SUNSHINE AND SHADOW
An entire week passed, during which the boys were alone. A few herds
were still coming over the trail, but for lack of an advocate to plead,
all hope of securing more cattle must be foregone. Forrest had only
taken his saddle, abandoning for the present all fixtures contributed
for his comfort on arriving at the homestead, including the horses of
his employers. The lads were therefore left an abundance of mounts, all
cattle were drifted above the ranch, and plans for the future
considered.
Winter must be met and confronted. "We must have forage for our saddle
horses," said Joel to his brother, the evening after Forrest's
departure. "The rain has helped our corn until it will make fodder, but
that isn't enough. Pa cut hay in this valley, and I know where I can mow
a ton any morning. Mr. Quince said we'd have to stable a saddle horse
apiece this winter, and those mules will have to be fed. The grass has
greened up since the rain, and it will be no trick at all to make ten
to fifteen tons of hay. Help me grind the scythe, and we'll put in every
spare hour haying. While you ride around the cattle every morning, I
can mow."
A farm training proved an advantage to the boys. Before coming West,
their father had owned a mowing machine, but primitive methods prevailed
on the frontier, and he had been compelled to use a scythe in his haying
operations. Joel swung the blade like a veteran, scattering his swath to
cure in the sun, and with whetstone on steel, beat a frequent tattoo.
The raking into windrows and shocking at evening was an easy task for
the brothers, no day passing but the cured store was added to, until
sufficient was accumulated to build a stack. That was a task which tried
their mettle, but once met and overcome, it fortified their courage to
meet other ordeals.
"I wish Mr. Quince could see that stack of hay," admiringly said Dell,
on the completion of the first effort. "There must be five tons in it.
And it's as round as an apple. I can't remember when I've worked so hard
and been so hungry. No wonder the Texan despises any work he can't do on
horseback. But just the same, they're dear, good fellows. I wish Mr.
Quince could live with us always. He's surely a good forager."
The demand for range was accented anew. One evening two strangers rode
up the creek and asked for a night's lodging. They were made welcome,
and proved to be Texas cowmen, father and son, in search of pasturage
for a herd of through cattle. There was an open frankness about the
wayfarers that disarmed every suspicion of wrong intent, and the
brothers met their inquiries with equal candor.
"And you lads are Wells Brothers?" commented the father, in kindly
greeting. "We saw your notice, claiming this range, at the trail
crossing, and followed your wagon track up the creek. Unless the market
improves, we must secure range for three thousand two-year-old steers.
Well, we'll get acquainted, anyhow."
The boys naturally lacked commercial experience in their new occupation.
The absence of Forrest was sorely felt, and only the innate kindness of
the guests allayed all feeling of insecurity. As the evening wore on,
the old sense of dependence brought the lads in closer touch with the
strangers, the conversation running over the mutual field of range and
cattle matters.
"What is the reason," inquired Joel, "that so many cattle are leaving
your State for the upper country?"
"The reasons are numerous and valid," replied the older cowman. "It's
the natural outgrowth or expansion of the pastoral interests of our
State. Before the opening of the trail, for years and years, Texas
clamored for an outlet for its cattle. Our water supply was limited, the
State is subject to severe drouth, the cattle were congesting on our
ranges, with neither market inquiry or demand. The subjection of the
Indian was followed by a sudden development of the West, the Texas and
Montana cattle trail opened, and the pastoral resources of our State
surprised the world. Last year we sent eight hundred thousand cattle
over the trail, and they were not missed at home. That's the reason I'm
your guest to-night; range has suddenly become valuable in Texas."
"There is also an economic reason for the present exodus of cattle,"
added the young man. "Our State is a natural breeding ground, but we
can't mature into marketable beef. Nearly twenty years' experience has
proven that a northern climate is necessary to fatten and bring our
Texas cattle to perfect maturity. Two winters in the North will insure a
gain of from three to four hundred pounds' extra weight more per head
than if allowed to reach maturity on their native heath. This gain
fully doubles the value of every hoof, and is a further motive why we
are your guests to-night; we are looking for a northern range on which
to mature our steer cattle."
The boys were grasping the fact that in their range they had an asset of
value. Less than two months before, they were on the point of abandoning
their home as worthless, not capable of sustaining life, the stone which
the builders rejected, and now it promised a firm foundation to their
future hopes. The threatened encroachment of a few weeks previous, and
the causes of demand, as explained by their guests, threw a new light on
range values and made the boys doubly cautious. Was there a possible
tide in the primitive range, which taken at its flood would lead these
waifs to fortune?
The next morning the guests insisted on looking over the upper valley of
the Beaver.
"In the first place," said the elder Texan, "let it be understood that
we respect your rights to this range. If we can reach some mutual
agreement, by purchase or rental, good enough, but not by any form of
intrusion. We might pool our interests for a period of years, and the
rental would give you lads a good schooling. There are many advantages
that might accrue by pooling our cattle. At least, there is no harm in
looking over the range."
"They can ride with me as far as Hackberry Grove," said Dell. "None of
our cattle range over a mile above the springs, and from there I can
nearly point out the limits of our ranch."
"You are welcome to look over the range," assentingly said Joel, "but
only on condition that any agreement reached must be made with Mr.
Quince Forrest, now at Dodge."
"That will be perfectly agreeable," said the older cowman. "No one must
take any advantage of you boys."
The trio rode away, with Dell pointing out around the homestead the
different beaver dams in the meanderings of the creek. Joel resumed his
mowing, and near noon sighted a cavalcade of horses coming down the dim
road which his father used in going to Culbertson. A wagon followed, and
from its general outlines the boy recognized it to be a cow outfit,
heading for their improvements. Hastening homeward, he found Paul
Priest, the gray-haired foreman, who had passed northward nearly two
months before, sitting under the sunshade before the tent.
"Howdy, bud," said Priest languidly in greeting. "Now, let me
think--Howdy, Joel!"
No prince could have been more welcome. The men behind the boys had
been sadly missed, and the unexpected appearance of Priest filled every
want. "Sit down," said the latter. "First, don't bother about getting
any dinner; my outfit will make camp on the creek, and we'll have a
little spread. Yes, I know; Forrest's in Dodge; old man Don told me he
needed him. Where's your brother?"
"Dell's gone up the creek with some cowmen from Texas," admitted Joel.
"They're looking for a range. I told them any agreement reached must be
made with Mr. Quince. But now that you are here, you will do just as
well. They'll be in soon."
"I'm liable to tell them to ride on," said the gray-haired foreman. "I'm
jealous, and I want it distinctly understood that I'm a silent partner
in this ranch. How many cattle have you?"
"Nearly three hundred and fifty, not counting the calves."
"Forrest only rustled you three hundred and fifty cattle? The lazy
wretch--he ought to be hung for ingratitude!"
"Oh, no," protested Joel; "Mr. Quince has been a father to Dell and
myself."
"Wait until I come back from Dodge, and I'll show you what a rustler I
am," said Priest, arising to give his horse to the wrangler and issue
directions in regard to camping.
The arrival of Dell and the cowmen prevented further converse between
Priest and his protégé. For the time being a soldier's introduction
sufficed between the Texans, but Dell came in for a rough caress. "What
do you think of the range?" inquired the trail foreman, turning to the
men, and going direct to the subject.
"It meets every requirement for ranching," replied the elder cowman,
"and I'm going to make these boys a generous offer."
"This man will act for us," said Joel to the two cowmen, with a jerk of
his thumb toward Priest.
"Well, that's good," said the older man, advancing to Priest. "My name
is Allen, and this is my son Hugh."
"And my name is Priest, a trail foreman in the employ of Don Lovell,"
said the gray-haired man, shaking hands with the Texans.
"Mr. Lovell was expected in Dodge the day we left," remarked the younger
man in greeting. "We had hopes of selling him our herd."
"What is your county?" inquired the trail boss, searching his pockets
for a telegram.
"Comanche."
"And when did you leave Dodge?"
"Just ten days ago."
"Then you need no range--your cattle are sold," said Priest, handing the
older man a telegram.
The two scanned the message carefully, and the trail foreman continued:
"This year my herd was driven to fill a sub-contract, and we delivered
it last week at old Camp Clark, on the North Platte. From there the main
contractor will trail the beef herd up to the Yellowstone. Old man Don
was present at the delivery, and when I got back to Ogalalla with the
oufit, that message was awaiting me. I'm now on my way to Dodge to
receive the cattle. They go to the old man's beef ranch on the Little
Missouri. It says three thousand Comanche County two-year-olds,
don't it?"
"It's our cattle," said the son to his father. "We have the only
straight herd of Comanche County two-year-olds at Dodge City. That
commission man said he would sell them before we got back."
The elder Texan turned to the boys with a smile. "I reckon we'll have to
declare all negotiations off regarding this range. I had several good
offers to make you, and I'm really sorry at this turn of events. I had
figured out a leasing plan, whereby the rentals of this range would
give you boys a fine schooling, and revert to you on the eldest
attaining his majority. We could have pooled our cattle, and your
interests would have been carried free."
"You needn't worry about these boys," remarked Priest, with an air of
interest; "they have silent partners. As to schooling, I've known some
mighty good men who never punched the eyes out of the owl in their old
McGuffy spelling-book."
A distant cry of dinner was wafted up the creek. "That's a welcome
call," said Priest, arising. "Come on, everybody. My cook has orders to
tear his shirt in getting up a big dinner."
A short walk led to the camp. "This outfit looks good to me," said the
elder cowman to Priest, "and you can count on my company to the
railroad."
"You're just the man I'm looking for," replied the trail boss. "We're
making forty miles a day, and you can have charge until we reach Dodge."
"But I only volunteered as far as the railroad," protested the genial
Texan.
"Yes; but then I know you cowmen," contended Priest. "You have lived
around a wagon so long and love cow horses so dearly, that you simply
can't quit my outfit to ride on a train. Two o'clock is the hour for
starting, and I'll overtake you before evening."
The outfit had been reduced to six men, the remainder having been
excused and sent home from Ogalalla. The remuda was in fine condition,
four changes of mounts a day was the rule, and on the hour named, the
cavalcade moved out, leaving its foreman behind. "Angle across the plain
and enter the trail on the divide, between here and the Prairie Dog,"
suggested Priest to his men. "We will want to touch here coming back,
and the wagon track will point the way. Mr. Allen will act as segundo."
Left to themselves, the trio resolved itself into a ways and means
committee. "I soldiered four years," said Priest to the boys, once the
sunshade was reached, "and there's nothing that puts spirit and courage
into the firing line like knowing that the reserves are strong. It's
going to be no easy task to hold these cattle this winter, and now is
the time to bring up the ammunition and provision the camp. The army
can't march unless the mules are in condition, and you must be well
mounted to handle cattle. Ample provision for your saddle stock is the
first requirement."
"We're putting up a ton of hay a day," said Joel, "and we'll have two
hundred shocks of fodder."
"That's all right for rough forage, but you must have corn for your
saddle stock," urged the man. "Without grain for the mounts, cavalry is
useless. I think the railroad supplies, to settlers along its line,
coal, lumber, wire, and other staples at cost. I'll make inquiry
to-morrow and let you know when we return. One hundred bushels of corn
would make the forage reserves ample for the winter."
"We've got money enough to buy it," admitted Joel. "I didn't want to
take it, but Mr. Quince said it would come in handy."
"That covers the question of forage, then," said Priest. "Now comes the
question of corrals and branding."
"Going to brand the calves?" impulsively inquired Dell, jumping at
conclusions.
"The calves need not be branded before next spring," replied the
practical man, "but the herd must be branded this fall. If a blizzard
struck the cattle on the open, they would drift twenty miles during a
night. These through Texas cattle have been known to drift five hundred
miles during the first winter. You must guard against a winter drift,
and the only way is to hold your cattle under herd. If you boys let
these cattle out of your hand, away from your control, they'll drift
south to the Indian reservations and be lost. You must hold them in
spite of storms, and you will need a big, roomy inclosure in which to
corral the herd at night."
"There's the corn field," suggested Dell.
"It has no shelter," objected Priest. "Your corral must protect against
the north and west winds."
"The big bend's the place," said Joel. "The creek makes a perfect
horseshoe, with bluff banks almost twenty feet high on the north and
northwest. One hundred yards of fencing would inclose five acres. Our
cows used to shelter there. It's only a mile above the house."
"What's the soil, and how about water?" inquired the gray-haired
foreman, arising.
"It's a sand-bar, with a ripple and two long pools in the circle of the
creek," promptly replied Joel.
"Bring in the horses," said Priest, looking at his watch; "I'll have
time to look it over before leaving."
While awaiting the horses, the practical cowman outlined to Joel certain
alterations to the corral at the stable, which admitted of the addition
of a branding chute. "You must cut and haul the necessary posts and
timber before my return, and when we pass north, my outfit will build
you a chute and brand your cattle the same day. Have the materials on
the ground, and I'll bring any needful hardware from the railroad."
A short canter brought the committee to the big bend. The sand-bar was
overgrown with weeds high as a man's shoulder on horseback, but the
leader, followed by the boys, forced his mount through the tangle until
the bend was circled. "It's an ideal winter shelter," said Priest,
dismounting to step the entrance, as a preliminary measurement. "A
hundred and ten yards," he announced, a few minutes later, "coon-skin
measurement. You'll need twenty heavy posts and one hundred stays. I'll
bring you a roll of wire. That water's everything; a thirsty cow chills
easily. Given a dry bed and contented stomach, in this corral your herd
can laugh at any storm. It's almost ready made, and there's nothing
niggardly about its proportions."
"When will we put the cattle under herd?" inquired Dell as the trio rode
homeward.
"Oh, about the second snowstorm," replied Priest. "After squaw winter's
over, there's usually a month to six weeks of Indian summer. It might be
as late as the first of December, but it's a good idea to loose-herd
awhile; ride around them evening and morning, corral them and leave the
gates open, teach them to seek a dry, cosy bed, at least a month before
putting the cattle under close-herd. Teach them to drink in the corral,
and then they'll want to come home. You boys will just about have to
live with your little herd this winter."
"We wintered here once," modestly said Joel, "and I'm sure we can do it
again. The storms are the only thing to dread, and we can weather them."
"Of course you can," assured the trail boss. "It's a ground-hog case;
it's hold these cattle or the Indians will eat them for you. Lost during
one storm, and your herd is lost for good."
"And about horses: will one apiece be enough?" queried Joel. "Mr. Quince
thought two stabled ones would do the winter herding."
"One corn-fed pony will do the work of four grass horses," replied the
cowman. "Herding is no work for horses, provided you spare them. If you
must, miss your own dinner, but see that your horse gets his. Dismount
and strip the bridle off at every chance, and if you guard against
getting caught out in storms, one horse apiece is all you need."
On reaching the homestead, Priest shifted his saddle to a horse in
waiting, and announced his regrets at being compelled to limit his
visit. "It may be two weeks before I return," said he, leading his horse
from the corral to the tent, "but we'll point in here and lend a hand in
shaping you up for winter. Forrest is liable to have a herd of his own,
and in that case, there will be two outfits of men. More than likely,
we'll come through together."
Hurried as he professed to be, the trail foreman pottered around as if
time was worthless, but finally mounted. "Now the commissary is
provisioned," said he, in summing up the situation, "to stand a winter's
siege, the forage is ample, the corral and branding chute is half
done--well, I reckon we're the boys to hold a few cattle. Honest Injun,
I hope it will storm enough this winter to try you out; just to see what
kind of thoroughbreds you really are. And if any one else offers to buy
an interest in this range," he called back, as a happy afterthought,
"just tell them that you have all the partners you need."