripples or sore-footed cattle.
Nearly every herd abandons more or less cattle on these long drives, and
he could have bought them for a song and sung it himself. The buffalo
grass on the divides and among these sand hills is the finest winter
grazing in the country. This water that you are wasting would have
yearly earned you one hundred head of cripples. A month's rest on this
creek and they would kick up their heels and play like calves. After
one winter on this range, they would get as fat as plover. Your father
missed his chance by not making friends with the Texas trail men."
"Do you think so?" earnestly said Dell.
"I know it," emphatically asserted the wounded man. "Hereafter, you and
Joel want to be friendly with these drovers and their men. Cast your
bread upon the waters."
"Mother used to read that to us," frankly admitted Dell. There was a
marked silence, only broken by a clatter of hoofs, and the trail boss
cantered up to the tent.
"That wagon track," said he, dismounting, "is little more than a dim
trail. Sorry I didn't think about it sooner, but we ought to have built
a smudge fire where this road intersects the cattle trail. In case the
doctor doesn't reach there by noon, I sent orders to fly a flag at the
junction, and Joel to return home. But if the doctor doesn't reach there
until after darkness, he'll never see the flag, and couldn't follow the
trail if he did. We'll have to send Joel back."
"It's my turn," said Dell. "I know how to build a smudge fire; build it
in a circle, out of cattle chips, in the middle of the road."
"You're a willing boy," said Priest, handing the bridle reins to Dell,
"but we'll wait until Joel returns. You may water my horse and turn him
in the corral."
The day wore on, and near the middle of the afternoon Joel came riding
in. He had waited fully an hour after the departure of the herd, a flag
had been left unfurled at the junction, and all other instructions
delivered. Both Forrest and Priest knew the distance to the ford on the
Republican, and could figure to an hour, by different saddle gaits, the
necessary time to cover the distance, even to Culbertson. Still there
was a measure of uncertainty: the messenger might have lost his way;
there might not have been any physician within call; accidents might
have happened to horse or rider,--and one hour wore away, followed
by another.
Against his will, Dell was held under restraint until six o'clock. "It's
my intention to follow him within an hour," said the foreman, as the boy
rounded a bluff and disappeared. "He can build the fire as well as any
one, and we'll return before midnight. That'll give the doctor the last
minute and the benefit of every doubt."
The foreman's mount stood saddled, and twilight had settled over the
valley, when the occupants of the tent were startled by the neigh of a
horse. "That's Rowdy," said Forrest; "he always nickers when he sights a
wagon or camp. Dell's come."
Joel sprang to the open front. "It's Dell, and there's a buckboard
following," he whispered. A moment later the vehicle rattled up, led by
the irrepressible Dell, as if in charge of a battery of artillery. "This
is the place, Doctor," said he, as if dismissing a troop from
cavalry drill.
The physician proved to be a typical frontier doctor. He had left
Culbertson that morning, was delayed in securing a relay team at the
ford on the Republican, and still had traveled ninety miles since
sunrise. "If it wasn't for six-shooters in this country," said he, as he
entered the tent, "we doctors would have little to do. Your men with the
herd told me how the accident happened." Then to Forrest, "Son, think
it'll ever happen again?"
"Yes, unless you can cure a fool from lending his pistol," replied
Forrest.
"Certainly. I've noticed that similarity in all gunshot wounds: they
usually offer good excuses. It's healing in its nature," commented the
doctor, as he began removing the bandages. As the examination proceeded,
there was a running comment maintained, bordering on the humorous.
"If there's no extra charge," said Forrest, "I wish you would allow the
boys to see the wounds. You might also deliver a short lecture on the
danger of carrying the hammer of a pistol on a loaded cartridge. The
boys are young and may take the lesson seriously, but you're wasting
good breath on me. Call the boys--I'm an old dog."
"Gunshot wounds are the only crop in this country," continued the
doctor, ignoring the request, "not affected by the drouth. There's an
occasional outbreak of Texas fever among cattle, but that's not in my
department. Well, that bullet surely was hungry for muscle, but
fortunately it had a distaste for bone. This is just a simple case of
treatment and avoiding complications. Six weeks to two months and you
can buckle on your six-shooter again. Hereafter, better wear it on the
other side, and if another accident occurs, it'll give you a hitch in
each leg and level you up."
"But there may be no fool loafing around to borrow it," protested
Forrest.
"Never fear, son; the fool's eternal," replied the doctor, with a quiet
wink at the others.
The presence and unconcern of the old physician dispelled all
uneasiness, and the night passed without anxiety, save between the boys.
Forrest's lecture to Dell during the day, of the importance of making
friends with the drovers, the value of the water, the purchase of
disabled cattle, was all carefully reviewed after the boys were snugly
in bed. "Were you afraid of the men with the herd to-day?--afraid of the
cowboys?" inquired Dell, when the former subject was exhausted.
"Why, no," replied Joel rather scornfully, from the security of his
bunk; "who would be afraid? They are just like any other folks."
Dell was skeptical. "Not like the pictures of cowboys?--not shooting and
galloping their horses?"
"Why, you silly boy," said Joel, with contempt; "there wasn't a shot
fired, their horses were never out of a walk, never wet a hair, and they
changed to fresh ones at noon. The only difference I could see, they
wore their hats at dinner. And they were surely cowboys, because they
had over three thousand big beeves, and had come all the way
from Texas."
"I wish I could have gone," was Dell's only comment.
"Oh, it was a great sight," continued the privileged one. "The column of
cattle was a mile long, the trail twice as wide as a city street, and
the cattle seemed to walk in loose marching order, of their own accord.
Not a man carried a whip; no one even shouted; no one as much as looked
at the cattle; the men rode away off yonder. The herd seemed so easy
to handle."
"And how many men did it take?" insisted Dell.
"Only eleven with the herd. And they had such queer names for their
places. Those in the lead were _point_ men, those in the middle were
_swing_ men, and the one who brought up the rear was the _drag_ man.
Then there was the cook, who drove the wagon, and the wrangler, who took
care of the horses--over one hundred and forty head. They call the band
of saddle horses the remuda; one of the men told me it was Spanish for
relay--a relay of horses."
"I'm going the next time," said Dell. "Mr. Quince said he would buy us a
cow from the next herd that passed."
"These were all big beeves to-day, going to some fort on the Yellowstone
River. And they had such wide, sweeping horns! And the smartest cattle!
An hour before noon one of the point men gave a shrill whistle, and the
whole column of beeves turned aside and began feeding. The men called it
'throwing the herd off the trail to graze.' It was just like saying
_halt_! to soldiers--like we saw at that reunion in Ohio."
"And you weren't afraid?" timidly queried the younger brother.
"No one else was afraid, and why should I be? I was on horseback. Stop
asking foolish questions and go to sleep," concluded Joel, with pitying
finality, and turned to the wall.
"But suppose those big Texas beeves had stampeded, then what?" There was
challenge in Dell's voice, but the brother vouchsafed no answer. A
seniority of years had given one a twelve hours' insight over the other,
in range cattle, and there was no common ground between sleepy
bedfellows to justify further converse. "I piloted in the doctor,
anyhow," said Dell defensively. No reply rewarded his assertion.
Morning brought little or no change in the condition of the wounds. The
doctor was anxious to return, but Priest urged otherwise. "Let's call it
Sunday," said he, "and not work to-day. Besides, if I overtake the herd,
I'll have to make a hand. Wait until to-morrow, and we'll bear each
other company. If another herd shows up on the trail to-day, it may have
a cow. We must make these boys comfortable."
The doctor consented to stay over, and amused himself by quarreling with
his patient. During the forenoon Priest and Joel rode out to the
nearest high ground, from which a grove was seen on the upper Beaver.
"That's what we call Hackberry Grove," said Joel, "and where we get our
wood. The creek makes a big bend, and all the bottom land has grown up
with timber, some as big as a man's body. It doesn't look very far away,
but it takes all day to go and come, hauling wood. There's big springs
just above, and the water never fails. That's what makes the trees
so thrifty."
"Too bad your father didn't start a little ranch here," said Priest,
surveying the scene. "It's a natural cattle range. There are the sand
hills to the south; good winter shelter and a carpet of grass."
"We were too poor," frankly admitted the boy. "Every fall we had to go
to the Solomon River to hunt work. With pa's pension, and what we could
earn, we held down the homestead. Last fall we proved up; pa's service
in the army counted on the residence required. It doesn't matter now if
we do leave it. All Dell and I have to do is to keep the taxes paid."
"You would be doing wrong to leave this range," said the trail boss in
fatherly tones. "There's a fortune in this grass, if you boys only had
the cattle to eat it. Try and get a hundred cows on shares, or buy
young steers on a credit."
"Why, we have no money, and no one would credit boys," ruefully replied
Joel.
"You have something better than either credit or money," frankly replied
the cowman; "you control this range. Make that the basis of your
beginning. All these cattle that are coming over the trail are hunting a
market or a new owner. Convince any man that you have the range, and the
cattle will be forthcoming to occupy it."
"But we only hold a quarter-section of land," replied the boy in his
bewilderment.
"Good. Take possession of the range, occupy it with cattle, and every
one will respect your prior right," argued the practical man. "Range is
being rapidly taken up in this western country. Here's your chance.
Water and grass, world without end."
Joel was evidently embarrassed. Not that he questioned the older man's
advice, but the means to the end seemed totally lacking. The grind of
poverty had been his constant companion, until he scarcely looked
forward to any reprieve, and the castles being built and the domain
surveyed at the present moment were vague and misty. "I don't doubt your
advice," admitted the boy. "A man could do it, you could, but Dell and
I had better return to the settlements. Mr. Quince will surely be
well by fall."
"Will you make me a promise?" frankly asked the cowman.
"I will," eagerly replied the boy.
"After I leave to-morrow morning, then, tell Forrest that you are
thinking of claiming Beaver Creek as a cattle range. Ask him if he knows
any way to secure a few cows and yearlings with which to stock it. In
the mean time, think it over yourself. Will you do that?"
"Y-e-s, I--I will," admitted Joel, as if trapped into the promise.
"Of course you will. And ask him as if life and death depended on
securing the cattle. Forrest has been a trail foreman and knows all the
drovers and their men. He's liable to remain with you until the season
ends. Now, don't fail to ask him."
"Oh, I'll ask him," said Joel more cheerfully. "Did you say that control
of a range was a basis on which to start a ranch, and that it had
a value?"
"That's it. Now you're catching the idea. Lay hold and never lose sight
of the fact that a range that will graze five to ten thousand cattle,
the year round, is as good as money in the bank."
Joel's faculties were grappling with the idea. The two turned their
horses homeward, casting an occasional glance to the southward, but were
unrewarded by the sight of a dust cloud, the signal of an approaching
herd. The trail foreman was satisfied that he had instilled interest and
inquiry into the boy's mind, which, if carefully nurtured, might result
in independence. They had ridden several miles, discussing different
matters, and when within sight of the homestead, Joel reined in his
horse. "Would you mind repeating," said he, "what you said awhile ago,
about control of a range by prior rights?"
The trail foreman freely responded to the awakened interest. "On the
range," said he, "custom becomes law. No doubt but it dates back to the
first flocks and herds. Its foundations rest on a sense of equity and
justice which has always existed among pastoral people. In America it
dates from the first invasion of the Spanish. Among us Texans, a man's
range is respected equally with his home. By merely laying claim to the
grazing privileges of public domain, and occupying it with flocks or
herds, the consent of custom gives a man possession. It is an asset that
is bought and sold, and is only lost when abandoned. In all human
migrations, this custom has followed flocks and herds. Title to land is
the only condition to which the custom yields."
"And we could claim this valley, by simply occupying it with cattle, and
hold possession of its grazing privileges?" repeated the boy.
"By virtue of a custom, older than any law, you surely can. It's primal
range to-day. This is your epoch. The buffalo preceded you, the settler,
seeking a home, will follow you. The opportunity is yours. Go in
and win."
"But how can we get a start of cattle?" pondered Joel.
"Well, after I leave, you're going to ask Forrest that question. That
old boy knows all the ins and outs, and he may surprise you. There's an
old maxim about where there's a will there's a way. Now if you have the
will, I've a strong suspicion that your Mr. Quince will find the way.
Try him, anyhow."
"Oh, I will," assured Joel; "the first thing in the morning."
The leaven of interest had found lodgment. A pleasant evening was spent
in the tent. Before excusing the lads for the night, Priest said to the
doctor: "This is a fine cattle range, and I'd like your opinion about
these boys starting a little ranch on the Beaver."
"Well," said the old physician, looking from Joel to Dell, "there are
too many lawyers and doctors already. The farmers raise nothing out
here, and about the only prosperous people I meet are you cowmen. You
ride good horses, have means to secure your needs, and your general
health is actually discouraging to my profession. Yes, I think I'll have
to approve of the suggestion. A life in the open, an evening by a
camp-fire, a saddle for a pillow--well, I wish I had my life to live
over. It wouldn't surprise me to hear of Wells Brothers making a big
success as ranchmen. They have health and youth, and there's nothing
like beginning at the bottom of the ladder. In fact, the proposition has
my hearty approval. Fight it out, boys; start a ranch."
"Come on, Dell," said Joel, leading the way; "these gentlemen want to
make an early start. You'll have to bring in the horses while I get
breakfast. Come on."